Hello Wall.

In the Midwest, we have a saying. “I think you’re having a little too much fun over there.” This is because, in the Midwest you are alotted one teeny piece of rootbeer barrel -sized fun a day. Any less, and you’re a certified downer. any more, and you’re a certified character (pronounced keer-ehk-terr) and in need of guarded observation, lest you spin off into something resembling actual joy.

I think this is why, after three days of non-stop fun and celebration, and especially after a multitude of beers the night before,  I have finally hit my wall. I have a fun hangover.

My plan this morning was to ride into Soho with Sam, on his way to work, and spend the afternoon gazing in storefronts, nibbling snacks, gawking around and dodging giant piles of garbage. Instead, I woke up dead. I had barely enough energy to pull down my chonies to take a wizz. “Sorry Sam, I don’t think I’ll make to Soho with you this morning.  I’ll have to meet you there later.”

After a few hours of recovery,  I still  could not rally. I decided, instead, to call in sick,  to my vacation.  At least this afternoon. After all, it’s MY VACATION. If I want to spend every day of it parked on the couch in my undershorts scratching my mosquito bites and listening to the neighbors argue, so be it.  There is absolutely no reason to force continuous fun and merriment on myself–especially a high-strung hungover introvert.

Anyway. For those keeping tabs on my shenanigans: Yesterday, I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch on Broadway. The performance was amazing. Times Square, not so much.

Hedwig!
Hedwig!
Too much!
Too much!

“What happened to all the hot people?” I asked Sam at one point, frowning at the  hordes of pale bloated humanoids, harumphing around in tevas and socks.

“These are mostly tourists,” He said.

“So, what you’re saying is, the hot people mostly live in Brooklyn?”

“Mostly. But in Soho there’s lots of people who think they’re hot. So at least there’s that.”

After Hedwig, we  drank wine, and ate expensive Pizza at Roberta’s (In Bushwick). They have a flaccid dick driftwood clock worth mentioning:

Flaccid dick clock at Roberta's Pizza
Flaccid dick clock at Roberta’s Pizza

I then went to the Gotham City Lounge to meet up with an old film school friend and his boyfriend.

Gotham City Lounge bathroom
Gotham City Lounge bathroom

This was the beginning of a series of a million happy beers, which ended in me taking a cab back to Sam’s house (a trip I barely remember taking) and waking up dead.

I’m currently psyching myself up for my first SOLO subway trip to Manhattan. I’m meeting Messy there, and we’re gonna walk the hi-line. Afterwards, I’ll be meeting Sam for dinner and some stand up comedy show in Chelsea.

Good lord. More fun to be had. Gotta pace myself. Gotta break the wall of fun!

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