The free drinks were from 10:30-11:30. This was at Pacha, for some party celebrating something or another. Pacha is a club in midtown. It opened about a year ago, or maybe it was two years ago, I cant really remember. What I do remember was that there was much fanfare surrounding the inaugural night. With a lot of press and sidewalk posters and internet buzz circling the opening party. I didn’t go to that either, the opening party that is, but from what I heard it was pretty meh anyway.
I wanted to go tonight though. I had planned on it even.
I planned on getting there at 10. Well prepared for the start of free drink season. A man has to take advantage of the open windows available to him. Especially if they involve escape from blame, a reason to act silly, or free liquor. But a series of events prevented me from going and I ended up in a typical Brooklyn evening: filled to the molars with beer and wine, two thirds of a xanax bar racing through my bloodstream, and watching syndicated episodes of crime dramas on television.
In a way it was all leading up to that anyway.
The first step towards this dismal display of socializing and being an all around man about town, was the 12 hour marathon session with Adobe Indesign I had to endure on Monday night. It lasted from 9pm to 10am and it never stopped in between. See, contrary to popular belief, I am hardly adept at using the com-poot-ter for anything much more than writing and surfing the internet for porn. Sure, I can find some sweet links occasionally, but that doesn’t involve much more than shuffling around my mouse and clicking every now and again. Other than that I’m an idiot behind the keyboard.
So following this lengthy, amphetamine-less night of arduous task, I spent the rest of the day between naps and waking up to check my email. I would refresh a few times then sit back for a second, gathering up in my head just where exactly I was. Then I would take a nap, wake up, then hit refresh again.
I am alive only for the refresh of my inbox. I am connected to everyone in the world. I am only waiting to hear from them.
That night I went on a date with my girlfriend. She bought a new dress. It was tight and black and accented her curves and cleavage. We ate the best goat cheese tortellini ever made and drank wine from glass then a carafe and then a bottle. The waiter had a goatee and didn’t pay much attention to us. We snuck out between meals to smoke cigarettes and joked that we were being so French. We held hands across the table and left a 20% tip and took a cab ride home.
That morning I woke up with even more to do. I’ve been using the phrase “busier than a busty whore during fleet week” to describe the last few days and I think I’ll use it again:
I’ve been busier than a busty whore during fleet week.
And I mean a really good looking, 36 DD, hips like a day dream, lips like a disaster waiting to happen kinda whore. The kind you ache to pay for.
First there is the other one sheet, the one that just came into fruition. It’s for an album we just signed. An album that may or may not be worth any effort at all. This is the work on top of the work that’s under the work I have to do already. But its got priority because its due tomorrow, and tomorrow is that day that comes yesterday, especially if you’re on the type of clock I’m watching. Shit, I have to catch up even before I’m behind. So this one sheet is due tomorrow and so I have to learn Adobe Indesign yesterday and so I have be on top of everything like a primary color today. God damn. God fucking damn.
This means I had to spend today learning a computer design program. Does this mean my blog template will suddenly gain some sort of miraculous revamp? With a million colors highlighting the many facets of my character, and cleverly placed pictures with various grades of transparency and gradient? No.
This just means I have less time on my hands to be nothing but a man that types words every now and again.
And apparently I should be at this party. I should be milking my free drinks. I should be drunk by now. I should be slurring. But I'm not, and I wont be. And I realized this at midnight tonight, when the free drink specials ended and I wasn’t there.
Big Cheese has excuses for not posting as much as he used to. I, on the other hand, do not. Connie Chung is a train headed straight for a wall. oop! she just ran into it. David Bowie is funkier than you or I will ever be. and for all those wondering, yes i am black and yes this is offensive.