It’s the inevitable changing of the guard here in NYC when the seasons change and the citizens of this fair city seems to go berzerk. Including myself. Maybe it’s because we all go cabin fever crazy after the long Winters here. As the first warm sunny days of Spring finally arrive we get all giddy with anticipation. Outdoor seating along all the restaurants on the avenues magically appear. Daylight savings time hits and we have longer hours of sun. The bars and restos open up the front windows letting in an al fresco dining and drinking environment. People are happy and overjoyed to finally be outside. Seems as if all the bars are doing hopping business. In my little part of the world on the Upper East Side of NYC where I reside in Yorkville there has been a slow transformation happening. Normally, this part of town has been more affordable to live in, but also had a stigma of being on the “older grandma and granpa” side with a mix of “old money folks” and “frat boy and sorostitute” bar scene mixed in. Wow – has that seemingly changed overnight as this area has been revitalized with a mix of terrific craft beer and cocktail bars, along with a big time food scene. Sure, it will never be the Lower East Side, Meatpacking District, or Village nightlife destination, but hot damn I don’t have to go downtown to get absolutely blotto anymore along with stuffing myself into a food coma!
Holy crap was I drunk on Sunday! Black. Out. Drunk.
Now, here is where this can get a wee bit dangerous, as all this temptation is making my liver extremely angry at me. Yes, I had a bender this past Sunday, and boy was it a good one! How I even made it home alive is beyond me. Seems as if I’m not the only one though who abuses themselves like this. Blame it on Spring weather. Blame it on daylight savings. Blame it on all the great bars here now. The voices in my head whispering in my ear “drink, eat, drink – do it”. Yes, I do hear voices. They transpire against me at times. I can’t help but to go along with them. They are a fun bunch. So, I decided to take a group of friends on a “cocktail crawl” of my hood on Sunday. As they day went on and we hit up over half a dozen places the memories get fuzzier and fuzzier. This is what I was told but have little recollection –
– I was slurring my words and what I was saying was undecipherable. At one point I think I was speaking in a tongue of a long dead language.
– Someone said I ran out into the road screaming and singing. At least I’m a happy drunk. Good thing my pants stayed on.
– I heard we had pizza after that which I don’t remember but somehow I took a picture of it. Why did I take a picture? I don’t know. I think I instagrammed it. Hope it tasted good. I was also told I tried to eat my cell phone. Pizza, cell phone, all looked the same at that point. Shake some garlic and hot pepper on it. Yum.
– When we stumbled home my gal told me that I broke into her cupcake bag (we bought cupcakes along the way?) and ate most of it and put it back in the bag. She was really mad at me for that one. I don’t remember this. Deny, deny, deny.
– I ate almost a whole gallon of butter pecan ice cream while sitting on the floor of our apartment and passed out with the bucket and spoon in my hands. I have no recollection of that either. No one took pictures, thankfully, so it must not have happened!
Yesterday, one of my friends on the crawl, who was as messed up as I was, actually hit up a Speakeasy after that and pretty much proclaimed he was “White Girl Wasted” and somehow brought a half eaten pizza to work. He also can’t remember much of how this happened, and also wonders how any of us were still alive at this point. Good times!
Somehow, I did not vomit. I really have no clue how I made it into work on Monday. Gatorade was my best friend all day. I recovered. Not my dignity, but my stomach. I do have to say we had a great time and the bars we hit were exceptional. From what I remember. This is a week of drying out. I keep telling myself that I’m not drinking for quite a while. Then the voices in my head on Friday will whisper “It’s the weekend” and the temptation will start all over again. I blame NYC, the Spring weather, the voices, and all the great bars now in my hood. It’s not me, it’s you.