What the World Needs Is Another Drinkin Story Like I Need a Hole in My Heart

I wouldn't drink so much if my drinks weren't free, though. Between all the guys I meet, see, and know, I never have to pay, so I just drink, and the shots come, and the buy-backs, and the beers, and the cigarettes, and then the next thing I know I am that drunk person who fell on the side walk and can't stand up because it's the first time she's sat down in over an hour and she realizes from the rain-soaked pavement that she doesn't want to keep walking, but rising to her feet is nearly impossible becuase it requires the use of a limb, and that limb is limp and bruised from the fall, so she waits until finally her companions notice her just chillin on the sidewalk, and help her to her feet. We stopped bar-hopping at that point, but my ass was wet.

I saw La Boheme on Broadway Saturday night. I looked fabulous, and felt good (though a little hungry) and my companion was Kate, a fine girl for such a date. Baz Luhrman is an icon of my generation and I will carry this experience with me as an honor for until the end of my days.

Michael, my bartender, is indeed a pleasure to be around. I hope I know him for as long as I'm in New York. I don't want to go out with him, though, because I enjoy the dynamic of having the bar between us when we talk. I would lose all my confidence and turn into a different person if we were in an environment outside of the one we've constructed. Our construction is good.

He's a drummer and a jewelry maker; likes music with a sexy beat.

Niko, the waiter at Patio, seems to think he's got the chance of a snowball's sort so he brazenly approached my face with his, and I discreetly offered my cheek. There was a second time (my mistake) and he lipped my ear, like a horse, and then I saw his avant-garde production of Hamlet and therein witnessed Niko's penis for the entire second half of the play. I don't think I'm really going to be able to allow him to flirt with me anymore. He's not my type one bit.

I wanted to stay at Patio all night. Michael and I were in the middle of a conversation, but this other guy who was there with us wanted to go to Nevada Smith's and bump-and-grind with the frattish ones. I followed suit and ordered a Guinness, and I lost track of time, and my wallet. It was after four in the morning when I exited a cab and went to pay, but from my purse found no tender. Purses are uncustomary for me, but I was wearing a dress for the play.

Nevada's was cleared out, but the kind bartender had found my wallet, completely intact, sans eighty bucks.

You can't hurt me by taking my money.

It took me nearly an hour to travel out to Brooklyn, alone, completely loaded, and tired. I was that drunk person on the subway platform commenting to no one specificly, and blankly about how much she hates the mutherfuckin rats running around across the tracks. The girls let me enter, and gave me a bed, and I slept turbulently with hideous dreams until 11:00, and then the alcohol was spent of its course in my bloodstream, and I slept soundly for two hours. The girls bought me lunch after I awoke to the shock that I had no flow.

How could I have lost my wallet?

Perhaps when I reached in my purse to get my pen to write down my email address to the persistent, twenty-five-year-old, Peurto-Rican stock-broker.

"And for Michaela I would guess a stock-broker, definitely, and preferably a Puerto-Rican one."

Indeed no.

I don't know where he came from, but he talked for a long time, and I think I told him I would like to speak Portuguese and he said it'll be in a month when he emails me.

Drinking leads to many wasted days of no Christmas shopping, and loss of money, and indiscrimination.