Whatever That Means

The most anticipated event of the last two months is over. After dropping Maggie off at LaGuardia I've just been sleeping today. I need to refuel from the weekend, get my head together, and become the productive little twenty-four-year-old I always dreamed I could be. I'm crashing off of the weekend's high, once again, and I don't like it. I get really self-deprecating as soon as the fun stops, so I'll save that for later, and just write about what a good time we had since Friday.

We began with the MoMa. Maggie's great to be with in a museum, too, because she walks slowly.

Planet Thai in Williamsburg took our lunch-money and I about died over my wonderful clams, thai style. I don't particularly care for eating all that much, but a good flavor is hard to find, and Planet Thai has never let me down.

The the Guggenheim. Such a bizarre exhibit, which I know says nothing to you the reader, but quite frankly it's out of the ordinary, so you all should take a gander. Exhibits aside, of course, the Gugge is the most wonderful place I've found. Perhaps you've heard me say that Disney World is the happiest place on Earth? Well, I think it's probably the Gugge. Frank Lloyd Wright is such a genius that he built a museum where all you have to do is walk one-foot-in-front-of-the-other and you end up seeing every piece of artwork: nothing missed, and not getting lost. Also, it's more relaxing to LEAVE than it is to first walk through. I'm enthralled by this building. So much more so than Mickey Mouse.

After "rocking the Gugge" we decided to go to the Whitney and just make a full day of the museuming. Very nice free-lance photo-thingy, and then an entire floor of Appalachain quilts that smelt of urine.

We had decided to take the 6 train down to Bleeker, but ended up bee-lining to a bench in the lobby at the godforsaken Whitney where we just shut our brains off. I felt as though my eyes were going to fall from my head. My back hurt, too, because I had had to shovel snow the day before, and Michaela is puny and unaccustomed to work. I stared around the lobby through the lense of "object-of-my-affection" (i.e. digital camera) and photographed strangers. I don't think they noticed, though, because I'm crafty, like a spy, or a ninja.

When I got on the 6 train this guy wouldn't stop looking at me.

So I took his picture and he left me alone. He had an old-fashioned camera over his shoulder, and I bet he was ashamed of me for being so enthralled by modernity. That's probably why he stopped looking at me. He was also probably ashamed of himself for having taken an interest in the first place, too.

We found a very shook-up Asit after getting to his apartment, and rightfully so, considering he had just busted the rear-window out of a passing car that threatened him. asitwere is one crazy motherfucker, I guess, so like, don't step to him, okay?

And then I entered into the sacred presence of Michael after two weeks away. His girlfriend grows increasingly annoying, I tell you, and I'm just a little concerned about my own behavior and maybe I need to not flirt with her boyfriend, but then she just says something stupid and pisses me off so I smile at Michael.

You know, the name Michael is my jinx. I've known 20-some odd people named Michael that I wish I'd never met. Middle names too (Jon Michael (x2), Amrin Michael...). My dad is named Michael. It's just not a good name for me, and yet they are everywhere for me.

I know that I know that I know that when Michael quits at Patio completely (and the day is fast approaching) I will get Michael's phone number. It could be the greatest mistake of my life, too. But when I'm drunk, and I catch him staring at me, biting on a drink-stirrer, I consider giving him my virginity right there in the bathroom.

Maggie and I laughed ourselves off the barstool. We drank multitudes of beverages. Or the equivalent.

It's hard for me to put in here what the content of my good-time was, because when dealing with my closest friends I do not feel at liberty to share with the general public what things I hold most dear.

To you it is just another drinking story.

To me, it was Maggie and Asit, and you don't know why the night was so great because you wouldn't get it even if I told you.

Yesterday I spent getting the house ready for my bosses return, and in the evening went back out for a lovely Italian dinner, and cheap beer at Dempsey's, and then the inevitable fucked-up-edness that goes along with dear old friends on a Saturday night.

We started early, though, so we finished early, and I made it back out to Long Island to catch the end of SNL. Lame.

Okay then.

I guess this constitutes an entry, so I'll go now.