33 Hours In The Life

33 Hours In The Life


Friday, May 14th

3:30 PM – Take a final glance at my computer screen – fuck this noise.  Make mental note of trading balance as compared to two weeks ago.  Weep softly to myself while considering how many bottles of YTail that is.  When’s Iron Man 2 on?  3:45?  Perfect, hopefully won’t be a repeat of the Up In The Air incident.

3:40 PM – Survey the situation: ten total people in the theater – crowds are for working stiffs.  Choose a spot in front of a single grandma (single as in alone, I didn’t get a sense of her relationship status.)  SO pulls out a huge turkey sandwich in clear violation of the “no outside food or drinks” policy.  Fuck the establishment.  (Side note: when I was in high school I went ballistic on the local theater when they wouldn’t let me take my 84 ounce Mt. Dew in with me, citing violation of concession monopolization laws.  Needless to say, they let me pass, Dew in hand.)

3:44 PM – Uh oh.  Single granma is joined by a thirty year old man.  I hear the word “mom” uttered.  He starts laughing way too loud at things that are not even moderately funny (going so far as to shout “redonkulous!” after hearing the word – apparently for the first time – on the Shrek 3 trailer).  I have a preternatural ability to fill in a vivid backstory based on a minimal amount of information – I sensed that they were a mother and son who had had a major falling out and were trying to repair their relationship by meeting in public places for short visits.  Drug problem, most likely.  Although, being Chelsea, she may have had issues with his orientation – although no gay guy is literally LOLing at animated donkeys saying “redonkulous,” so I’m sticking with the drug theory.  I decide to give them a pass based on their efforts to move forward as a family, despite the fact that the guy wanted to fucking chat through the whole movie and seemed to have a precise idea of how much palladium rusting should be gaspworthy.

6:00 PM – I’ve tried to cut back on the movie reviews on here, because they were stupidly redundant.  “That movie was good and those people were good in it.  It had a good script.  It was well cast.”  That is not particularly helpful to anyone.  Anyway, I enjoyed the movie, but the IM franchise is the rare superhero movie that is better when the alter ego is on screen.  Going to my boring well one more time, this series is really well cast.  The downside is that there is very little tension to the actual heroics, no palpable sense that IM is ever in danger.  The climax was pretty anti-climactic.  But still an enjoyable couple of hours that gets ones mind off the daily grind.

6:15 PM – I have been on a real Domino’s kick of late, don’t sleep on their oven-roasted sandwiches.  The chicken bacon ranch is pretty formidable.  Warning: it somehow arrives at around 540 degrees; I recommend sticking it in the freezer for about 45 minutes before taking that first bite.

6:30 PM – It’s time to start rocking hard.  You know what that means: King of Queens double feature.

7:30 PM – TBS is dangerous, you can lose 2-3 hours there given the strength of their early evening lineup.  Need to snap out of it but am in some kind of trance.  Plus, I have no booze.

7:45 PM – It’s time to take a shower and put the mesh shorts away for a day or two.

8:16 PM –  A plan has evolved: will go grab some margaritas at Suenos and see how late Chipotle is open along the way.  Save money by not eating at Suenos, just boozing there.  The Domino’s did not stick – one downside of the oven-baked.

8:53 PM – The girl at the counter says Chipotle is open til 11:00.  This is the same girl who always tells me I have a doppelganger that comes in almost as much as I do, with the exception being that he’s a successful lawyer and I’m apparently borderline homeless.  Nice touch: since SO is with me, she throws in the word “bum” to describe my attire, in comparison to the suit-wearing Apparently Very Handsome Lawyer.

9:02 PM – Suenos menu perusal: they have a $69 margarita.  Reminder: do not order that fucking thing.  Jesus.  Basic margs for us, free chips and salsa, let the frugality begin!

10:37 PM – Hmmm, potential flaw in the plan….7 basic margaritas comes to $86 before tip.  Still a three-figure night and I’m still gonna have to drop twenty bucks on some burritos.

10:44 PM – Pretty chaotic in Chipotle, two drunk chicks screaming and stumbling all over the place.  Burritos acquired.

10:46 PM – Time to mix it up a bit, decide to go with the Yellow Tail Pinot Noir.  Also known as the dark purple label.  Wine store owner applauds my choice.

11:07 PM – Big night lined up from here: Friday Night Lights, Breaking Bad, Glee, New Adventures of Old Christine, The Soup….choices galore…big, big night…

11:08 PM – Holy crap, I found Party Down on netflix via PS3!  Supposedly that shit is highlarious.  Being daredevils, we change plans on a dime and decide to dive right in.  (Hey, Netflix: Could you make the menus a little less confusing on the PS3 version?  We’ve looked through the entire catalog like seven times and I’ve never seen PD before, I just happened to luck into a search screen.  How about something fucking radical, like a TV section arranged alphabetically?)

2:15 AM – PD is pretty, pretty strong.  The blonde-haired dude kills me.  His facial expressions and reactions are up there with the Brittany the cheerleader on Glee (I know, ghey) and Will Arnett in anything.

2:20 AM – Try to read one paragraph of McMillan’s second options tome.  Out like a lizight.



A literal sausagefest



Saturday, May 15th

1:00 PM – There’s some sort of time-wasting wormhole or something going on, no way we are getting our day started this late.  Tons of shit to do, got a bday celebration to go to but need to crank out a 7 mile run first.  In a bit of a time crunch as wanted to be done running by like 12:30, which is impossible as that’s earlier than when we woke up.  Fucking wormholes.

1:01 PM – I have compromised my favorite event of the day: lunch.  Consolation prize: stocking up on small bags of Funyuns proved prescient, rescuing me from complete sadness.  Turkey wrap and Funyuns?  Not a horrendous start to any day.

1:10 PM – I’m ready to go to the gym.  (Yes, go ahead and call me a vag for using a treadmill, but the 1/2 marathon is next week and the only thing I give a shit about now is not getting hurt.  So I will be treadmilling like an enthusiastic hamster.)

1:30 PM – SO is ready to go to the gym.  I continue to be mystified by why it takes her 25 times longer than me to get ready to go to the gym.  Double wormhole?  Time sinkholes?

3:05 PM –  That run went entirely against the spirit of Funyuns – decidedly unfun.  I will spare you a photo of my right foot, but there is a patch of skin that looks like it’s trying to secede from the union.

3:30 PM – I am ready to go to the birthday party.  Reiteration: I do not enjoy shaving.

3:45 PM – SO is ready to go to the birthday party.  This is another mystery to me – putting on running shorts, a sports bra and a shirt takes 30-45 minutes.  Showering and putting on a dress to go to a party takes 11 minutes.

4:30 PM – Arrive at our destination, the mother-fucking Bohemian Beer Garden in Queens!  This place is awesome, the weather is perfect and we even have (most of) a table.  I don’t drink much beer, but sign me up for the MFing beer garden.  The rare chance to sit around, get drunk and watch people make tactical errors playing Uno.

4:31 PM – Allow me to reiterate: I generally hates crowds, lines and, often, human interaction in general, but I really enjoy the beer garden.  Right up there with 7-11, the liquor store and Tamarind restaurant in always providing a great experience.

4:45 PM – We ordered a kielbasa (insert “you like sausage” joke here), a double cheeseburger, and fries.  Grabbed two pitchers of Pilsner (via one of the most haphazard line/ordering systems out there) and we were off to a good start.

4:47 PM – Some dipshit is trying to reserve space at tables for “about 20 people who are gonna be here shortly.”  Okay, we’re gonna go ahead and sit here while you wait for you mythical “friends” to arrive.

6:30 PM – The soiree was thrown by a grad school buddy in honor of his wife’s (perpetual) 29th birthday, saw a bschool guy I hadn’t seen in eight years.  He lives in the city, which I didn’t even realize; keeping in touch is definitely not a strong suit.

6:44 PM – One of the other guys at the party works for a small bank;  I used to work closely with their CEO on some deals.  Related the story of how he put his penis on the forehead of a sleeping client on a private jet.  The dude was notoriously inappropriate and apparently had an innuendo-laced encounter with Maria Bartiromo on CNBC once.  Still, penis on the head of a client is up there.  (The client thought it was funny, which was surprising given that the client guy was pretty much a dick during the whole deal.  Although I did later run into him later in the bahamas and he was in a much better mood – the $8 million he made after we sold the company apparently soothed his soul.)

8:47 PM –  After about 20 pitchers of beer, remember that we have another thing to do tonight.  Start to get ready to leave then realize that a dude who’s been here since 12:30 has to drive back and feels he might blow an oddly specific .11 BAC.  A plan is put in place for him to eat again and not drink for a couple hours – my buddy and his wife (the birthday girl) are riding back with him.  To aid the cause, I suggest that we each eat 19 chocolate chip cookies.

9:08 PM – Having a little difficulty with the train station stairs due to the arrival of my archenemy, lactic acid.  Hear the ominous sound of the subway loading up as we struggle up the stairs.  I try a gambit I’d only seen in movies, yelling “wait, wait, hold the train!” as I slide onto the platform just as the doors close.  Inexplicably, one of the subway guys sticks his head out, gives me a nod, and opens the door for us to jump in.  I have never seen that before.  Very good subway luck today.

9:33 PM – Get out in midtown and get in line at the motherfucking halal cart on 53rd and 6th!  This is a double header of deliciousness.  I’ve never “eaten in” at the halal cart – we were going to just sit on the steps outside China Grill – and so was allowed to apply my own white sauce and red sauce.

9:34 PM – The super mean-looking guy handling the money smiles broadly when I ask for extra pita and then gives us like 4 lbs of pita.  I counter with a $5 tip.  He does not seem super mean any longer, actually seems like a great guy.  I ask him if he wants to play some wii bowling later.  Rain check.

9:35 PM – Mistakes were made.  Too fucking hot!  Red sauce giveth deliciousness, but may also taketh away the ability to eat any more.

9:40 PM – Head over to radio city while the stomach acid battles the lactic acid for my #1 acid spot.  (Note: scientists need not respond with “actually, DNA/RNA/amino acids would sit atop such a theoretical ranking.”  I have no real interest in the acid composition of my internals, I just know my aching legs are making me shuffle like a 90 year old and there’s a real chance I’m about to projectile a stream of red sauce-laced varmit all over the place.)

9:50 PM – Arrive, for the first time, at Radio City Music Hall for the Chelsea Handler standup show.  Josh Wolf is opening for her.  This is actually not dissimilar from most nights when we watch Chelsea Handler and Josh Wolf.

9:51 PM – Ummmm, what is the opposite of a sausagefest?  Ginastorm?  Whatever it is, this looks like a casting call for slutty extras in a Sex and the City sequel.  Girls are running in wolf packs of 7-8, apparently competing to see whose dress will cover the smallest portion of their ass.

9:55 PM – See a 350 pound woman with a light blue tee shirt that says “coslopus” with an arrow pointing straight down?  Is that how you spell that?  I always thought she was saying “guhslopus”?  Either way, that was an unfortunate choice for this particular woman.

10:12 PM – Time for some drinks, I guess only vodka makes sense when you’re at a Chelsea Handler show.

10:55 PM – One last trip to the men’s room – holy shit, am I in the women’s room?  The place is overrun with chicks…I guess that’s fine given the girl:guy ratio must be 28:1 or so.

11:30 PM – Josh Wolf is pretty good, but it seems a little strange that such a young guy builds his entire set around his kids.  He still manages to be pretty funny (and extremely filthy) but a different side than you see on Chelsea Lately.  (I also doubt his 14 year old daughter has to buy 34 DD bras – fucking comedians are always exaggerating.)

11:31 PM – Chelsea!

That white blip in the middle is her! For clearer view, see monitor on the left


11:35 PM – Chelsea’s stage persona is also different than what you get on the show – or her books for that matter.  She’s fake-angry at everyone and everything.  Works for me.

11:38 PM – Two girls behind us are laughing hysterically at everything that Chelsea says.  They might be related to redonkulous guy from yesterday.  No mention of maternal estrangement, though.

11:41 PM – Using my special context-generating ability, I determine that one of the girls is getting married and these tickets are a gift from the other, likely fatter (from the guttural laugh), one.  One last hurrah before embracing the reality of life and the blahness to come.

11:52 PM – SO notes that the girls, who have been saying “that’s so right” and “haha, that’s totally me” throughout the show, go strangely silent after Chelsea references a friend who had to go on the wagon because of gang bang participation.  End of agreement.

12:38 AM – Show’s over.  Chilly’s exhausted.  Great show.

12:40 AM – Now twice as many girls in the men’s room.  (Note to exhibitionists/pervs: if you want to expose yourself but possibly have justice on your side, I recommend a Chelsea Handler concert.)  Exhaustion.  Time for some sleep.


Lots of stuff coming this week as I’m on the wagon before the race and have a couple of things in the hopper, including a look at my summer associate gig.

Later,

Chilly17

One thought on “33 Hours In The Life

  1. Pingback: Arabic Dish: “Fasoolia” Lamb, green beans w/ Rice Halal Cooking

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.