Whew. I MIGHT be getting paid tomorrow…
So this really wasn’t anyone’s fault, it just seems like everything that could have possibly gone wrong — wait for it — went horribly wrong. I went in early on Tuesday to get things figured out…they got figured out…and then I realized they were sending my check to my house in KC. No bueno. I try calling them up to get them to re-route it, but they’re closed for the day. I finally get in touch with them today and they agree to send the check to my building here. There’s still another problem though — there are no USBanks in New York. Shit. So what do I have to do? Sit in Bank of America for two freaking hours to set up a new account. After all this BS, that check better be sitting pretty in my mailbox come lunch break. If not, I can’t make any promises for what I won’t do.
Fourth of July was pretty sweet. We woke up around 8 to head over to Maclean’s friend Ginny’s apartment in the Lower East Side. Building was very cool, and her apartment was on the top floor with two terraces; one overlooking downtown and the Brooklyn Bridge (the one where my Facebook picture is taken) and the other looking at the Empire State Building.
We start drinking because we’re supposed to be at Coney Island by 11 for the Hot Dog Eating Contest. Maclean and I both bought twelve packs but couldn’t finish them in this short time frame, so we threw the remaining beers into plastic bags and took them on the subway. We pass over the Brooklyn Bridge and boy, do I have to pee. We have about 22 stops left and it gets to the point where I can’t even talk to anyone because I’m afraid I’m going to let loose all over the Subway. We make it to about four stops away and I make the executive decision that me and my kidneys need to get off that train. Maclean comes with and we’re in a pretty dodgy part of Brooklyn and we’re both fratting moderately hard. I waddle down the stairs of the platform into a sandwich shop and a pharmacy looking for a bathroom but no one can help. I then figure out that the majority of these stores don’t have bathrooms, so I’ve gotta solve this problem. I find a strip of houses and scope out a sketchy alleyway that is pretty out-of-view. I make my way over there and pee fast enough to break the speed of sound –I had to, I can’t just leisurely urinate in the alleyway of some Brooklyn duplex — and we get back on the train to make it in time for the Hot Dog Eating Contest. Not going to lie, that thing is a lot more fun to watch on TV. It’s hot, crammed with people, and you can’t see a damn thing. Really anti-climactic, but hey, another cool thing to add to my belt.
We head back to the apartment and continue to drink, but at a steady pace. Ginny’s sister comes over and brings some of her work friends, and I quickly become the token 19-year-old at the party. It wasn’t too big of a problem though because everyone was really
nice. My buzz had kind of worn off at this point, and food had just been served, meaning I was bound to get tired. Couple those with the fact that I had only gotten a few hours of sleep that night and my prescription Vyvanse (stimulant) had just worn off. I started nodding off in the chair and decided that I needed to go home and sleep (I had work in the morning, too). I head back and go straight to bed.
The next thing I know, my door busts open at 3 am and three large security guards come in screaming my name. I shoot up (half-naked) and ask what’s going on when they tell me that they didn’t know if I was alive or not. Considering I wasn’t too drunk when I passed the reception desk, I had no idea why they would even be suspicious of that. Apparently, though, my mom had gotten worried because I had stopped tweeting (sure-fire way of knowing how drunk your kid is) and they had been calling my phone non-stop since about 8 o’clock (about when I went to bed). I’m an extremely heavy sleeper — only three of my fraternity brothers were consistently successful in waking me up throughout the entire year — and I hadn’t heard the security guards banging on the door to see if I was in there, so they logically busted in. I’m so dazed and confused and partially hungover at this point, so I call my mom to tell her that I’m fine and go back to bed still kind of freaked out. I am bummed that I missed the fireworks, but we were in the Lower East Side anyway, so we wouldn’t have been able to see them too well in the first place.
So I didn’t get a byline on Monday’s story (I don’t think it was intentional, we rushed to file it on Friday and Saki has to notify the newsdesk to put me on it, and it probably just slipped his mind). It was a good one though, I’m pretty happy with it. He’s out of town doing an interview for our big story so I’ll probably be pretty busy once he comes back and we start chasing people down and writing it. Meanwhile, I’ve got a few that I’m trying to write, so I’m probably going to get real busy in the next few days with those. Oh well though, it’s the home stretch.
I’m tired, I’m going to bed. I would give you some sort of creative, cute conclusion, but I just need sleep (and the faster I go to bed, the faster I get my paycheck).
All the best