50 Cent and some fuckers were filming something at the corner of my block Saturday. Bastards were screwing up traffic. Correction: Imagine my surprise when Bill said that he heard that 50 had apparently disrupted that video shoot and then me reading Gothamist to also the story with a link to the Post. You can take the boy out of Jamaica (yes, Jamaica, not St. Albans, fucking Post), but apparently can't take the Jamaica out the boy. Why the fuck do I live here again? Oh yes, I'm broke.
Anyways, over the weekend, I had the marathon days to end all marathon days...
I'll say that Thursday into Friday involved not much sleep and I started my day at 10am on the Upper West Side. (That's vague enough but not really.) I trotted home for a productive day of BS and surfing the web until it was time to make my way back to the Upper West Side (not a place Ms. Kitty likes to be) for a joint birthday party of school kids.
Sometime in the early evening, my phone rang. When Unknown comes up on the screen, I always wrestle with myself if I'm going to pick it up or not. I decided to answer and some woman introduced herself as a friend of a friend who wanted to know if I was interested in being an extra in a pilot shoot. I shrugged and said "why not?" and she explained it all to me. I figured I might as well since I could probably get a story out of it. It's all about the readers, man. I casually asked what time I had to be there and she replied 8am(!!!) to end about 1pm. I considered backing out, but I figured it would probably be an interesting little episode. Famous last words.
After a while, I was off to the party. Now, I'm sure I've mentioned before the fact that so many kids from school have moved here and they make me sick with their great jobs and money. If not, I just did. Still, they're nice kids and I've been getting to know them better over the past 6 months or so since they were only peripheral acquaintances there. These great job having folks are all bankers and such, so it's sometimes like a sociological outing when I'm thrown into the middle of this environment. Candice in her Kangol and jeans thrown in the mix with those in chinos and button downs and little cocktail dresses. I hung close to my guest, Trendvickster and we ran into a girl we went to HS with purely by chance. It's a curse I tell you. My party highlight was drinking smuggled Bacardi Gold with Lina, an kindred spirit in that crowd, and also assuring people that I'd be having a party of my own in a month or so. Good times. Eventually, the birthday shindig broke down and I led Lina and her friend E to 419.
I suppose the theme for the night was letting other people experience my world for a while. Where Trendvickster saw a school acquaintance is just around the corner, Lina and E saw the literal man parade at 419. We were standing at the secondary bar in the basement, I on a stoll slightly away from them. Lina and I discussed later that the guys must've figured that I was indicating my singleness (instead of you know, laziness) by setting myself apart, so I was fair game. I was a chatterbox taking it in stride.
In addition to the parade, two notables from the past month or so were in the building. The first who I haven't mentioned (imagine that, not everything is blogged) is someone who is recognizably The Type of me, the typeless. Lina practically encouraged me to jump him just because he was that much so. Not my style though. I've been spoiled by that place. I hang back, I respond, I've become a reactor in there. Still, I got his number, but I haven't called yet. In my defense, I thought about it but figured calling someone on Super Bowl night was pretty much a no-go. The second was Mr. Frenchman from last week -- and I have to admit that I was really stoked by that. Mr. Type and his friend left and I was left with Mr. F, closing down the joint again. For a person I barely know, we've got good banter. The topics of choice were how I who admittedly go out so much have no clue about after hours places, how he doesn't either considering he puts himself across as so "cool," and what a jackass I was for still being out around 4:30 when I had to go home and be back in town by 8. We went off in search of an after hours again and landed at this place that was like $30. Fuck that. I don't pay more than $10 ever to go to anything. I obviously need to start asking around. His cab dropped me off at the F and he made this big show of kissing me on the cheek -- "4 times is the French way." I just felt kinda red-faced (by expression if not coloring) and trotted off slightly smiling.
I walked in my house at 6:30 and had to fight every impulse in my body not to collapse into my bed and hibernate. I showered and dressed and turned right back around out into the world to make that shoot. I got there and everyone was just kinda sitting around. Hurry up and wait in full effect. I ate some breakfast, drank some tea and tried to focus on an object across the room so I didn't fall asleep and fall face first. The plot for the pilot was revealed to be a "male Sex And The Cityesque buddy sitcom." Read as Between Brothers redux but not as funny. Take that as you will. I played a girl enjoying cocktails and pastries with friends. I hope I'm not on TV, but I kinda do. I'm contrary like that. The other extras were a trip. A nagging from Bayside would-be actress...or gemologist...or nurse's aide and her mortage broker Brit husband who asking everyone if they were in the market to buy a house or an apartment. The stereotypical actors including one reading an Uta Hagen book. And another random like me. It apparently was shocking that I had stayed up so late. Who the heck parties all night? I mean, c'mon! I did have to take a little powernap in the corner though. We were there for a long ass time doing nothing.
Around 1:30, we were let out and I dragged myself home. Can you believe I was actually considering still trying to make my 4pm appointment at the gym? When you're awake too long, you become delirious. This was when I ran into the video mess near my block. Traffic on the street was a fucking nightmare. I noticed I had a voicemail from the trainer saying that he couldn't make it, but encouraged me to go in and do cardio or whatever. As I waited about 20 minutes or so for the bus, I decided to call up Farmer. Lovely lovely conversation and he convinced me to stop being a crackhead and go to bed. I was momentarily annoyed when he tried to play me dick by asking where I was planning to stay down there which later fueled that post. You would think that once you're past 25 or so that you stop playing games, but apparently I know every immature "adult" in existence. Ah well. Out of sight, out of mind. That's who he is and that's why I'm not even sweating it.
In the house, I hung up with him, put myself to bed and woke up around 10pm and going out didn't even cross my mind momentarily. But, now my sleep schedule is all screwed up. You win some, you lose some I suppose.
Posted by Candicissima at February 2, 2004 03:51 PM