One of these days, I really ought to say to myself: "You know, self, perhaps it's not the best idea to get drunk and then get about 3 hours of sleep on a work night. As we discovered last week, that doesn't really work so well."
Then again, fuck it. I'm up, dammit, and we do know that is half the battle. Though, I might still be drunk or at least working my way to ridiculously hungover. Stupid whiskey shots. Bad Candice. I just need to invest in a pair of sunglasses and hope too many people don't try to talk to me today. But of course, watch me be in work up to my eyeballs. I'll just move half speed. It'll be okay.
This is a work in progress. The whole story is forthcoming. And you thought I was kidding when I said I'm back to a post a day, didn't you?
ETA: Can you believe when I got there they actually had work stuff for me to do? What's that about? Meanwhile, I feel like I'm gonna vomit. Good times. But I know you don't really want to hear about that afterword to my little
adventure, so onto the hijinks...
Yesterday was one of those banner days. I knew from that start that it was gonna play out like a good one.
I killed some time strolling down from Chelsea Piers to Christopher Street through Hudson River Park. I never cease to be amazed how great it looks -- minus the occasional dilapidated warehouse here and there. When I grow up and make some serious money (or ingratiate myself into some rich person's will -- it's all the same really), I want a loft on West Street. One night PrincessNella and I walked along that strip and glanced into apartments (since apparently obscenely rich people have a thing against curtains) and basically drooled as we went about our business. But yesterday was lovely and it was nice watching everyone stroll/bike/walk by as I camped out on a bench and chattered away on the phone before making my way to the party.
Because the fest was rolling with the big bucks, they rented this whole place out and gave us an open bar and food to amuse ourselves with. I was reunited with my Tuesday screening buddy and we gathered others to make a pack of wisecracking booze and food hounds. Being the wandering type, I periodically made rounds up and down the venue. I stopped on the middle floor when I realized that I had an optimum skewer grabbing position and stood to wait. I found myself in a conversation with a guy looking for a veggie skewer, but was shit out of luck. The carnivores ruled for a change. He was the first and only fest volunteer that is a filmmaker yet wasn't creepily hyper focused/intense/boorish about using the experience as a launchpad for Hollywood domination. We got to talking about movies, music, and all that shit and then bonded over whiskey shots (which is the reason I'd like to crawl in a hole and die about now). The worst part about the shots was that I actually said that I was a trooper mixing different alcohols, but once whiskey came into the mix, I was a goner. You'd think that would've stopped me, but I'm me, so...yeah. I did my part as a Man Man shill to convince him to go to one of the upcoming shows and even dragged him along with my merry band as we changed venues.
Drunk people are funny. About 8 of us made our way up to here for whatever reason and ran like kids through the torrential rains. We settled into the bar and I drank water trying to at least make waking up Tuesday until we all split up after an hour or so.
On my train ride home, I finished that last sandwich and went to bed without passing go once I got home, sometime around 3am. Did I mention I'm experimenting with waking up around 6:30? Yeah. My eyes were blazing red, my head was pounding, and all I could think was that I could really throw up. That feeling never left me unfortunately but I didn't, so it's all good. I don't want to die anymore fortunately but I'm not feeling good. I think I'm on going out hiatus...until Thursday at least.Posted by Candicissima at May 11, 2004 07:28 AM