I woke up fairly late on Thursday. Vivid dreams plagued my sleep, but I continued to lay still until I heard stirring from my roommates. My plan was to make it outside to enjoy the day and explore. However, Jess went to the gym. Then Michael went to sign up for a gym. I read the rest of “I Don’t Care About Your Band” (If you haven’t read it, I suggest it. I will lend you my copy and swear it’s one of the most entertaining–and true to life–things you will ever read.). And, before you knew it, time had gotten away from me and it was 5 o’clock–Michael was headed to work and Jess, to school.
I showered the travel off of me (if you travel, you get what I mean), and worked out a bit (whatever working out you can do in an apartment, which I tend to do often). I caught up on some social media sites, added to my Pinterest, and Skyped. I was eager to leave the apartment, and that want was solved when my former coworker, Ariana, called me.
To understand the bond Ari and I have is to realize how much time we spent together during my 4 months at my previous job. Most media company employees catch my drift–early mornings, late nights that then turn in to early mornings again… delirious laughter, cupcakes, instant messaging systems, and funny faces across the room. I am lucky to have found this girl. She made it easy to go to work every day–even when it was a Thursday and our least favorite clients were back at our doorstep, demanding more without paying us for our services.
When she called, I was happy. I was also a bit surprised, seeing as nights at that job normally turned out so late that it was impossible to make plans. But i find myself underestimating how much she loves me often, and it always brings a smile to my face to realize she is cutting her day “short” (around 9pm) for me. Her phone call brought news that she, Shai, and Brian were the only three in the office and with it came the invitation down to the SoHo haunt to visit before our shenanigans on the town.
I dressed down. Perhaps I should have dressed up. This was a big event… 2 months sans my dear Ari, and I should have been in my Sunday best! Alas, my ego was all about badassery that day… so a black Hanes v-neck, black bracelet, crimped hair, gray jeans, frayed black boots, and icy-cool glare completed my wardrobe. I set out to the F-train to buy my monthly Metro pass and see my favorite little munchkins.
It was too hot for my outfit. But I went on, too stubborn to turn back and change. Once I reached SoHo, I was reminded of why the area made me so angry. Shai is right when he says that people around there dress so well that you feel subordinate and inadequate. “I’m not worthy!” But, walking down Spring St., it was ever more clear to me that it’s an attitude thing. And I was clearly over SoHo, so my attitude probably fit right in.
Up the stairs and in the door… “I forgot how much I hate SoHo…” was interrupted by smiles from Shai and Ari, and a squeal from little miss Giggles herself (Ari’s office nickname). Between their last emails of the day and the sun setting out the window, we caught up. Mostly, it was Shai and I catching up because Ari and I had stayed just as annoyingly close as before. It’s no wonder that Shai didn’t want us to leave without him.
We escaped the confines of the 3rd floor walk-up to West 55th St., where I had told Jess we would meet her after class. We got on the train, and Ari and I taught Shai what “YOLO” means. Destination? McGee’s. In other words, the pub that inspired McClaren’s. If you have any amount of pop culture knowledge, then you understand why this was so important to me. If not, then McClaren’s is the downstairs hang out in How I Met Your Mother (only the greatest show ever made, along with The O.C. and New Girl). It was a must, and I was so happy!
We missed the 8 hour Happy Hour by 2 minutes.
In the door, up the stairs. Confusion because it might have been the wrong staircase, but had we tried a door we would have found the bar. Down the stairs, giggling and confused. In the main room, up the 2nd set of stairs. Bar. “I.D.s?”
Handed over my driver’s license, ready for the usual attack. “You look too young.” “Are you sure this is you?” “What does the Missouri driver’s license look like?” “What’s your address?” “I’m not buying it!” “You’re no older than 17!”
Instead, I was stared at. Then, “M-I-Z!”
“Z-O-U!” It had to be done. I was screaming the second half of the MU chant back at the bartender. And she. was. LOVING. it.
“Your drink’s on me!”
No matter how our night went after that, I was convinced this was my new favorite place. It all went uphill from there (and conversation that we actually had, about “uphill” versus “downhill” and the conflicting meanings–remember, we are all still nerds). From the three of us, giggling and chatting at the bar, to finding seating relatively close to the bar with a view of outside (and the stairs, to people watch). Then Jess joined, and food was ordered (and sampled, to which Shai told the bartender, “MARRY ME!”), awkward photos were taken, and I found myself in such a genuinely happy place. These people were all fighting sleep and avoiding their obligations for ME! Selfish, and yet so comforting.
When we walked out the door, Shai went left to his Upper West Side abode, while Jess, Ari and I braved Times Square to get Ari on her train. The screaming, foul language, and threats to passers-by (Thanks, Ari) were some of the most heart-warming moments of the night, if not simply because they fed into the nostalgia from my former office’s FORMER location in Times Square (you following me?). Once Jess and I realized OUR train wasn’t running all the way up to its regular spot, we walked Central Park and up. But not before she stopped and apologized to a carriage-pulling horse for its sad existence, and its owner gave her a look of disturbance and confusion.
But, hey, we made it back to the apartment in time for Jess to send her paper in to her class.