Trying to write on a moving bus last night would have been hard enough without the alcoholic frivolity. So deciphering my notes today is proving to be a bit of a challenge. First I have to say how annoying the woman behind me on the bus was. She was taping on a water bottle, then the window, then the back of my seat like a metronome, steady and non-stop. I turned to tell her to stop but she had the ‘crazy eyes’. So I simply switched seats. I could feel her craziness staring in my direction. I avoided eye contact.
I had been out with a bunch of coworkers starting out by meeting my friend Tami and walking over to the mega-size joint with the small Irish pub feel – Harmony View (210 W 50th Street, NYC). This is fast becoming one of my favorite spots. Owner Emmett O’Lunney and his ultra-friendly staff always greet me with a smile. They make sure they everyone there is having a good time. No easy task considering the size of the place and the crowd. Best of all they understand the concept of the ‘buy back’.
I made my rounds since, as usually happens, the night split off into several distinct parties. There was the I.S. group who normally go to Mars 2112 for cheap drinks. Dmitry owed me a drink. Being Russian, he insisted that it be Vodka based. So I asked for a Vodka Cranberry (the most basic combo I could think of at the time). It came in a girlie glass with a big ol’ white soda straw so it looked like a Shirley Temple. The funny barbs flew about me and to add insult to injury, the drink was weak. Dmitry, Tami and I laughed saying that we’d been spoiled by the Russian Samovar.
Another group consisted of what are now former coworkers from my last magazine. Meghann, Holly, Jen and Ashlin came in, had a couple of drinks and were off to Zanzibar (645 9th Ave, NYC). Holly told me to to meet he there tempting me with the promise of ten women drinking. She knows the way to my heart. So I gathered up some friends including Helen, Mitch, Ronny, Mel and a new person I’d never met named Jennifer (I think).
Thanks to the usual procrastination that comes with coordinating the migration of a group of drinkers from one bar to another, and the need for pizza, we were running late. Never will i go to this Pizza place again. The place is called ‘A Slice of NY Pizza’ on Eighth between 45th and 46th and has a big neon pizza sign welcoming suckers. $3.00 a slice … what the fuck?! Even for NYC that is totally outrageous. And it’s not like the pizza was even that good. Mitch got a water with his slice and it came to nearly $7.00!
By the time we got to Zanzibar, most everyone was leaving. Luckily Meghann and Holly stayed as we drank our drinks. My little group was waning too thanks to the lethargic aftermath of the hot pizza. So one by one we said our goodbyes. Meghann is still trying to get in on my Paris trip. She said she’ll come as a translator. She is one of the biggest Francophiles I’ve ever met. Holly and I joked about how the party cleared just as we showed.
One by one we said goodnight. Helen, who is a fellow New Jersian, walked with me to the Port Authority. We were tempted to go into Rudy’s (627 Ninth Ave, NYC) for their hot dogs. I’ve never been and I was told I need to get there. We decided to keep walking. Once in the terminal, we noticed a dirty trick being played on our hazy heads. The escalators were reversed. The normal up was down and vice-versa. This was on all of them. As we got upstairs we were lured by the sound of horrific Karaoke emanating from McCann’s. Of course, we had to go in.
McCann’s is perfectly located inside the terminal among the entrances to the gates. It attracts all sorts of weary commuters with a need to unwind with drinks and songs. There was the usual array of bad karaoke (‘Sweet Caroline’ of course) but among the bad were the incredible and the surreal.
Several singers that we swore had to be pros. Broadway, studio … something. Then there was the Korean business man with mad moves dancing with the black girls while this white yuppie dude performed ‘Baby Got Back’. Then there was the poor guy that waited all night to sing ‘Sympathy for the Devil’.
Put aside the fact that he was terrible, it takes balls to get up like that. What makes this tragic was, after all of this, he missed his bus and was left stranded. At one point he was asking the crowd if anyone could put him up for the night. I don’t know if anyone did.
Helen and i were having so much fun that we nearly missed our busses. Luckily we rushed out with only moments to spare and made it. Earlier in the night we joked about trading cell numbers and drunk messaging each other. As I sat in my seat on the bus, I sent a drunken message to her. It read ‘Drunk Text ;-)’. That’s when the tap, tap, tapping of the crazy lady behind me began and I switched seats. Soon after I was home.
