Sunday, November 22, 2009

A weekend in New York: Chapter two

When we got into the city, the first thing we did was get lost...just to get that out of the way. We climbed out of the subway, from which you could nearly spit on our hotel, and, at my instruction, walked in the opposite direction for two blocks. It would be nice to say that I then realized we were going the wrong way, turned us around, and steered us back to the hotel; but I think that might have actually been someone else. (When you’re trying to choose a partner for the Amazing Race, and you find you’ve narrowed it down to Terroni and Blake, alphabetize your list and pick the one on top.)

Graci was waiting for us in the hotel lobby. When I saw her, I resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to squeal like a girl. She gave me a hug, resisting her nearly overwhelming urge to squeeze me like a frog. We checked into our rooms—boys in one, girls in the other—like church camp. When we got into our room, Graci did, in fact, squeeze me like a frog. I would have squealed like a girl, but I couldn’t move air past my vocal cords.

After dropping our bags, we all headed out to find a snack. Blake pulled out his iPhone to look for somewhere to eat. Five minutes later, we were standing in front of a Chipotle.

“Did you tell them I wanted to come here?” Graci asked.

“No,” I said. "This was fate."

We ate and then meandered to Ground Zero where we saw a construction site, some cranes, and a large group of Amish tourists who looked sort of like they’d rather be back in Amish Country. Interesting, because the last time I toured Amish Country, I looked sort of like I'd rather be at a construction site.

We went back to the hotel, got dressed for the evening, and headed out for drinks, dinner, and the show. We started with beers at a pub in Greenwich Village. I don’t remember where we were, what everyone drank, or what the hell we talked about. I just remember that we laughed. A lot. When I am an old woman and can't remember anything we actually do together, I will simply think of these three as the people who make me laugh until my stomach hurts.

After drinks, we walked a few blocks to Lupa for dinner. Now, when Evan and Graci tell you this story, they’ll say that, as he told us about the specials, Blake and I, our mouths watering, looked as though we might just eat the waiter.

Evan and Graci are lying bitches.

Interestingly enough, the waiter didn’t feel the same way about me and Blake as we (allegedly) felt about him. He felt that way about (and all over) Evan instead.

During dinner, Evan's metro card fell out of his pocket. The waiter spotted it on the floor and returned it to his lap. He was an amateur cartographer. Evan's lap was uncharted territory. Since he was there anyway, returning the card, he meandered a bit to survey the landscape.

When he dropped off the check later, he apologized, “I’m sorry about that earlier. I didn’t know if you just dropped your card, or if you were maybe…”

Evan cut him off there, “That’s okay. Thanks for picking up the card.”

“What was that about?” I asked.

“He felt me up earlier.”

“He what?” I said.

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve dropped shit out of my pockets, my purse, my bag, my backpack, I’d be able to pay off my med school debt. You could trace my very steps with the trail of personal belongings I am constantly leaving behind. And still, not once has someone taken this as an invitation to grope me. Hell, I had a boob fall out of my bra once and no one tried to cop a feel.

There’s something about Evan, though. He’s five feet, eight inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds of pure gorgeous, and people just can’t keep their hands off him. Even I have grabbed his ass and, maybe once, rubbed his chest a little bit. Me, the epitome of self restraint, unwittingly drawn in by his animal magnetism. It's hard to believe, I know. But, like I said...there's just something about him.

We left the restaurant around 7:30 pm and caught a train uptown. We weren’t in any great hurry because we knew the musical started at 8:30. By we, I mean everyone but Graci. She kept whispering, “Are you sure it’s 8:30? Because I really think it starts at 8:00. I think that if we don’t run, we’re going to miss this show.” Evan had the tickets in his pocket. In order to placate her, I finally asked him to check the time on them again.

It was then that we began the running.

Evan was on my left. Blake was out ahead of us, looking for all the world like an Olympic speed walker. I turned to my right to say something to Graci, something like, "I always wondered what he might look like if his ass were on fire. Now I know.” When she wasn’t there, I spun around, fully expecting to find her a few steps back, cursing her short legs.

There was a sea of people behind me. But no Graci.

“Oh my God,” I said to Evan. “Where the fuck is she?”

She doesn’t walk as fast as I do, and I assumed she just couldn’t keep up. “Go on ahead,” I told him. “I’m going to find her and we’ll see you there.” He ran to catch up with Blake. I stood on the curb and watched the crowd walk by, scanning the faces for her. Still, no Graci. I started to walk back towards the subway stop. With each step, I got a bit more panicked. Suddenly, missing the show was the least of my concerns.

Just as I'd convinced myself that she had been stolen and sold for parts, my phone ran. It was her. “Where the fuck are you?” I yelled. Because nothing says, I'm glad you're okay, quite like screaming obscenities.

“I’m up here with Blake,” she said, nonchalantly. “Where are you?”

“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll see you at the theater.”

I’d like to take a moment here to apologize to what I’m sure was a very nice man from Kansas who I may have, shall we say, jostled out of my way at the corner of 43rd and 7th. The thing is, running through Times Square at 7:53 on a rainy Saturday night in high heels is a take no prisoners kind of sport, and that was just not the best place for you to stop and pull out your map.

A few blocks later, I called Evan to ask where they were and figure out how far I had to go to catch up. As it turned out, they were on the other side of the street. Two blocks behind me. “How the hell did you end up in front of us?” he asked.

“Well,” I said, “you guys ran around people. I ran over them.”

In the end, we all made it to the theater on time. Three of us looked like theater goers. One of us looked like she’d just sprinted ten blocks in the rain and side tackled a grown man to the ground.


Eric said...

Anybody who opens a map in Times Square is just asking to get hit anyway.

Susanlee said...

-squeals and giggles all around-

Anna said...

Oh man, this post really made my day! I squealed and laughed my butt off. I know I say this most every time I comment but: I LOVE how you write. And trust me, since I write for a living, this is not a thing I say to people easily.

Can't wait for more!

Maria said...

And the show was????

I love New York. I love every inch of it. I have never had anything less than a sensational time in that city. Ever.

Fuck, I am so jealous.

Bitch. Bitch in heels. Running bitch in heels. I suppose they were black with a little red bow. Because then I would be officially green with jealousy.

dive said...

Hee hee, T.
After all that, the show must have been a let-down.

Can't wait for the next installment.

secret agent woman said...

In a perfect world, the guy from Kansas would be a lurker on your blog and actually get the apology.

Lulubelle B said...

Sounds like a great weekend. I need to set aside time to actually enjoy it next time I go up for meetings.

I worked in midtown for years and HATED going out lunchtime in Nov and Dec -- Stupid tourists blocking the sidewalks when the rest of us were running errands.

Can't wait for your next chapter.