Oh hey... we've met before, right?

I’ve been absent. I apologize. Lets get back to it.

On August 29^th, 2010, my year of adventures came to a close. It didn’t close like a dictionary closes—THUD—or like a cabinet door closes—sqeeeaaaaaakkkkk SLAM. It didn’t even close like the trunk of a car- TCHACK! Instead it thwicked closed gently and nearly silently, like the partitions of a revolving door. When I swooped back around the doors I emerged in the heart of Manhattan. How the hell did I get here?

My introduction to New York City started with a Lincoln town car ride from JFK to a little gem in the east village. I’m not kidding. My hotel was called the Gem Soho. Google it. It’s real. that first day I was wandering the streets, praying to some deity of street signs and google maps that I would not get lost and killed on my first day in New York. Success.

Fast-forward three and a half months. I’m taking off. Back to places where the deli on every block isn’t open 24 hours and the homeless men become your neighbors. For the next three weeks I will not be able to wander into the all night pizza place around the corner and order 2 slices of plain, spice them up with a few cups of parmesan and pray that the hangover wont be that bad. Alas, usually my prayers to the gods of pizza, cheese and whiskey usually fall on deaf ears, so for the next 16 hours I am relegated to my little patch of space on the densely populated little island that I now call home.

I decided to come back to blogging and approach it differently than I had in the past. I felt like eeeeeveryone had a blog and they all wanted to be different and unique and all that cool stuff. So I jumped ship. Happens (that’s my new catch phrase). I decided to come back and be more mature, more clever, whatever. I just tried that for three whole paragraphs. Woof. Wore me out.

Two nights ago my girl Same mae told me that I’m different. I’m less cynical. Dare I say… happy! Which is true. I’m ecstatic. I love my life. I fucking love my life. I am quite possibly the coolest person that I have ever met in my life. You should meet me. I’ll prove it to you. I don’t want to be mature and clever and all that bullshit though. I want to do it exactly the way I had been doing it, but with better punctuation. I literally have just had this revelation as I typed this paragraph on my cross-country flight from NYC to Whitefish via Seattle decked out in my discount high-top Nike dunks, All Blacks rugby jersey and pea coat. Like I said- coolest person ever. I am so ready to attack the blogsphere again. Bring it bitches. I’ll have you by the balls in no time flat.

So let’s try this again. I love New York City more than I love taco bell, whiskey gingers, huckleberries, and sailing. Combined. Bold statement? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely. Also, I’m glad that I measure things that I like in terms of food. Fat kid 4 life. Anyways. Back to my life now.

I live in lower Manhattan. I study at NYU. I’ve convinced myself that I will be a successful actor one day (you rain on that parade I will end you). I have a newfound affinity for partying. Who knew I could be good at it? It surprised me too. In short- I’m living the dream.

I’ll take you back through some highlights from the last few months to demonstrate just how true that statement is. My introduction to NYU started the Wednesday night before orientation. I was set to report to campus at 930 sharp on Thursday morning, but being brand new and, knowing hardly anyone, who was I to turn down an invitation to a welcome back party on the Lower East Side? I agree and tell myself that I will not drink that much and I’ll be home by 2 at the latest- a phrase that became my futile mantra later in the semester. More on that later. I went to this party and had a rockin good time. I met a bunch of people, made new friends and beatboxed for a drunk investment banker trying to pick up the desperate NYU girls (there’s a severe shortage of straight males at my school. We’re like grizzly bears or terrorists- you know they’re around but you hardly ever see one. ). Shortly after I dropped a mad beat, my banker was cut off by the bartender who screamed in his face “You’re out of control!!!!” Sorry for being an enabler (no I’m not). The night progressed and 2 o’clock rolled around… no last call. What? Is this Narnia? Have I stumbled through a wardrobe where alcohol is served into the wee hours of the morning? No, bars in New York just stay open till 4. Best news ever. Suffice it to say I found myself in a diner at roughly 430 with my new friends, insisting to the waiter that I am highly allergic to peanuts and I will die if he gives me anything with peanuts or peanut oil, but besides that I would like an omelet and fries. Somehow broccoli was involved in my omelet. I was not happy. I finally stumbled to bed aroun d 5, only to be jolted awake, still well over the legal driving limit in most of the lower 48, and dragged myself to orientation. Hola NYU. I think we’ll get along nicely.

And get along nicely we did. The trend of me stumbling home post 4 am has continued. It’s a habit really. But only on weekends… sortof. The thing about NYU is that people take school really seriously. It’s hard. But then the raging we do on the weekends more than makes up for it. First semester passed in a blur of academic weightlifting and weekend debauchery. Maybe in another post I will elaborate on halloweekend- the weekend that saw no sobriety. Or holiday party weekend- absinthe and yule mules were involved. Or the time we ended up in a Russian bar with stripper poles and bare breasted statues that I may or may not have fondled. Or maybe I’ll discuss my ten hour long acting class on Saturdays. Or solo karaokeing some 50 Cent in a semi crowded bar. Or I’ll expound upon the nuances of the word “train.” Or I’ll just say fuck NYC, I want to talk about how global warming would be a non-issue if we were all wizards.

Whatever happens, will happen. I’m so glad to be back.

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