Begin on a high note: dinner at a cozy Cuban restaurant in the West Village, where you order a “vanilla fist” cocktail with spiced rum. Between you and your dinner companion, devour one-fifth of a cow and an entire suckling pig.
Stand up to leave and realize you’ve skipped “uncomfortably full” and crash landed in “disgustingly bloated.”
Nevertheless, continue to eat, swayed by the novelty of a Swedish candy that’s half Warhead half never-ending Gobstopper.
Pass a guy on the sidewalk urinating a small river directly into a phone booth.
Arrive at some necessarily trendy spot in the Meatpacking District, for the birthday get-together of a new friend from work that you kind of invited yourself to. Realize you’re earlier than most of the guests who were actually invited.
Swedish candy has left you incredibly thirsty. Nurse a glass of ice water from the bar, all the while awkwardly rubbing your stomach because you’re still. so. full.
Receive a “Hey whats new” text from a (male) friend from work. Show said text to your friend, feeling flattered and a little taken aback. While formulating a response, receive follow-up text that says “My bad lulu… Wrong person lol”
Figure it’s time to leave and head to another “new friend from work’s” apartment. In attempt to demonstrate how closely you were paying attention during introductions, say “It was great meeting you, Alex” to the guy whose name is Tim.
When you get to the building, discover people are leaving for the birthday party you just came from. The attendant at the front desk calls up to tell the host you’re here. He has to repeat your name twice before there’s recognition.
Make small talk while the host cleans up empty beer bottles. Wander unaccompanied into his bedroom to check out the amazing view. Roommate calls you out on this.
Move back into the living room where you try to figure out if the artwork featuring business execs and buxom secretaries is a joke or not (it is).
Decide to call it a night and head home. Stop in a 7-Eleven so your friend can satisfy a Slurpee craving. This is when you become the victim of your first butt groping.
Whirl around to see that the perpetrator is either a short Latino man or a lesbian with fluorescent yellow hair. Stand speechless while your friend rants on your behalf.
Wonder at the philosophical implications of being (woman)handled. If you’re somehow more ok with being groped by a woman as opposed to a man, is that a double standard?
End your evening waiting thirty minutes for the train in a pool of sweat, dodging cockroaches and the smell of pee. Trip and fall over while running up the stairs to catch the A.