I fuck things up through text messages.
Well aren’t you lucky to know me?

My father turns vegetarian during Lent every year and with that brings all sorts of fake meat. I adore meat substitutions because they are easy and somewhat tasty. I’m the type of girl who will eat anything made in a microwave and even then I’ll burn it. Being the only vegetarian in my family, Lent has come to represent a time when I can eat full meals and not just the side dishes. So this morning (or this afternoon) I woke up and enjoyed a lovely breakfast of scrambled “eggs” with “bacon” and “sausage patties.” Nothing could have prepared me for the rest of my day better.

My legs were still in the exhausted piles of flesh and bone phase when I got back into Manhattan. Funny to think that a mere 4 hours earlier I was in the same area of Manhattan getting myself together for the trip back to Brooklyn. I ventured back simply because a friend of mine was graduating from his last ever improv class. I’ve supported him in his previous efforts and I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by.

Meet My Men:

I met Randall in college. He was reading Nick Hornby. I mentioned I liked his stuff. We became friends. Randall was friends with Asif and after I left college we became a trio. Where Randall is confident, Asif is tragically shy. Randall is a writer and aspiring comedian. Asif has a degree in economics and has no idea what he wants to do with his life. Randall was the first person to find out I was no longer a virgin while Asif and I have a long running game of  Let’s Find Out The Size and Dimensions of Asif’s Penis going on. They are my go to guys for escapism. We go to movies, we eat at restaurants, and we talk about everything. I adore them more than they’ll ever know and I only see them once every few months.

Asif’s improv shows were always awkward displays of a man not knowing when to jump in and tragic displays of a man jumping in only to use ebonics and shouting as a means for laughs. Needless to say they were entertaining as all hell and I would be happy woman if they started up again. Previously Asif mentioned that a girl Randall and I cyber-stalked for him (long story) would be coming to this improv show. This girl very obviously likes Asif despite the fact that he is an idiot when it comes to women. She (we’ll name her mystery girl) is an actress soon to be studying at RADA. Randall and I spent the first few minutes in the UCB Theater looking around for this girl. I spotted her immediately and proceeded to spend the entire show staring at her while poking Randall in the side  whisper screaming, “THAT’S HER! I KNOW IT!”

Asif’s show was everything I thought it would be: awkward and cringe inducing. God love him but I doubt he’ll ever be good at improv. After the show Randall and I headed to the street corner to wait for Asif to get out. Mystery Girl stalked around the theater doors, briefly made eye contact with us, and smiled. Being anti-social, the minute she smiled and looked at us we ran in the opposite direction. Randall and I are odd people. By the time we met up with Asif, Mystery Girl had been sent away and we decided it was time to go on a war path against Asif. Outraged that he would send Mystery Girl away when she came to the theater alone to see him, we taunted him into accepting her “date” that consisted of seeing a play together. Soon afterwards we began our trek to reunite Asif with Mystery Girl.

While Asif, Randall, and I were walking downtown we discuss the pros and cons of Mystery Girl. The pros looked a little something like this: 1) She’s very pretty, 2) She obviously likes you enough to come to your improv show alone, 3) She seems very friendly towards people she’s never met before, 4) She’s very pretty, and 5) She doesn’t like your horrible sister and your horrible sister doesn’t like her. The cons looked like this: 1) She makes obscure references to things Asif never really understands, 2) She makes obscure references…, 3) She makes obscure references…, 4) She’s going to RADA, and 5) She makes obscure references. I decided for Asif that he was being stupid and that this woman is very pretty and very interested so he should go for it. Somewhere between 23rd street and West 4th someone made a Serendipity  reference and I was given the Molly Shannon role. I’m not exactly sure why we are constantly referring to that movie but I’m not going to stop it anytime soon.

The evening ended with us sending Asif and Mystery Woman off into the depths of Manhattan to get thai food and fend for themselves while Randall and I caught our trains home. Another night well spent for the dynamically obnoxious trio…

In an attempt to exist outside of my room, the boyfriend and I took an arduous trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The rain pounded us (…and most of Manhattan) as we walked the three blocks from the train to the museum. The boyfriend for some reason or an other refuses to use an umbrella and consequently got soaked. I fared a bit better but still managed to get very wet with the aid of an umbrella. After shedding our outerwear and coat checking everything wet and nasty, we were well on our way for a day spent in the MET. It should be noted that while I have practically lived in art museums since I was a teenager the boyfriend has been completely against even talking about one since I’ve known him. Needless to say he enjoyed himself though I think he enjoyed himself more when he was fondling me in the Oceanic Arts exhibit.

Meet the boyfriend:
We met working in a hilariously horrible retail job. We began talking after I thought he was a friend of a friend and he thought I was hot. In a former life he traveled the world in his spanish anarcho-punk band causing mayhem wherever they went. Loads of alcohol, drugs, and fighting were replaced with loads of sex, talking, and girlfriend placating. I often wonder how two people in separate worlds could co-exist as seamlessly as we do and then he makes a Futurama reference and it all makes sense.

After traversing the MET galleries with my ever increasingly grabby boyfriend I made my way downtown to meet up with Jacqueline for some food and bowling.

Meet Jacqueline:
We met organizing Christmas music in the aforementioned retail job. We bonded over music, art, and our 17/18 yr old pretentiousness. Jacqueline is amazing artist who bulldozes her way through various mediums as if they were nothing. She commands her art and I respect her for that. She also has been a constant in my life since we met though I have often not been a constant in hers.

Our conversation during dinner consisted of one thing and one thing alone, my deteriorating relationship with a person I’ve known for ten years. Jacqueline, being friends with both of us, tried to see the situation from both of our sides and ultimately talked in circles until I decided I was finished hearing about how the other party is stubborn. My only thought was something along these lines, “Stubborn… well I am very stubborn as well. Guess her stubbornness will ruin our friendship just as much as my grudge.” After we devoured our respective meals (a burger for her, grilled cheese for me,)  we made our way to Chelsea Piers where our friend, Bill, waited for us. We would spend the evening bowling and drinking our troubles down the drain which is exactly where our money went as well.

So where does that leave me? As of now, I’m twenty-four years old and I work as an office bitch in a Williamsburg high school. My work consist of making copies, keeping track of supplies, giving students nurse passes, and planning student events. A friend (a perennial optimist) said to me that it’s ironic I’m planning student events as I was so against doing anything of that sort when I was in high school. I laughed in response and wanted to hit my head against the wall.

I live where most under-achieving, self-deprecating, student loan repaying twenty-four year olds live; at home with my parents. It’s not like I didn’t try to live on my own. I moved out of the coop when I was 19 and experienced the fast, fun, ramen filled living alone stereotype for exactly one year. One year of being semi-responsible while ingesting as much alcohol as my body would allow. One year of  late night parties, weekend fuck fests, and all the mac and cheese made with sour cream a person can desire. One year and then we got kicked out for living the stereotype of what a bunch of then 21 year olds living alone would be. I hung my head as low as it could go and brought all of my shit back to my parent’s house. Unfortunately for me I ended up sharing my very small old room with my dead grandma’s belongings. I moved back four years ago and I’m still living in a shrine to my grandmother.

So I am currently wasting away in a job I’m not exactly giddy about and living with my parents.  Not exactly close to my original goal but I’ve come to realize that I ended up where dreamers most often do, in the gutter.