mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary

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These Little Town Blues......

While in NYC I got together with my old pals Erin and Ethel. Erin and I have known each other since gym class freshmen year of high school. I apparently scared her senseless back then with my over the top behavior (I used to yell a whole lot, talk to myself, dance around despite a lack of musical accompaniment, and generally engage in antisocial behavior). I also insisted on the two of us being friends despite her obvious aversion to me. One day I asked Erin what her address was and then showed up at her house at 5:00 AM the next morning to "hang out". She had mentioned in passing that her family rose early and I had been in the park around the corner from her house all night making out with some boy so I figured her place would be a nice safe haven to clean myself up before heading home to face my own parents. I think I really impressed both Erin and her mother with the large collection of hickies I was sporting on my neck because after that we became inseparable.

Ethel is actually a newer pal. Erin mentioned to Ethel that she had a friend (me) who was visiting Oaxaca the same time Ethel had a trip planned there and through the power of the Internet we exchanged information and eventually met up for some Day of the Dead celebrations. I was certainly glad we did. As expected any friend of Erin's is someone I want to get to know.

I managed to navigate myself to our meet up spot with only minor issues. I had decided to give up driving in NY after my last visit where I was honked at repeatedly for properly following various traffic laws. This left me with two transportation options, the subway or a cab. I immediately ruled out the N train because no matter how hard I try not to, I always make eye contact with a sociopath and wind up spending the remainder of my time in transit discussing how they hear voices in their head or how the pope is a former foot soldier of Hitler. Also the N in N train stands for Never Coming. So a cab it was - only in Brooklyn they have car services as opposed to those yellow cabs you see in You've Got Mail and on Friends. You see, you call this place and they send a stinky, old beat up Lincoln Town Car to get you. There is a fixed price as opposed to a time meter and usually you get to listen to your drivers choice of music. In this particular case that meant Russian choral music on the highest possible volume. Excellent.

Before entering the vehicle I noticed a sign stating that I was being both photographed and videotaped. I desperately tried to come up with a story interesting enough to make it onto Taxi Cab Confessions. Alas my driver Alexei never even attempted to engage me in conversation. I assumed he took one look at me and decided I was not worthy of HBO. And here I had dreams of hob-knobbing with the cast of Oz. Sigh.

I think Erin and Ethel were especially concerned with showing me a good time or at least getting me a decent meal after all my griping about NYC's lack of Pria Bars. We decided on a little place in Park Slope and called a second car service. It also bore signs stating that we were being preserved on celluloid and so I turned to Erin and Ethel and exclaimed "I feel so glamorous here with everyone trying to capture my essence on tape." It was then that I learned there was someone going around killing car service drivers thus the security cameras. Fantastic.

Dinner was lovely. I downed two tall glasses of red wine, got tipsy, and pledged my womb to Erin should hers not work properly. Even though I was a bit hammered, I meant every word I said. If your womb is barren Erin, I'd be happy to carry your offspring. (Insert slurring here) I love you man! You wanna kidney? I got two!

Following dinner we headed over to a bar in front of which a half dozen men stood on the street smoking. Upon entering some comment was made about "it must be Halloween." I'm not sure what this meant. I don't think three less freaky girls exist on the planet. We were all wearing completely nondescript clothes, sporting uninteresting haircuts, and basically being completely normal. Anyway, we ignored these animals and headed inside where we observed a man and woman who were engaging in far too much foreplay for a public place. It was obvious that they had just met. We began taking bets on how long it would be before they left together. I underestimated with a count of fifteen minutes. I think they made a full half hour.

At some point we were joined by some guy we vaguely knew in high school. He was a barfly then and is apparently still actively maintaining that image. I was lucky enough to go undetected by his alcohol drenched brain but Erin did not escape. I listened in as he told Erin about is most recent run in with a wall which had left him with a knot on his head. He hoped she could overlook this physical deformity. Good times. At some point he referred to me as a psycho, I am not sure why. Perhaps the lack of bumps on my head? We were also lucky enough to hear the fantastic line, "can I buy you lovely ladies a drink." As a woman in NY it is virtually impossible to go a full ten minutes without some guy trying to buy you a drink (AKA get in your pants). Men, a piece of advice. If you see a table of women chatting and laughing and generally enjoying each others company, chances are they don't want you to buy them a drink. They want to enjoy each others company. Now go away.

We ended the night with yet another car service ride. We were told we'd have to wait five whole minutes for a car as if it would be a major inconvenience to wait. Ethel was quick enough to quip "five minutes, oh god no - we'll just walk then." I don't think the dispatcher was as impressed with her wit as I was.

Long story short, I made it home safe. The driver did not ask me any questions about myself and I was no longer under the illusion I might make onto cable TV so that really made the whole trip more relaxing.

Next up the Soup That Was Too Thick Versus The Soup That Was Too Watery or Mrs-Roboto Cooks For Her Grandma.

8:21 p.m. - 2003-10-16

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