Mr. E was in town again, and a very hassled bunch of people (us) wanted to meet up. So, I hustled home after work and put on my other boob dress. I reflected a bit over the deepness of the V, but then I figured I should enjoy “the girls” while they’re still standing. In ten more years the V peak would probabbly have to go to my belly button to get any sort of cleavage. However, on Saturday the Twin peaks and the Valley were proudly contained and displayed in Technicolor (thanks to my very uneven sunburn) to everybody’s delight and satisfaction.
I was ready but there was no chariot to whisk me away. I do not drive, my heterosexual life partner was currently making the beast with two backs (God bless) in another city, and my other friends had already started the party and were on their third or fourth bottle (the bums). Did not want NJ state to fill their coffers with my friends’ money, so I took the bus. Big mistake. NJ transit is the kind of service you wish on your own worst enemy and only if you are as short and as mean as Napoleon Buonaparte. But “my girls” and I pride ourselves on our independence, therefore we not only took the bus, but we also liked it.
I finally arrived at the destination which was overflowing with young blood with occipiccial heads and Armany Exchange t-shirts (there must have been a sale in China town). I felt like Robinson Crusoe returning to civilisation, and switched my language channel from Squirrel to Human. Since there was no space, we transferred on to “Beer Gardens” in the Bohemian Hall, an Eastern European Youth Mecca with beer and a huge garden. Some guys even tried to hit on me! If only my mom could see me, she’d finally get her hopes back. We drank some, laughed some, and bit each-other some since the kitchen was closed and there was no food in sight. We tried to bring in some shishkebab and bread but we asked and the manager said no. We should have done it the Albanian way: “Never ask because they won’t give it to you, but take it because they won’t kill you.” Too much etiquette lets one go hungry.
They kicked us out at the ungodly hour of 3.30AM. so we went back to the car and ate our shishkebab and bread. The best food in the world. Everybod else got home. Since it was already too late, we crashed at our friend’s house in Queens, four people to a queen size bed. See, we were all under the wrong impression that we were still 15. When one passes thirty, the joints start to creak, the bladder to act up and the snores grow louder. So I found myself encircled more than once by the spidery limbs of Mr. E (no monkey business so no sniggering thank you very much), one of those people who can not sleep unless they are on top of someone else. My crush was sleeping on the other side of the bed with another friend. I had to go back to the bathroom more than once and as I came back, I saw his arms enclircling her body, and Mr. E on top of them both. There was no room for me so I left quietly and went to the kitchen to read. To my credit I did not cry, until two nights later. Thankfully heartbreak and hangovers have a delayed effect upon me, so I did not break down until yesterday. But that is another story.
Sunday was again spent in a flurry of cigarettes, turkish coffee, feta cheese, beer and raki. Mr. E read our cups and told me a man hated me very much because he was fueled by some other man. Who can hate me so much? Why? Whatever. But we did have a good time around that kitchen table and later, at Avenue, another “kewl” Astoria hangout. We were all in the same clothes of the night before, so we let people make their own assumptions, even helped them along a bit. What is life without a bit of dirt on the reputation? Besides, after 30, people are happy to hear you are getting some (even if you ain’t getting any). The get something to talk about, and you get your nerd reputation eradicated.
Ahh, I called in sick today, to get to do this thing for Its (alias, slave-driver). Drink something in my health and enjoy summer, heartbreak or no heartbreak. I luxuriated in my bed and drank my cofffe in slow, hot, bitter sips. I brushed my teeth, picked my nose and washed my eyes. I sat upon the kitchen throne, a piece of bread and butter in one hand and juice in the other, and wrote this. Squirrels are still outside, chased by the kids and hating me from the tree branches. I am hating them right back. I see two squirrels whispering and looking at me. Can’t tell if they are male though.