Friday and Saturday nights are spent scrubbing my apartment, making fabulous and painstakingly long meals, and hanging out solo on the terrace contemplating the meaning of my existence. They are also reserved for writing blogs, working on my book, or being emo and listening to Bush/Radiohead while having a good cry over the fact that I hate my job and am alone on a Saturday night.
During my work week, I try to keep my chin up by savoring each lunch break and the few hours of free time I have after I get out of hell. Breaks at work are usually spent phoning half the people in my contacts list to talk to, despite the fact that 3/4 of the people I call don't pick up. I usually resort to begging my mother to send me pictures of my son. Whenever I get a picture of Bijou, my day is instantaneously made better no matter how much I would like to get clipped by a taxi than return to work. How could that little, pink nose and those green eyes not make anyone day's better?!
During the work week, my daily uniform consists of boyfriend jeans and some juvenile shirt. This one reads "Dibs on the drummer"- Goddamn I am a sophisticated woman!!!! Not.... I look like a sloppy 15 year old (with fine lines and wrinkles), courtesy of the clothes I am required to buy for the job that I hate. I try to make my daily uniform as sexy and 'me' as possible by wearing the lowest, crotch-grazing pants I can find and tiniest tops possible. I mean, if I can't wear eyeliner or heels, I'm going to have to sex it up somehow... I'm no child afterall. FML. I need a new job. I can't bear the agony any longer...
I will randomly visit my boyfriend at his place of work if I get out of my job early enough...I think I was already intoxicated before leaving the premises, hence the photo I snapped in the back hallway while waiting for my friend to be cut. I love this place even when I hate it. Visiting always makes me feel like I'm home... even though I hate it. Did I mention how much I love/hate this place?
Days off that that are not spent hanging with other people are generally spent in the solitary confinement of my apartment. These rare days off and alone are usually spent searching for better jobs for hours at a clip, babysitting my niece for a couple of hours, and usually end with me playing dress up to make myself feel better about my life after I find I'm still wearing my sweats at 4pm and have no makeup on. Nothing makes me more prone to binge eating all day than wearing some oversize sweats. In fact, I sometimes like to walk around in underwear and heels when I'm home alone just so I wont devour an entire bag of Cheetos at my computer. After spending about two hours on Craigslist, I like to faux-tan myself and put on a huge hat and heels to cheer up. It always works.
Random weeknights are the best time of the week to go out and get tanked. And believe me, I need to get drunk at least once a week to forget how much I loathe my job. This here bar stool is covered in genuine cowhide, and last summer it gave me the biggest health scare of my life when I developed a rash all over my thighs and ass cheeks after wearing a pair of culotte shorts and sitting on it all evening.
When you can't go to Electric Room because you came straight form work and are wearing converse, the next best place to go is Bar Bar with your girlfriends... many, many fond memories here (getting roofied, sharing secrets, etc) ... this was my Thursday night.
After spending the majority of my week in ripped jeans and sneakers with no make up and a white-girl afro, I start to feel really unappealing... especially if I walk by the Dream Hotel on my way to Highline, where there are approximately 40 model-like escorts wearing their pumps and herve leger dresses on any given night. When everyone you pass is infinitely thinner, prettier, and taller than you and you're sweaty, sporting a fro, and wearing beat up keds, your self confidence can really start to wane.
When you find yourself feeling like a frumpy dumpster, and you start to feel less than adequate in the looks department, or if you're having flashbacks of your ugly past, it's good to throw on some booty shorts and take a couple of selfies to remind yourself that you aren't as ugly or as socially awkward as you used to be, and even if you have to dress like a frumpy dumpster 5 days out of 7, remind yourself you can be just as hot as any prostitute standing outside of Tao...
Whenever I'm drunk, I find beauty and inspiration in bathroom wall graffiti and random stickers on sidewalks. Dive Bars never fail to disappoint in this arena. Some of the truest words of wisdom are often scrolled on the back doors of bathroom stalls and on the sidewalks of Williamsburg. They are always way more touching and speak to your drunken soul in a way they would never speak to your sober soul.
If I do go out on a Friday or Saturday night, I usually have to be extremely careful because I'm far more inclined to get out of control and/or angry if something little sets me off. This little doodle should have been an omen and was most certainly a forewarning as to the disaster that was about to become of my night.
I like to take photos that remind me of people, places, and things to keep in my phone for a rainy day. In order to snap this beauty, I had to pile two milk-crates, one on top of the other, and climb up to be more level with this advertisement. New York is also great for collectors. One night, I took home a chunk of sidewalk for example... it's fun to wake up and wonder how a huge chunk of concrete made it's way into your purse, or 5 packets of bar matches, or a weird drawing on a napkin.
Sundays are ***hopefully** spent off from work and getting fat on $70 worth of imported cheeses or making some extravagant five-star like meal at home with my boyfriend. I also like to drink wine on Sundays. Sundays are notoriously the best day of the week to go out too- you don't have to deal with the bridge and tunnel types that are only in for Friday and Saturday nights and all of the boring, business types with normal weekends-off scheduling. There is nothing better than a $17 gin and tonic on the much-overrated Wythe Hotel rooftop, or $22 cocktail in the Meatpacking district (jk- obviously). When Sunday rolls around, and you've seen yet another person on your FB feed is engaged, bought a house, newly married, pregnant, or just had another child, it is nice to relish the fact that I have none of the above going on, and thusly I can go out, get wild, and generally act irresponsible and make childish and irrational decisions and celebrate my lack of obligations and responsibilities, and commitments like the average NYC 20-something.
