I shouldn't be doing this.

It's late. It's Sunday. People snore around me while I type.

I wasn't going to post anything at this moment, though I have to spew some juice on what the fuck has been going on this weekend.


Emma arrived on Friday. Emma is my friend. Emma is Tom's friend. Tom and Emma are a bit closer than me and Emma. i know this because they kiss each other lots and Emma is comfortable being naked in a bed with Tom. If it were me in her bed, she would feel confused. So would I, because I am not her boyfriend. Tom is.



I got myself a soda at subway and trotted down broadway to Mike's place. On the way I thought about being a shoe shiner, and how it would suck. I also thought about my hangover and placed a sportsman's bet with myself that it would disappear very soon. I had an appointment with some dog hair.


I strolled into Mike's pad and took a seat. We talked about what to do and where to go. Then we got up and left. We hit some bars and I caught up with Em's. We spoke about theatre and some plays she is working on at the moment. One in particular sounded very exciting, I hope she finishes writing it soon, so I can buy a ticket for every performance. A play set in a lap dancing bar allows me to be perversely cultured, a great combination.


We got back to Mike's and readied ourselves for a night out. Mike gave me a shirt of his to wear.

"You're a disgrace" Mike said "Wear this. Don't spill anything on it or I'll kill you" Mike said.

"I won't" I said "I'm sorry I look like a tramp" I said.

"Don't worry" Mike said. "You're funny" Mike said.


We went out and met Shaun, Mike's business partner and friend. Shaun is another man.

We went down to the Lower east side and drank in some speak easy bars. We were there for cocktails, so Tom could judge the calibre of the liquor stateside. I know a thing or two about good drinks as well, and if i'm honest, the cocktails over here suck. I'd never tell anyone that normally, because only cunts candidly talk about cocktails.

We drank in a bar that felt like a train carriage. Mike and I talked about sex and women. I really like Mike. We get on well. He's one of those people that brings out the disgusting side of my personality. It keeps me laughing and 'feeling naughty'. I drank bourbon and vodka cocktails. One was great. One.

After a few rounds we left the east side company bar and headed to the 'back room'. I've been to the back room before with a model, an annoying Australian and a beautiful girl who let me kiss and touch her. We got beers and listened to music from a time called the eighties. It was fun. It was more fun than a bar we were in earlier. That bar was not fun. It wouldn't let us stay, because we were a party of five. The rules in that bar were groups of four or less only. Stuffy ponces.

That rule made Tom's bottom lip stick out like this:





We drank beer fast in the back room and progressed onto Jagermeister. Jagermeister is a dangerous beverage. It tastes so damn good and gets you so damn pissed. We drank lots of it from teacups and my brain started to do a dance.

I sweated and had my picture taken. Shaun sweated and had his picture taken. Mike sweated and had his picture taken. Tom sweated and had his picture taken. Emma sweated, and had her picture taken. It was fun and I felt like a student. I've noticed that students take lots of photos, usually of them in a shit bar, drinking a shit drink, with their shit friends, smiling through their shit faces and posting all one thousand images of their shit saturday night on facebook. Maybe I'm jealous, because I never take photos? Or because I don't have shit friends or a shit face? From now on, I'm only going to make friends with shit people, and I'm going to invade facebook with thousands of postcard images of me drunk in some shit venue.











Those photos are from Saturday, so keep them handy for reference when Saturday is talked about.

I don't remember going anywhere else after the back room. So, I think I went to bed.

I lay in bed at the hostel, and thought about the food Mike had cooked me before we went out. Whilst Tom and Em's caught some sleep, Mike and I ate his dead grandfathers homemade pasta sauce, and some incredible meat. We drank Chianti that made me shiver with ferocious glee. That was fucking good. Real fucking good.




I woke up on Saturday with an epic hangover. I tried to do a wee, but nothing came out. This annoyed me a little and made my brow furrowed. I got dressed after receiving a phone call from Mike that went:

"Oi, dirt bag, get your ass here now" Mike is a charming man.


I walked past subway and stopped outside. My lip quivered a little and I thought I was going to faint. I dived inside and bought another over sized soda. Subway soda is a recurring element to my New York experience. I skipped down to Mike's with a smile on my face, happy in the knowledge I would be weeing very soon.

I got to Mike's and did a wee.

We left Mike's for Hoboken.


Hoboken is a district in New Jersey. Before I went there I knew nothing about New Jersey, except that the Karate Kid lives there I think.

Every year, roughly two weeks before St Patrick's day, lots of people descend on Hoboken for a big St Patrick's day party. Normally I would question the reason behind a party of this nature, but it had Irish connections so I'll leave it be. We got there in the afternoon and already people were pissed and being very 'Irish'.

I tried to eat a sandwich, but couldn't. My stomach just wasn't ready for it. I wondered if I was ok. I was feeling pretty ropey. I shrugged it off and carried on through the busy streets. Hoboken was fun, we were there for a good few hours. We met up with a girl called Amy, who Tom and I had both worked with at a restaurant called Establishment in Manchester, and we went to some house parties. The first one was awful, we drank Miller Lite and playd on a wii. I waited for a doggy bag and a clown but neither were present. The second we went to was a frat party in a large flat. It was amusing. By the time we got there the sun had fallen, which meant it was drinking time. We bought a bottle of Jagermeister and lots of beers, well, enough to get started with. The photos are from the frat house.



After drinking the Jager in roughly fifteen minutes, we decided to go back to Manhattan and meet up with Shaun. We hopped on the path train and drank guiness with strangers. I spoke to one guy who was a writer. He was very interesting, I liked him. He took my name and we are now going to be friends on facebook. This means we can speak to each other and look at photos of each other. It means I could poke him as well if I wanted to. I don't poke people, but maybe he'll be my first? Or maybe I should only poke girls? Poking boys seems a bit more 'wild' though, a bit more 'exotic'.


We got back to Mike's apartment to 'freshen up' It also gave me opportunity to wear his shirt again. I have to wear his shirts when we go out, otherwise I just don't 'cut the mustard'. Luckily, the shirt I have been borrowing is made by a man named Paul, I like his clothing, this Paul man, some of it is colourful, some of it flowery.


We went to Shaun's and I got bitten by a dog. If the dog wasn't tied to me through acquaintances, I would have stamped on the little shit, but I wasn't allowed, so I pointed at it and said "bad dog"

We went for food at an Italian restaurant. I saw a movie once. One scene was in a 'mobster' restaurant in New York. The front of the restaurant was normal, but you had to walk through the kitchen into a private back room to get to where the action was. I always thought that I'd like to do that one day. On Saturday night, I did that. The food was amazing and the wine brought tears to my pale eyelashes. I started to feel drunk in a good way. I was enjoying the company i was in and the experiences we were sharing. I felt like I didn't deserve it.


After we ate, we went clubbing. I danced to loud house music in an extrovert manner, and drank ridiculous amounts of red stripe. I fell into a velvet curtain, and I hugged lots of people. People I knew. People I didn't. I spoke to a girl from England and I think she touched my penis, I can't remember why though. I danced with Emma and I danced with Mike. I danced with everyone and they danced with me. It was dark in the club and it smelt like England.


I was woken up at one this afternoon by a Mexican man telling me to leave. I had missed check out in the hostel. I threw my wallet at him and told him to leave me alone. I was still drunk.

I can't remember leaving the club. I remember getting back to the hostel, unable to talk, with the sun in my eyes. I think I went to an apartment with a human being that has breasts and wears lipstick, but I'm not entirely sure. Still, I'm in one piece so it can't be that bad. There is a shadow of doubt lurking behind my eyes though.

Mike and I hopped in a cab and met the others in Chelsea for breakfast. We ate in a place surrounded by men who like to touch each other. i don't mind that, as long as i don't have to watch. Afterwards we went bowling, like this.






And now, we're back at Mike's. I type. They sleep.