Monday, September 10

The One Where My Best Friend Came To Town

If Power Rangers had shiny colored belts and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had an odd shared love for cheesy Italian flatbreads, then my pal Gillman and I must be joined together as one by unknowingly owning the exact same Erin Wasson ring, sported on the same finger and worn constantly despite the possibility of it breaking at any moment. Caution to the poorly-crafted crystal wind! We will remain friends forever! Megazord unite!

We touched everything they have for sale at Barney's, played in adult-sized high chairs, didn't have pina coladas but still got caught in the rain, bought all the weird eats at the gas station, got yelled at by museum security guards, tried Momofuku chicken wings, made sammiches, saw my most beloved '70s lamp from college hanging from the top of a Brooklyn bar, pretended we were PeeWee Herman, giggled over steak salad and even went fake ice skating in the dead heat of summer. Though, out of all our Midwestern pals who now reside here, was definitely the only one who pulled the Old Maid card and went to bed at a pathetically reasonable hour.

It's sad, how I've gone from spending the morning hours eating vodka-soaked gummy bears inside of friend's delapidated southern Illinois party houses to drinking one drink while lamenting how "ugh, crowded" it is somewhere or subsequently falling asleep standing up in a borough I no longer inhabit. But, with old age comes responsibility, tailored clothing, and the ability to afford to buy $30 worth of cheese at Murray's for an impromptu party just because you happened to be near Maison Kaiser on the way home from the museum and wanted an excuse to eat two loaves of bread. So, the drunken shenanigans while trotting around an unknowingly mold-infested casa may be of yesteryear and documented in the albums at the top of the iPhoto scroll bar, but still being able to plop, soberly, drunkenly, hungry or full around New York City with one of your three favorite roommates is still tops, any afternoon, evening or day of the week.

The majority of photos were stolen with non-permission from Ms. Gillman. She could sue me, but considering I've already willed her the contents of my closet and I'm not so hot at crossing streets while paying attention, I don't think she'll want to start shit.

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