when i’m at the pearly gates this will be on my videotape

Lots of death and destruction this weekend.

I went to NYC over the weekend to partake in some drunken shenanigans. Saturday I was with Chris, and we toured Brooklyn with his friend Augie from Rutgers. I drank some good beer and the bartender at the bar who made my white russian was not only an adorable hipster girl, but she was the first person to make me a good WR in a long time. Overall, it was a fun night. Sunday I was in midtown at the Mariott Marquis for a student newspaper convention. My friends/coworkers Joe and Kellie met me at the hotel and we checked out the seminars. The keynote speaker was Valarie Plame Wilson, the famous (former) CIA who was outed by Robert “Douchebag of Liberty” Novak. She talked in detail about her job at the CIA and the media fallout of her blown cover. Despite the unpleasantness of her situation, she was pretty candid about the whole thing. After she was finished, it was time for more drinking.

And that’s when things turned to shit.

I had to write this dumb article about an engagement announcement for the Morning Call’s announcements section, yet when I called the mother of the fiance, she was extremely standoffish and thought I was some creep trying to get her daughter’s information. Even after I told her exactly who I was and what I was doing, she wasn’t having it. So basically the entire thing was a bust and I’d have to explain it to my editor. Joe and Kellie’s friends/roomates then came up from school, officially making me the third wheel. The rest of the night was pretty much standard third wheeliness, such as not getting 90% of the stories and jokes they told amongst themselves and pretty much deciding where we should go. We ended up at some Irish pub a block away from the hotel, and I drank too much and started to think of excuses to feel sad, so I called it a night (at 3 a.m.).

This morning I woke up to a text message from my dad, informing me that my great aunt Gertrude died last night. Gertrude was probably the most popular of the Friedmans, considering she was the 95-year-old matriarch who was so upbeat she made Bob Ross look like Robert Smith. Naturally, I had to cut my NYC excursion short, and I got home around 4. Now I have a long drive to Long Island to look forward to.

I don’t know how to end this entry, so let me just say that I’ve made the executive decision to move to NYC by September*. The only way I am ever going to be happy is to start over and leave all the bad things I’ve encountered in my life behind me. I think it’s funny that in 2 months, most of the people I’ve met at Kutztown will not factor into my life in any way, and I can only assume that the situation is mutual. I don’t mind if they forget me.

*Naturally, I would never rule out having a room mate. Let me know if you’re interested. Brooklyn perhaps?


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