Four Day Bender Part I
New York City
A couple of years ago, I wrote up a story about a four-day bender that spilled over into three states. I traveled to Indiana, Ohio, and Kentucky to party it up with Iggy for his birthday. I met up with Daddy in Hilljack. We played golf. I played poker and won a tournament. Then I puked in Daddy's car. We drove to Cincinnati for a Reds game then played poker in a hotel suite across the river in Covington, Kentucky with some of Iggy's buddies Film Geek and GMoney.
Since then, I managed to hang out with Iggy in the first weekend of May, which we did twice in the last three years. This year, he suggested that he come out to New York, especially since GMoney had never been there before.
We completed a four day bender and I'm drained. It's gonna take a few days to recover. Here are the Hemingway-esque highlights...
Iggy and GMoney arrived late. The Rooster and I showed them the Dakota where John Lennon was whacked. We popped into Strawberry Fields where a junkie asked me for a pen. We drank at P&G. There was a trannie at the end of the bar with someone who may or may have not been her pimp. We wandered up to Yogi's and the country music baffled Iggy. The Rooster tried to pick up two British chicks. There was an old guy who looked like Albert Einstein that sat at the end of the bar and nursed a beer. A sloppy drunk couple made out and dry humped against the bar in front of Einstein. He could not take his eyes off the couple. We wandered around the corner to some brewery. We got kicked out when a belligerent Iggy started spewing off about illegal Mexicans. We all took turns urinating in public on the Upper West Side. The Rooster showed Iggy the telephone booth trick. We stumbled into at Big Nick's around 4am totally shitfaced. I ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese as The Rooster tried to pick up a chick who looked like Mischa Barton in the booth across from us.
I met Iggy and GMoney in the Village. I won a bet on who played Chaka in the TV show Land of the Lost. I took them to McSorely's since that's where a scene from Rounders was filmed. Iggy dug the sawdust and the fact that they give you two mugs when you ask for one beer. The Rooster arrived and we barhopped. Iggy forgot he was in NYC and fired up a cigarette. The bartender screamed at him and chased him out. "We can get fined!" he repeated. We drank at one bar with a hot Brazilian bartender. She was doing the NY Times crossword puzzle and The Rooster was working her. He offered to help her with the puzzle.
"I'm stuck on an eight-letter word for polar opposite. Second letter is an X," she said.
"Extremes," I blurted out. It was right. She was impressed with my amazing vocabulary skills. The Rooster got her number anyway.
An old guy stopped Iggy on Third Avenue and said, "Germans and Arabs should be exterminated."
"I drive a BMW," said Iggy.
We met up with Derek at PJ Clark's. I told Iggy that it was a suit bar. He agreed and mentioned how he liked some of the other dives we took him to. We ate at Outback and gave the waitress a fat tip. We waited at the Rooster's den for StB who arrived super late. We made a beeline for P&G and drank pitchers of Yeungling for $18. We dragged StB to Papaya King for $1.25 hotdogs and made him pose in front of the Obama sign. We ended up at Yogi's where the Rooster hit on the bartender with ginormous boobs while I drank cans of PBR and listened to three Credence songs that I put on the jukebox. Derek won a round of pinball and we closed out the bar.
We met up at Tom's (aka the Seinfeld Diner) around the corner from The Rooster's love den. I ate a double cheeseburger. We took the subway to the West Village. We walked a block and watched the end of a lesbian wedding as they posed for pictures on the steps of a church. As I walked down Bleecker Street, I saw Jacinda from the Real World London. She was tall and pretty hot. I smoked up a ton in the Village and we checked out the Cage on West 4th. We stumbled upon some random Strawberry Festival at NYU and drank pints of Stellas at a bar instead.
We took the subway to Yankee Stadium and we were early and went beer bowling across the street. We gambled on money balls and I bowled the highest score in the second game. It was freezing and windy at the Yankees game and we didn't have that good of a time since we had seats in the upper deck and weren't dressed properly. The Rooster yelled at some guy who left his hat on during the national anthem. We bailed and drank in the bar across the street while we waited for Bobby Bracelet. He showed up and we drank a bit before we jumped on the subway back downtown to a bar where The Rooster knew the bartender. We did shots of some nasty drink and then we wanted to leave, but the Rooster was working some ladies so we left without him.
We had six of us and most NYC cabs only take four people max so we split up the group into threes. Derek and I headed up each taxi ride and decided to race up to the bar on 73rd Street. The losing team had to buy drinks for the winners. My team included StB and GMoney. Derek had Bobby Bracelet and Iggy. Derek ran south on Eighth Avenue towards 54th Street. A black gypsy cab stopped and he negotiated a fare uptown. A yellow taxi stopped in front of us and we all jumped in the back. The black gypsy cab got stopped at the red light on 55th Street. We were second in line behind the black gypsy cab. It was an old fashioned race. 18 blocks. Yellow taxi vs. the black gypsy cab. He had pole position on us, but we had Mohamed on our side. I glanced up at the ID tag of our driver. His name was Mohamed.
"Mohamed, see that black gypsy cab? My brother and his friends are in it and we're racing. You have to drive like a maniac and beat them. Can you do that?"
"For $10 extra, I'll do it," said Mohamed.
I pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to him as the light changed to green. He snatched it out of my hands and hit the gas. "Now, if you lose Mohamed. I get the $20 back and you don't get a tip."
We caught the black gypsy cab by Columbus Circle and I rolled down the window and flipped them off. We blew past them by the time we whizzed by Lincoln Center. Our yellow taxi arrived at 72nd Street faster than them. I told Mohamed to pull over in between 72nd and 73rd Street on Amsterdam Avenue. That was my mistake which cost us the race and the bet. I thought Derek would have gotten out on the corner of 72nd and Broadway in front of Gray's Papaya. He was about to, but when he saw that we were stopped, he told his driver to pass us and they stopped in front of the bar. Derek, Iggy, and Bobby Bracelet all had smug smirks on their faces when we walked up to the bar. Damn angle shooters. They won by a technicality and I paid for the drinks since I made the crucial error. Derek said that his driver was having a blast racing our cab and I told him that I was pissed at our driver for losing so I ratted him out to Dick Cheney who promised to throw his ass into Gitmo.
At the bar there was this weird black guy who looked like Wesley Snipes but was drssed like a Cuban pimp. He was drinking, dancing in place to songs on the jukebox, and having conversations with himself. It looked like he was talking to a ghost or someone who was not there. Iggy asked me what was up with the weird guy. I freaked out Iggy when I mentioned that the weird guy was talking to a ghost. Bobby wanted to get the weird guy drunk and almost ordered a double-shot of SoCo. We decided against that idea. At one point he was muttering incoherent things about tomatoes, phone calls, and big hands. When he pointed at Derek and screamed, the bartender tossed him. The weird guy stood across the street and wouldn't leave. Iggy went outside ten minutes later for a cigarette and noticed that the weird guy had not moved. Iggy got paranoid when the weird dude pulled something out of his bag. We thought it was a gun and stayed inside until he left. The bartender mentioned that weird guy had been into the bar several times before, except that he was dressed up like a woman. That was the first time he had seen him as a man.
GMoney got hammered on double vodka-tonics. Afghan Wigs were playing on the jukebox, which is a band that his brother was in. We got lots of free drinks from the bartenders for tipping so well and "drinking up a storm." It was a couple of minutes before last call when I left.