graceland's Diaryland Diary

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Gettin' After It on a Wednesday

I'm starting to add my personal touch to this page and making it feel a bit more like home. Expect to see some changes.

*~*

Killing off my former online persona was more emotional than anticipated. I still haven't said goodbye to her and I suppose that's why Wednesday turned out the way it did.

I went to Philly for work on Wednesday and after wrapping up in the afternoon, went for a late lunch with my friend's BF, M. He and I proceeded to, as they say, "get after it" starting around 1:30PM.

We holed up in a brasserie, made some friends and I did some business. All over many cocktails.

My friend arrived two hours later and found us well into our cups with scraps of paper on the bar around us filled with jotted ideas and new leads for our respective jobs.

Long story short, two bars later, it's midnight and we are not quite staggering drunk but close enough to it. We leave the bar, drinks in hand except for my friend, who knocked hers off the bar and therefore laid the foundation for our exit, and head for home. Well, their home, as I live in a different state and will be required to get to that state to work tomorrow, presumably in the same clothes I have been wearing for a full day.

But 30 is the new 21, right? Isn't that what the media is touting? So no need to worry about my collegiate antics, I'm on the curve.

My hosts declare that they are hungry, and so, with a tumbler of merlot swishing over my hand and down the tanned leg creeping out of a slit on the side of my black skirt, I cheerfully volunteer to make a trip to Wawa, the local convenience store.

I blow into Wawa like a tornado and sweep past the other late night patrons, Merlot, swishing, and reach the deli counter.

I pause in front of the computer ordering screen, raise my glass and lift my eyes to the counter girl, and take a long drink of my wine before placing my order. I then reach out with my free hand and begin entering the order when I hear two girls giggling and whispering behind me, She brought her wine. We should have done that. After printing my order, I turned around, smiled at them and said, "Of course, I did. Why wouldn't you?"

The girls stared in delight and asked for help with the computer. I showed them quickly and wished them a pleasant evening, and then headed to the register to check out.

In line at the register, sipping my wine, I finally reached the counter and placed my wine glass on the white top, swoosh, like a small tidal wave it lept over the rim and left a red circle on the white formice around its base. I paid for the items and picked up my glass, staring first at the red circle against stark white and second at the guy at the register staring blankly at me. "I would clean that up," I say with a grand gesture of my hand (as more wine swooshes out of the glass and on my arm), "but I have nothing to wipe it with." The register kinds of nods in understanding and I hear the young man behind me choke on a laugh, as I turned and exited the store.

When I reached my friend's apartment, I realized that they hadn't given me the cigarettes I bought, so I lifted my glass of merlot and headed back down to the store. The error was sorted out, another ring of red wine was left on the counter.

Thursday was horrid. I woke around 5:15am and placed the clothes I had remembered to strip off and launder a few hours before, into the dryer and jumped into the shower.

I arrived back in NYC shortly after 8am and jumped in a taxi headed to work. As the hangover started to settle in, I found myself halted in Rock Center area surrounded by a horrific shrieking. I turned my head to my right and saw that Celine Dion was performing live for The Today Show. I began to seal off the vehicle in panic, thinking I can shut the sound waves out, but it's no use. Celine is forcing me to learn that yes, she can drive all night and more importantly, she may also be able to kill me with her singing.

Just as I am about to beg one of the midwestern teenage sign holders to cozy up to Rene in front of Celine...anything to end the torture...the traffic began to move and the taxi left Celine and a good chunk of midwesterner's behind.

I exited the taxi outside of my office and laid my head on the counter at Starf*cks and croaked, "Please, I am very ill, very hungover...need..caffeine.." The Counter girl looked at me with pity and decreed, "One...iced...venti, skim vanilla latte...with...FIVE SHOTS...of expresso."

"Bless you." I replied to my dealer, the countergirl who serves all kinds.

I paid, I retrieved my prescription and headed up to face the day.

In the same clothes I had worn the day before.

10:39 p.m. - 2003-07-13

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