Sunday mornings for a NY Barfly may consist of many things - kicking out last night’s party, waking up in the…park? Whoops. And of course navigating the hangover fog as we read the paper – i.e. moving our heads from left to right and every so often sighing and dribbling black coffee down the front of our pajamas.
This Sunday, while working our way through the thickening mist, something caught our eye. A feature in the Times about a site that embodies NY of the past by clicking and listening to New Yorkers narrate their most beloved memories (www.cityofmemory.org). A transit worker delivered a baby, a woman met her husband, blah blah blah.These emotional hey deys are hardly anything us stone-faced, anti-sentiment drunks can relate to. However it lead to a bit of a stroll down drinker’s memory lane for us.
In the spirit of Memory city, we drift back to a series of firsts…but not lasts…
Our first attempt at keeping smoking alive after the horrific ban. It was a night at a cigar bar. After sucking down cigarettes, multiple types of cigars and 5 bottles of red wine, our first cigar bar experience also came to be the first west village street corner we threw up on.
The first time we invited strangers home from the corner bar for a dance party. What a surprise when we woke up to find the TV and our iHome missing. This followed up by an entire afternoon of sweeping leftover coke up off the floor instead of enjoying brunch bloody marys. Those damn drug addict thieves. The least they could have done was clean up after themselves and sniff lines off the floor.
The first time we successfully haggled a beer pong table at the patio party of a luxury building (I can in fact, see out of both of my eyes). How sad the bridge and tunnelers were when we took our winnings to the nearby wine bar and enjoyed champagne and fondue while they squeezed the last drip drops of Heineken Light from the keg. I bet they thought twice the next time before betting daddy’s money.
The first time our credit cards were declined at a posh hotel bar…also the first time we snuck out the door of the kitchen where the Mexicans throw the garbage out.
Our stroll left us pining to make more first time memories. Unfortunately we fell asleep with the papers on our faces instead. The daylight coming through the window was just so exhausting…at least we slept the day away dreaming of firsts…
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