As the objective witness to this drunk disagreement, I stood frozen in terror (i.e. drunk paralysis) when she turned to me. With tears of frustration she exclaimed "I mean, am I wrong?"
How did the night end up here?
I had run off to Astoria to visit my great-escape, a sexy bassist with an alias, not to mention 3 martinis and maybe a drunk gyro late in the night. Little did I know when I ran to the bathroom at 3am, sheet tightly clung around me, that hell's brigade (Spike’s band-mate and girlfriend) would come through the door. Had I known, I surely would have slung the sheet out Spike’s bedroom window and made an actual great escape - fleeing down Steinway Street as though I were prancing on the shore at Ornos Beach. Not quite as fetching with the row homes and my Saturday night heels on, but martini haze can create lovely imagery.
I heard an angrily exclaimed "F** you!! F** you!" followed by sounds of slapping, punching and random objects flying. All I could think was 'My god how do I flush myself down the toilet so I don't have to walk out of here and into this mayhem clad only in a sheet?'
We should have went for that gyro. This was too much to bear post martinis.
Several minutes passed and the words became angrier and louder. The longer I waited, the worse it would be when I emerged. I stared at the toilet, hopeful. I stared into the mirror and grimaced. My hair was amok but there was nothing I could do to fix it. I was a drunk mess from top to bottom.
When the martini haze was clear enough, I decided to look mortification in the face and come out. Hopefully, my face would be so mortifying that they wouldn’t involve me.
I opened the door and Spike popped his head out of his bedroom with a horrified expression. The intoxicated/feuding lovers shot looks like daggers at me. The Greek unshaven warrior was munching on what else - a gyro. I eyeballed it. She was hysterical and her words slurred. They were obstructing my path from the bathroom to the bedroom so I waved an awkward hello, tightened the sheet around me and nervously smiled in hopes of making it seem as though I'd heard nothing.
They kept on.
"Every f**ing night. Every f**ing night you call her!" she exclaimed. That's when she turned to me (turned, stumbled, its so hard to remember such fine details).
There I was - tipsy and wrapped in a modified toga (this is probably modern day “Greek slut gear” in Astoria). I was the Greek Goddess Bed Head called in to ref the drunken battle.
In the Ring: Too Drunk to Bother Shaving Rocker vs. Crazy Asian Girlfriend (aka Crasian)
Round 1:
Rocker - Response to her accusations with "When are you going to get the hell out of my apartment?" followed by dribbling gyro down his week old whiskers – 2 olives - Props for trying to get her out. However, a better way to make her go may have been chewing and opening his mouth to show.
Crasian - Drunkenly swinging a punch at his face only to hit the wall – 0 olives – This only makes a fool of you and me.
Round 2:
Rocker - Leaving in the middle of the fight to go get beer – 4 olives – At least he wasn’t pretending to care. The shout-out to alcoholism is worth at least 3 olives by itself.
Crasian – Seeking support from a naked stranger – 4 olives - It was a bold move. I typically find bringing others into your business to be tasteless. In this case, I was just happy for no one to notice what really might be tasteless in the room. Did I mention the toga?
Round 3:
Rocker- Drinking the beer and belching in response to his guitar getting smashed into the bedroom mirror – 2 olives - Again, at least he wasn't pretending to care but he should have at least reacted to his things being destroyed by drunkenly making her go fetch her purse or something...out the window.
Crasian - Being pissed enough about missing his face to smash his most prized possession – 4 olives – Crasian. It’s all in the name.
It was a tie. They were equally as drunk. Equally as mean to one another. Equally as likely to pass out and wake up cuddling amongst the broken glass and gyro-sauce like crazy, drunk couples do. They were bound to repeat the act the following weekend.
I'm not sure what came to be for the two in the morning as I made myself presentable, bode farewell to Spike and saw myself out of new Greece as soon as I could break past the lovebirds. I headed back to Manhattan, to the safety of my own bed. The life of a goddess – exhausting.
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