July 4, 2012
If you’re wondering what New York City is like, it’s kind of like Washington, D.C. only instead of people taking themselves too serious all the time, they party. Also this place has an actual personality and it’s big and beautiful like a volumptuous woman who might be considered overly thick by society’s standards but who “owns it,” like Christina Hendricks or Queen Latifah. New York can also be dangerous like excess body fat (more on this later!!!! New York danger, not body fat, not really) but mostly there is just more of it to love.
Of course the last time I partied was also the last time I wrote on you, Diary, it was the night of the studio crawl at artist camp where I had just dropkicked the crap out of everyone’s expectations as far as my screenplay was concerned. By the time I’d finished that gross celebratory drink Laurel had given me I felt so good I had pretty much decided to be one of those famous literary boozehounds like my great aunt Edna or Ernest Herringbone or Allan Edgar Winter, drinking my way from city to city, carrying out sexy booze-fueled affairs with beautiful ladies, and pulling all sorts of weird inspiration and words from the bottle, a real live tortured artist.
But then I woke up the next day and felt SOOOOOOOO AWFUL, like Rey Mysterio, Jr. had given me 619 619s straight to the noggin, plus every time I moved the room tilted up and to the left a little which seemed cruel and unnecessary since my stomach was in shambles, it was like a dangover but from hooch and a million times worse.