Missy moved to New York City in the summer of 2002. The bright lights, big dreams and um, male models, drove her to the city that never sleeps. Turns out I wasn't too far behind! Needless to say, I took the first opportunity that fall to head up for a little visit/private investigation/PAARTY TIME! "Ladies and gentlemen welcome aboard Delta Airlines flight #393 with non stop service to New York's Laguardia Airport...And will the gentleman dancing in the aisle please return to his seat?" You KNOW you want to travel with me!
I still remember to this day crossing the Tri-Borough Bridge to Missy's apartment on the upper east side. These were the days before some dumbass tried to blow up a plane with a baby bottle or something like that and one could still carry liquids on a plane. By the way, I would like to give a big shout out to that guy for fucking the rest of us harmless drunks. So anyways, while the cab crossed the bridge, I took a swig from my vodka-filled water bottle as the smell of candied nuts and sewer hit my face. I was in heaven. This was going to be a trip to remember...well for the most part.
First stop: an extremely overpriced dinner that definitely didn't do the trick. Model fare I was sure. Thank God for the Aderall! I was almost good to go! Next stop: some club that is probably closed now, but the name didn't matter to me. All I cared about was the line that wrapped around the block that I was thankful we didn't have to stand in. Poor suckers! Just as I was admiring the B&T (thats bridge and tunnel people for all you non New Yorkers out there) trying desperately to con the door man to let them in, some dude that Miss happened to be dating at the time, came and swept us into the club and right up to his table. He immediately handed us some mixed drinks from the huge bottle of Goose on the table and I noticed that he looked strangely familiar to me. I had seen this man before...was it in my dreams? No. My dreams are never THAT good. Just then I realized that I had seen him before; in that months issue of GQ Magazine in the Dolce and Gabbana campaign. Thank you MISSY!
As the night wore on and the height of the table I was dancing on just didn't seem high enough anymore, I decided to come back down to earth and revisit my new friend of the night: the Goose bottle. Were we in a rap video or something? By that time, I was juuuuust about at the limit and boy did it show. I had a seat on the booth and tried to act cool while the club was spinning faster than the sparkles of the disco ball. "Put his ass in a cab!" I heard Missy scream over the blaring music. No, Wait, I'm just getting started! Next thing I know I'm giving in and walking outside. I can do this one on my own, right? I hopped into a cab before the paparazzi could snap any incriminating photos of me and we were off for the upper east side. I sure hope Missy is having fun, I thought as I remembered she hadn't given me a key to her place. Great, just fucking great!
If any of you have ever been to New York City before, you surely know the famous MetLife building on Park Avenue. Literally ON Park Avenue. Some genius decided that they would build a building right in the middle of the widest street in Manhattan and construct a winding tunnel through it. As the cab approached the tunnel, I couldn't help but imagining I was on that Small World Ride at Disney. Just as we passed Tweetle Dee and Tweetle Dum, my anorexic sized portion of dinner passed right through my esophagus. I could barely get the door open and release my, well you get the point, before the cab driver started screaming something in Indian or Persian or something. I finally got dropped off somewhere between 81st and 86th streets and remembered "Great, I don't even know the bitch's address."
I finally found her building and did the only thing one could do in this type of situation. Wake up everyone in the building by buzzing everyone on the call box and pray that someone let me in. No answer. Maybe everyone is out hitting up the town? Who was I kidding? Missy lived on the upper east side...clearly everyone was sleeping. Just then the irony of the evening hit me: I was making fun of those poor schmucks who couldn't gain entrance to the club and now I'm the schmuck on the sidewalk who can't gain entrance to the building. Just as I had sucumbed to defeat, popped a squat on the sidewalk and dozed off, Missy and company show up, still reveling in their post party high. I woke up the next morning and asked myself, "did last night really happen?" I rolled over to see the Dolce & Gabbana model in the kitchen making coffee and thought, "yes, Derek, it really did."
I'm sure Miss will chyme in with her version of events, but remember, don't believe everything you read people! D
Der You Miss It!
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