Last night I started off with this gigantic drink that Little One made me. I felt like a was on Spring Break. Don’t worry, I didn’t lose my top or find myself naked in a hotel swimming pool with 20 girls. That was so 2004.

We met some friends at Rio Grande for birthday crackeritas (my favorite!). And then off to High Bar for more drinks.

Then we went to XXI Bar to meet more friends. The bar was super packed and everyone was cheering. What is this so called basketball that’s got everyone screaming at the TV screen? And why do I have a donut around me?

It was such a fun night but I got in a taxi and went home before I started displaying spring break behavior. I woke up too late and too tired to go to a bar to watch the USA World Cup match so I watched it at home on the couch. What a terrible call by the ref! USA totally got robbed but what a great game! Little One came over to lay out during the sunny afternoon and then I came back inside to watch the England game. What a snoozer! I fell asleep after the half. Now I’m sitting at home watching the subway series. When did I become such a sport fan? I’ll be completely sported out by August but does watching hot men running around, swinging, and kicking at balls ever get old?

I just couldn’t resist. How cute does Gus look snuggling with my Hello Kitty?

I try to mix in some cultural activities in between the binge drinking. Wednesday evening I went to see one of my favorite authors, Sloane Crosley, at Barnes & Noble in Tribeca. It’s been said that some of the best authors are the ones you want to hang out with after reading their book. Crosley was definitely as cool and funny in person as she seemed in her first book of essays, I Was Told There’d Be Cake. I was laughing throughout the reading and indeed while she signed a copy of her new book, How Did You Get This Number, I told her that I was a huge fan and asked if she wanted to be friends. (I’ve got to stop approaching people this way. I am unaware that I am 28 years old, not 8).

Obviously she (politely) declined but luckily I’ve had enough experience with rejection and won’t hold it against her. Buy her books. You’ll laugh out loud.

I like to talk. I’m definitely a talker. I had a guy think I was really conceited because I talked throughout our entire date, never once asking him about himself. At parties I always manage to corner some poor soul, talking their ear off while they look around in panic, hoping to catch someone’s eyes to be saved. I’m quite certain, if I were to be stranded on a deserted island ala Tom Hanks in Castaway, I could entertain myself for months, maybe even years, by talking to a coconut or a volleyball that’s laying around.

Ever since I moved to Astoria last September I’ve been on a (failing) mission to find some local friends to explore the neighborhood with. I’ve been trolling the bars, cornering unsuspecting patrons, and asking them if they’d like to be friends. It hasn’t really worked out too well. Either they just think I’m super weird or at some point they end up hitting on me. Neither are desired outcomes. But a few days ago someone didn’t think I was weird (well, only slightly) or hit on me and agreed to play in the park with me. I rode my bike to the park and we hung out in the sun and kicked the soccer ball around. Such a perfect summer afternoon. Of course I talked his head off until we got hungry and went to get a bite to eat (at a restaurant I had never been to) where there were 2 for 1 drinks. Hmm. The other thing about me, aside being a talker, is that I can never say no. Another round? OK! We had quite a few rounds until it was 1 AM and I was too drunk to ride my bike home. (Always a funny night when you’re too drunk to ride a bicycle). I walked my bike all the way from Ditmars to 30th Ave, swerving from side to side. I made it to my apartment and through the double doors. I carried my bike up the stairs, never an easy task, especially while intoxicated. I struggled with the bike, it felt much heavier for some reason, and I fell backwards, down the stairs, with the bike falling on top of me. I was pinned under my bike, at the bottom of the stairs, without the energy to push it off of me. Just take a moment to picture this. I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Twenty minutes later, I managed to climb two flights of stairs, without injury, and safely tucked myself into bed.

Perhaps a guy and a girl can meet and form a platonic friendship after all. Or maybe he thinks I’m a total lush and I’ll be back to talking to coconuts.

New York City has a way of making you feel like a child. Well, a broke ass college student to be more exact. Most of us couldn’t afford to live without roommates and our condiments are typically stolen from various delis and diners. We don’t have mortgages, kids, lasting relationships, or washer dryers.

Sometimes I find it comical that after 28 years on this earth, what I do have are roaches, leaks, and a box of earplugs. The other night my roommates and I ordered pizza. When I went back into the kitchen an hour later to get a second slice, I saw a bunch of roaches run out of the box. Fantastic. Last night, every couple of seconds as I lay in bed reading, a few drops of water would sprinkle my face and book. My upstairs neighbor’s air conditioner is leaking through my window. It’s as if I’m at torture camp, having water trickled down my face until I slowly lose my mind. A few minutes later, on a Monday night, there were 3 guys singing and chanting fraternity cheers on the street below my window. It was so loud I thought there were 20 of them outside. I had to do it. I was one of those ornery ladies who yelled, “Shut the fuck up,” out the window. “Oh go back and lick your cunt,” they yelled back. Nice. Some more time passes, a few minutes after midnight, and I hear what sounds like a marching band. I looked out my window and did not see a parade or any signs of instruments, but I could hear horns, accordions, and trumpets as if it were St. Paddy’s Day.

I put in my earplugs and thought to myself, “Oh, New York, it’s funny how I still love you, no matter how much you piss me off.” Perhaps, I realize, I’ve treated all of my relationships as if they were New York. I just put in my earplugs, roll over, and continue to love you, regardless of your flaws.