Asking for money intimidating
Still recovering from the night before I politely decline. — I wake up naturally again; so much for sleeping in on the weekends. I am a restless soul, so much so that I regret lounging around at home during the weekends.
My brother invites me to come over and be bums with him. Ever since moving to NYC after graduation, my body has programmed itself to make me a morning person, against my will. I have the constant urge to go outside and explore. — My friend is meeting me on the Upper East Side for brunch.
We organized a GNO (girls night out) with a group of gal pals from work, and it's really nice to hang out outside of work. We gossip about work, boys, and throw back tequila shots. I've learned that Lyft has better corporate policies and takes a smaller cut from their drivers, and it is the exact same service. My friends buy tequila shots but I abstain and we promptly dip out.
We head to Hair of the Dog, a college-type dance bar. We head over to Pianos, a nearby bar with dancing, and chill for five minutes before deciding the music is abysmal and not worth paying the cover for the upper-level dance floor. I swear, my body is programmed to wake me up around 9 or 10 a.m. (I wish it was programmed to make me exercise as regularly.) I lounge around in bed, eventually turning on my UE Boom to listen to the sweet sounds of JP Cooper. a.m.
I visit my favorite painting in the European painting gallery, “The Young Bather” by Gustave Courbet. It's an oil-on-canvas portrait of a nude woman with beautiful curves.
I'm not huge into art, but the woman looks so comfortable in her own skin and at peace with the world.
In the description, one writer praises the “beautiful girl” as “health itself, with an ample and plump silhouette…one couldn't be more independent or more true.” p.m. Happy and relaxed, I walk my friend to the subway station and hug her goodbye. — I have brunch leftovers for dinner and slice up a persimmon for dessert.
I pay for a round of tequila shots for my friends, and Venmo request them later. I am also single but scared of human boys, so I groove with my friends all night and curve all the boys. Rumor has it there's a 24-hour Ukrainian pierogi joint in East Village. Despite my physical discomfort, my Lyft driver is awesome and tells me about his night. I devour the ensemble while chatting with my roommate about her boy woes.
I'm still appalled at how absurdly expensive drinks are in NYC. After getting sick of dodging guys, I escape to the back of the bar where I spot a boy dancing by himself like a straight boss. She recently began sleeping with a boy from work and the relationship is in a gray area all too familiar to my generation. My personal love life can be described as crickets chirping, a gym on Christmas morning, my bank account after rent is due... — My roommate heads out for the day and I crawl back into bed and listen to music.
(He is also a Renaissance man who writes, composes, and produces his own music.