CORRECTION: by ‘yesterday’ I meant Saturday, as Sunday’s when I started to write this.
I woke up yesterday about as far gone as one can wake up. Terrible hangovers don’t work well with an inability to see at all. Why was my vision so blurry? I was minus my glasses. Don’t worry though, I got them back by the early afternoon. That was the first, and most important, step to sobering up. Without the glasses it was a never ending tilt a whirl gone horribly worse.
Next, I headed over to the Goodburger on Broadway between 17th and 18th. It’s not the best food ever, but they make a good grilled cheese (a couple kinds of cheese on whole wheat), nice fries, and they recommended me a seltzer water, when I asked what drink they would give for the worst hangover. I proceeded to enjoy the sustenance while watching college basketball at the joint. I wouldn’t have thought that college basketball would help, but it was alright because it was on a big flat screen, which seem to always be easy on the eyes.
The game was Illinois vs Arizona, and it helped me remember why I hate college sports. Young full of themselves athletes are so much harder to stomach than their older complete sellout counter parts. The kids at the restaurant helped me remember my hatred for the young as well. Half of the store’s clientèle seemed to have come straight from a My Super Sweet Sixteen reject show.
I’m not sure what made me so angry at such a young age, but it’s helped me write more, I guess.
Later that day, I found myself unable to get a ticket to Juno, which has sold out at Union Square until 11:20. Instead, Ben, Pat, and I walked over to 99 Miles To Philly over on 3rd Avenue. The Whiz, Steak, and Onions sandwich that I enjoyed, which Pat also got, was downright worthy of being called a hoagie clad silver bullet.
Eventually, we went bowling in Sunset Park. Bowling is more fun than you remember. Especially if the last time you went was with family and not with your best friends.
The next day, I avoided lunch, drank some water, and had an early dinner of latkes. Two kinds. The kind Jared made was the one I ate faster, and said was better.
The title of this post relates to something a coworker said today. After declaring my behavior on Friday night makes me something of the local rock star, in what I’d say was that sadly cliché manner that the guys of Guns N Roses made popular, she said that the greazy (intended misspelling) food that I took in over the last weekend was Slutty Food. I liked that.