When it’s time to party Greenpoint parties hard
Yesterday morning I got up early so I could buy some garlic bagels at the Garden before they sold out. There are serious benefits to shopping at the Garden early on a Sunday morning. For starters, you avoid the stroller nazis—- which is a good thing for me, because they piss me off royally. Secondly, the powers that be there play some fierce tunes before ‘peak’ shopping hours. This particular morning I got to rock out to Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” while foraging for breakfast foodstuffs. I enjoyed this tremendously.
Anyhoo, on my walk to the Garden I came across the remains of one swinging party. Perhaps someone decided to celebrate Chinese New Year? Although there are no Chinese people to speak of in Greenpoint, an
opportunity excuse for partying ’til one pukes is seldom left unexploited. And this person had clearly partied hard, as you will see…
Confetti was involved.
Fornication came to pass.
Lots of fornication.
While I’m happy to see that safe sex practices were followed, I found this a bit unsettling.
Note the phone card located under the hypodermic. I’ve heard of drunk dialing, but junk(ie) dialing? Long distance no less. Wow.
And like all good things, this party had to come to an end.
This explosive spray of vomitus was located in front of the C-Town. When I walked by there later I noticed that it had been removed. I suspect either a dog ate it or the store Manager decided that having a rancid pile of puke outside the entrance (or more importantly, the EXIT) of his/her grocery store was not good for business.
P.S.: Later this same day my husband and I returned to the Garden to get (yet more) food. Van Halen’s Dancing in the Streets was playing over the PA system. I busted out some moves I learned while watching Mexican music videos recently. This irritated/embarrassed my husband to no end, thus increasing my pleasure/hamming it up ten-fold. He hates it when I dance in public.
Gotta get back to mopping the kitchen. To make this chore more interesting, I have decided to pretend that I am Diamond Dave. The mop is my mike. About five minutes ago I marched into the hallway and shouted Mr. Roth’s monologue from Unchained to my husband who happened to be sitting in the living room. He was clad in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. I just about pissed my pants laughing. He was not amused.