So when I woke up this morning, surprisingly not hungover and feeling all right, I listened to a message from my landlord that made me feel not so all right, spoiled the content I was feeling from just waking up, a message not unreasonably asking me to mail her our rent about which I have to call and tell her I will mail on Friday and which gives me to Friday to get it. Somehow? The regular called me last night and I postponed plans with him even though I am insanley broke and needed that money so much, did so because I was in Union Square when he called about to go see my hero, Joan Didion read at the Barnes and Nobles there. So I told him I could get together at about nine, but he ended up calling before then and cancelling saying that he was going out to dinner with a friend instead.
The Didion reading was the most packed reading I ever been to at that store. We were toward the back of the top floor, Ben and I, with a sea of people's heads between us and tiny little Joan. She read the same excerpt I had already read, the one that was in The New York Times a couple weeks ago, and so that was dissapointing, but it was still really thrilling to see this writer whom I adore so much in person even if she was really far away.
Later on after learning that I wasn't going to see that guy, I cruised Craigslist unsuccessfully for a bit before giving up and enjoying programming on the Food Network, a thing of pork lo mein, a beer and a Sparks, and then heading out in the rain to hang out with Ben, first at Metropolitan and then through the pouring rain to the Cock. At the Cock, I bummed cigarettes off of just about everyone that was smoking one, danced to songs I didn't totally enjoy, save Nine Inch Nails, drank Coors Light (yum) on the street and had a really lovely time talking to Ben. The night ended with someone ODing on something in the Cock and being unresponsive to the bouncer who was shaking him and all that was pretty upsetting to watch. The little nook that served as a backroom has been barricaded off and the bouncer kept marching around with his flashlight, in what looks like a pretty big clean up of the Cock's raunchy behavior - have they been recieving citations maybe? There was this boy, David, who was really cute and funny in a nerdy way and when I asked when he was going to make out with me as I was leaving, he said, "Oh, in about fifteen seconds," and I counted down on my fingers and that three, two, one was so exciting, almost more exciting than the kiss I was aniticpating in those last few seconds. And I have his number and may or may not call him.
Oh and there is good news that really I meant to mention earlier because yes, I am stressed about my rent, but the good news is that the Princeton Review called me today and said they have work available starting tomorrow. I worked for them last year as you may or may not know and was aniticipating the start of work again in the fall and was nervous that I had yet to hear back from them after contacting them a couple weeks ago, was sure that they were going to hire me again. But fuck yeah - they called and I am going to start working in the next couple of days and hopefully as many hours as possible and I'll start having paychecks again, big paychecks and I won't have to see old men naked anymore and I'll have reasons to leave the house and I am so happy, you do not even know. I mean, at least, I'll be able to pay my November rent on time now. And everything cancels each other out. You can only be sad for so long about a phone call, that of your landlord's, before maybe not even two hours later, you get a good call, telling that you that you are probably going to have a couple of weeks, if not a couple months of work available that is super easy. Okay, but now back to worrying about this month's rent. Why are we the worst tenants ever? I sort of miss Dara this month and her delinquence with the rent that made me feel better about mine.