Hello-o-o Couch

Saturday night, 3:30am in New York City. One would typically find such a girl on the street hailing a cab to the next bar or looking for someone to make out with. Instead, I'm flipping between Tupac Shakur's last performance at the House of Blues and "Swinging Wives" on SkinaMax, admiring the women's hip bones. Do I even have hip bones anymore? And then there's the occasional VH1 Classic flip through to see if I can catch a song that brings about nostalgia, which happens to be one of my favorite things. There's nothing better than to catch a video that's been put away in the back of my brain for more than a decade. I'm getting old. But then again, I feel like I've just begun. Karen Carpenter comes to mind. I could take a few pointers from her and stop eating so much. Now, I bet she had a set of hip bones like no one's business.

(Ah. YES! Morissey just came on. "How Soon is Now"...One of those songs that does it for me. Makes me want to put on heels, drink from the vodka bottle, light a cigarette--although I don't smoke--and dance against a wall, swaying aimlessly to the music. Ahh, decadence. The love.)

One can see how this works alone on a Saturday night. My thoughts are much like my channel surfing. But I have to say, considering I spent the last two Saturdays in the Far East, I'm having a good ol' time laying here on my couch contemplating hip bones, really bad fake sex, Karen Carpenter and the such.

Speaking of the Far East, I've a few stories to tell but not sure when they'll come to fruition. Everything is still digesting.

Alright, off to bed. Jet lag has gotten the best of me. Fell asleep at 6pm today only to wake up at 11pm, which explains why I'm up writing at 4am. In the meantime, some facts....

-Cities visited in the last two weeks: Hong Kong, Bangkok, Shanghai, Koh Samui.

-Number of falls: uncountable.

-Number of falls down a flight of stairs in an Asian McDonalds at 6am: 1.

-Number of giant Buddha's visited: 3.

-Number of times kissing a ping-pong woman in Bangkok: 1.

-Name of elephant ridden in the jungle: Sobu

-Favorite way to bring in the morning: A bottle of Singha beer...the big bottle

Happy Puerto Rican Day!

Having ridiculous experiences and creating stories that put fiction to shame, I've had several requests to create a blog. I found it only appropriate to begin with a good story. So here it is.

As I woke up yesterday in a stranger's bed in a basement, I stared at the Homer Simpson poster stapled on the wall and went through the usual questions in my head. 1. Where am I? 2. Who is that? 3. What day is it? Am I late for work?! 4. Cell phone? Jewelry? 5. And how do I get home?

But what was most interesting was how I incidentally celebrated one of New York's most cherished cultural days: The Puerto Rican Day & Parade. Every year at least someone gets shot or beat up and hundreds are out getting drunk and high.

As I walk up the stairs from the basement and into the light of Brooklyn, the Puerto Rican Day festivities are well underway. Cars drive by with the red, white and blue Puerto Rican flags. A toddler has a flag on his shirt and small flags on wooden handles stick out of his parents' back pockets. They sure have a lot of spirit.

I sit on the top stair and stare at my new-found friend and wonder what his name might be and if my head has ever hurt worse than it was now. We are waiting on the car service to pick me up and whisk me back to Manhattan where I belong. His skin brown, hair curly. He's not cute. He tells me he is Puerto Rican. (dramatic pause) ....And at that very moment ladies and gents, I knew I had done a great service. In the name of cultural awareness, I held my head high with hands on hips and shouted, "I celebrated Puerto Rican Day. Have you?"

And so I'll leave you with this: Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. America, you can thank me later.