So Mary, what else happened on spring break?

Embarrassingly enough, I talked to a lot of people about myspace. One girl said to me right before I had ordered a drink, "Don't try to act like you don't drink, Mary. I've seen your pictures on myspace, you're a total booze-hound." I ate my first slice of New York pizza after a long search for Rosario's pizzeria. I drank PBR in a squalid back room bar. A Bulgarian pony-tailed man tried to guilt me into dancing. I made some crass comments to some random dudes. During a smoke break, one of the members of our party bitched out a girl who tried unsuccessfully to bum a cig. We were turned down by four cabbies whilst trying to find a taxi to Brooklyn from the Lower East Side. Folks flirted, danced, threw inhibitions to the wind, peaced out, waltzed in, drank up, and fell down. This all happened the first night.

The nights that followed consisted of karaoke, Irish bartenders, giving away extra slices of pizza, an artist who had multiple personalities when drunk, a classy encounter with some asshole boys, shots of Jameson, shots of tequila, shots of vodka (none of which were consumed by me), an impromptu rooftop wine party, a schmooze and booze Manhattan young democrats' party which was infiltrated by me and a guy who said he was an Irish-Russian-Jewish republican, a twilight zone trip to Roosevelt Island, two stirring renditions of the theme song to Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, a late-night subway trip that included a cross-eyed black guy who had seen all of America by bus and a white guy who opposed gentrification but lived in a gentrified neighborhood and a preppy Vanderbilt alum eavesdropper, a case of mistaken identity regarding a teenage suicide victim, a pratfall in Williamsburg performed by yours truly, an evening of pizza and Pride and Prejudice and good intentions to stay in, getting lost on the Upper East Side in the snow, a freezing basement show that forced me to put toilet paper in my ears featuring a guy who performed in a backlit tent, and a free beer ticket from a girl in a crazy white get-up.

On St. Patrick's Day, the events included a bite at McDonalds, a quick glimpse of the parade, a German pub, a Duane Reade bathroom break, an Irish pub, a friend who asked the guys at the next table if they were leaving soon about 4 times, a shaving cream fight, Guinness, a Whole Foods bathroom break, a burger joint, a misguided subway trip, a split-up, a long walk north, a long walk east, a Mexican restaurant, a man in a puffy coat with a tight green t-shirt over it, a stolen cell phone resulting in risque text messages, a stolen beer, a free beer, a guy who was pushed over in his chair and then slapped the guy who pushed him, a NYU yuppie hangout, a tonic missing the gin, a stolen beer, a drunk girl who kept trying to steal a coat, a couple who took a limousine, a gay bar, hearing cocaine being sniffed in the next bathroom stall, having an old gay man with a caesar haircut buy me a drink, and a gypsy cab ride. That was my last night in town.

Perhaps it's needless to say, but my days were consumed with trying to recover from the previous nights.