Weekend Recap: Sunday Bloody Mary Sunday Edition

I know I had a weekend. I know this because it's Monday morning and I'm back in my office and I have roughly $500 less in my bank account than on had on Friday. But it would seem that I've forgotten large chunks of it.
On the upside, I have some new picture frames, some fuzzy memories, and a wicked hangover. Hooray!
Friday: After running home to put Confessions On A Dancefloor on my ipod and burning copies for a few undisclosed parties, Bartender came over for a non-date dinner and a movie before he went to work. (At this point, I encourage you all to treat this blog like a midnight screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show: feel free, upon the arrival of certain characters, to hiss, cheer, or throw toast at your computer screen) We bought tickets for Shopgirl (his choice) which was oversold, and ended up seeing Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang (not a porno, but sounds like it, no?). I thought it was smart and funny, but a little slow. Bartender fell asleep. When I nudged him, he indicated that he had a long day and was exhausted and wanted to nap before working until 4 A.M. THEN WHY DID YOU ASK ME OUT IF YOU'RE SO TIRED? Sigh. I can't really even get indignant anymore. Who has the energy? Point being: why did I wake him up? I should have just let him sleep. If he wasn't enjoying it, why did I feel the need to ensure that he watched every frame? Insert your own theories here.
After the movie I walked him to work, and then beat a swift retreat to a straight bar in the East Village to meet Leslie, Molly (who came back to visit from Denver) and Molly's sister for her (the sister's) birthday. And by swift, I mean I took the longest route possible so I could listen to as much of the new Madonna as possible. After 2 beers and countless snickers at men wearing Dockers with their blackberry clipped to their belt, I headed home.
Saturday: Met Molly and her Sister for brunch, kicking off what was to be a weekend fueled by the spicy tomatoey goodness of Bloody Marys. After a few, I met Asha downtown for some shopping, which was followed by a nap, a smoke, and a trip back down to Chris's apartment in Chelsea, where the real boozing began. I know we spent some time smushed up against the wall at g, and eventually made it to XL, which was emptier than the Mensa chapter in Texas. I'm not sure how it happened, but Chris and I spent the last few hours of the night sitting drinking in a diner (I believe it had somethig to do with his crush on a waiter there).
Sunday: Met Mr. C, an Italian who spent the second half of his life in London, for Brunch.
Now, the Europeans know how to relax and enjoy a meal. And by enjoy a meal, I mean sit for 3 hours at an outdoor table and drink Bloody Marys until the brunch tab is higher than what I paid to take 2 people to dinner last week, and tie it all up with Bailey's mixed with Grand Marnier. You'd be surprised how well french fries and gorgonzola fondue goes with booze.
Note to self: don't go shopping after spending $60 on Brunch booze, or you'll wind up at home wondering where you got $75 worth of picture frames (Answer: Bed Bath and Beyond in Chelsea, apparently).
After another quick nap, I met Rob and friends back in Chelsea for Pomegranite mojitos and Thai tapas before one last swipe at my liver in the form of an $11 vodka redbull served in a dixie cup by the sloe-eyed bartender at Hiro.
All in all, a great weekend. At least I've spackled in the holes with fun details. So I imagine had a great time. If you know different, please, don't tell me. It's not pretty when the reality that I most likely puked on 8th Avenue and insulted at least 14 different cultures in the span of a block shatters the somewhat wholesome memories I've created for myself.