Some people consider Sunday evening a time to recover and rest up for the oncoming week. Generally speaking, those people are not my friends. Many of the people I know see Sunday as a challenge - a test to see just how much ridiculousness they can cram into the remainder of their weekend before the dreaded Monday morning. Last weekend was no exception and I was foolish enough to partake in it. After wreaking havoc on Diablo Royale, the Rusty Knot and the Jane Hotel, we somehow ended up at a friend’s place in the Waldorf Astoria. One of the perks of living in a swanky hotel is obviously the room service - when it’s 3am on a weeknight and you need to order something (in this case it may or may not have been a heaping pile of fries, bottles of Jack Daniel’s and a sofa) it’s always available. Hours passed, I laughed until my stomach ached and tears rolled down my cheeks. We toasted to the best Sunday ever and when the 5am mark loomed and the third call to room service was for “hookers and blow”, I realized it was probably time to go home so that I’d be able to function at work several hours later. As I walked to the elevator and the howls of their laughter still echoed and softened behind me, I couldn’t help but think that although I was going to feel like hell the next day, life was pretty damn good.
