I think that I’m a social person, with a decent enough social life. But it’s not until I actually get dressed up and head out on the town that I realize I have sadly confused getting out with going out.
Getting out, most often with the kids, generally does not lead to the following:
1. Witnessing four EMTs in Times Square performing CPR on a guy on the street who may, from the look of it, have already been dead. I was scared to tell Dana this moments later at the sk*rt meetup for fear that she would run back to the midwest, never again to return to the big, scary city which her mother already told her would lead to her kidnapping or murder or worse – We might turn her liberal!
2. A black, thugged-out Lincoln Navigator parked in front of the Scientology center, which, when I went to take a picture for a potential blog post (a celebrity in the Scientology center!) changed my impression of the situation: Through the tinted windows, hard core porn was clearly visible on two drop-down screens on the back seat. My flash accidentally went off (d’oh!) at which point the occupants instantly shut off the video and turned towards me.
I ran. Oh yes I did. For I do not think it was Tom and Katie back there.
3. A drunk Irish guy telling me, You’re the preeeetiesh mohsh beauful girl that I eeeever saw. D’yu haveaboyfren? Tellimees the luuuuuckiesh man ever. You tellem I said it. You tellimthat. Oh wait…you can’t take my pishur. You can’t puhme on the internet. You haffto erase that. I’ve done shum things, you know? I’ve done shumthigs I’m not proud of…d’yu have a boyfren?
4. Dinner consisting of a glass of wine, a mojito with Anna, and a bag of potato chips. But it was sour cream and onion, so that’s two vegetables right there.
I have to get out more.