This is a good time to introduce a new term: Mask of Shame. When you do something regrettable or shameful, you must wear the Mask of Shame. It’s sort of like an award for poor behavior the previous night. This isn’t an actual mask; the only thing it means it that others can yell at you and say things like, “Put on your Mask of Shame!” and “Get the Mask of Shame from the mantle and bring it to him!” and the like.

For example, Mike, after throwing up all over our apartment, had to wear the Mask of Shame the next day and on the train ride home. Every time he’d try to explain or apologize for his actions this morning (well, actually this afternoon), we’d say “I can’t hear you through the Mask of Shame, Mike” and “I don’t know if you can see what you’ve done to the apartment, because the Mask of Shame has such small eye holes, but it’s a fucking mess.”

If Mike hadn’t upstaged me, I would have certainly had to wear the Mask of Shame for getting completely stonewalled by Missy (thank you for at least that, Mike).

So, there you have it: Mask of Shame. Sure, it’s stupid, but so are we.

Alicia is a good friend of mine from high school who I hadn’t seen in quite some time. Missy is her roommate that I met for the first time last night. Both are pretty darn cute (I’ll keep it PG in case they read this).

Last night, our groups of friends met up in the East Village. Pretty normal night, feasting on the $3 shots at Blue & Gold, until the end of the night when I wound up in a cab with both Alicia and Missy going to Chelsea, despite the fact that I live in the Lower East Side.

Then there was this conversation in the cab (Alicia is sitting between Missy and I):

Missy: “I don’t know…I feel like I just want to make out tonight.”
Alicia: “Well, Jason can probably help you out with that.”
Me: [perking up from drunken stupor] “Yeah, I think I can handle that. I’ve kissed a girl before, actually two of them, so I’m no Denzel Washington, but I’m pretty familiar with the whole deal.”
Missy: “Ok.”

[Cab stops at their apartment. Alicia, saint that she is, runs into the building to leave Missy and I alone outside.]

Me: [trying to be smooth, but failing miserably, as I'm sure I'm spitting all over her face and hair as I talk to her] “Now, I’ve had a little bit to drink tonight, so I might be wrong, but I think somebody in the cab said something earlier about making out. Did you hear that at all?”
Missy: [suddenly apparently very sober] “Yeah….I think I’m just gonna go inside. Have a good night.”

Lesson: I’ve taken rejection to a whole new level, in that I get it even when it is completely unsolicited.

************

Took the cab ride back to the LES, knowing that the only thing that could salvage the night would be a BBQ chicken slice from Rosario’s, and of course, they were out. This I took much, much harder than the thing with Missy, asking the guy behind the counter “Can you maybe put just a little chicken on a plain slice?” Just let it go, man. Let it go.

Got home to see my roommate’s friend (I guess he’s my friend too) on the couch semi-conscious.

Me: “Dude, Mike, do you want a blanket?”
Mike: “That’d be great man.”
Me: [throwing blanket] “Here you go.”
Mike: “Thanks – BLLEECCHH!”

I’m not sure if that’s the correct spelling of the puking noise, but for the next ten minutes I got to watch Mike puke over almost everything in our apartment, including but not limited to: the floor, the rug, the walls, the couch, my blanket, my jacket, two of our pots (?), our silverware, some glasses, our toilet, shower curtain, and bathroom floor. Unbelievable.

All in all, pretty entertaining night. Can’t wait until next weekend.