I believe it was the night of Tuesday, June 19th, and I was about halfway through a 1.5L bottle of Smirnoff when my friend Jackie IM’d me saying that I should come visit her in New York City for the weekend. I was drunk enough that I said, “sure!” and followed up by booking a flight and hotel for the upcoming weekend despite a mere 72 hours notice.

I had never really been “in” NYC before, so I figured why the hell not. I went ahead and set myself up with a decent hotel in downtown Manhattan, the Millennium Hilton right next to Ground Zero for 9/11, and then just prepared myself the best I could for the unplanned weekend getaway.

Things didn’t start off too great, however. Here’s what I wrote about “The Plane Trip From Hell”:

It all started well. I made it to San Francisco International Airport from San Rafael in record time during rush hour traffic; a mere 45 minutes. The airport shuttle in the Long Term Parking Area arrived just as I got out of my car and approached the bus stop. I flew through the security checkpoint line without a single problem or threat of a anal cavity search (still debating whether this was a good thing or actually the first of the bad yet to come). My flight from SFO to DEN was on-time and started boarding precisely when I arrived at the gate. The flight was quick, utterly painless and arrived in Denver 15 minutes ahead of schedule. It was then that all hell broke loose

Upon arriving at the Denver International Airport, my good fortunes began to turn for the worse. The stunning 5′6″ brunette with the size 0 black mini-skirt and 34C pink lace Victoria’s Secret push-up bra that was visible through her form-fitting white tank top decided to punch destiny in the face and stay in Denver instead of heading to Gate 38 to board the plane to La Guardia with me. Sure.

I never got her name. We never even once made eye contact. But love doesn’t always need that. The simple fact that her immaculate cleavage and perfectly toned thighs thoroughly kept me mesmerized during the entire 2 and 1/2 hour flight was enough to let me know that she was indeed the one. Alas, she was afraid of her destiny and headed to baggage claim instead of into my arms, onto my plane and into the Mile High Club.

Things only got worse from there. I boarded the plane on time and got to my seat in the back only to notice that the plane was fairly empty and nobody else was getting on. At first, I thought it was an empty flight and I would be able to stretch out and let my balls breath for the next 3 hrs 45 minutes. I soon found out that wouldn’t be the case. It was a technical difficulty. There was a fuel leak detected and it would take them 15 minutes to fix it and start boarding the rest of the passengers.

I waited. About 20 minutes later, the other passengers boarded and everything seemed back on track. An exceptionally fine Israeli girl with a sweet smile and C-cups sat a couple rows in front of me. I was starting to feel good about things again until the rest of the passengers got on. One. Two. Three. Make that FOUR mothers with babies sat in various seats in the final three rows. To make things worse, a couple of rowdy children sat in the two seats in front of me and a smelly old couple next to me. It was hell.

A baby cried on cue. Then another. Then the two kds in front of me started jumping up and down in their seats. Not really helping my headache any, the father started yelling at them, only resulting in them whining more. I wanted to kill them all. Just take off and get me to NYC, I was thinking. United Airlines wouldn’t allow that. After 2 hours sitting in the plane on the ground, they finally let us know that the plane was just too fucked to fly. They would deboard us all and try to get us on a new plane since repairs would take a minimum of 3 or 4 hours.

I waited restlessly at the gate in the airport, hoping for some positive news about the flight change. Nothing for 15 minutes so I began to panic and turned on my laptop to see if there was a WiFi connection at the airport. There was one offered by AT&T and even though it was $7.95 for a day that I wouldn’t fully use, I just had to get it just so I could log on to MySpace and check my email while I waited. It helped calm my nerves.

The delay ended up not being too long and our new plane was set to leave at 3:40PM, about 3 hours after when it was originally. I thought now that things would be smooth sailing for the rest of the way. I was wrong again. We taxied on the runway for more than an hour, while the air conditioning in the plane was completely off and the hot Denver sun was baking the airplane. It was hot. I was cramped and sweaty. Most definitely not a good combination.

We eventually took off…I actually clapped and yelled out “woooooo!” which got a huge chuckle from the other passengers. The takeoff was bumpy, but I was ecstatic to finally be in the air and back on my way to New York. Shit obviously didn’t stay good. There was bad weather ahead and the plane would have to re-route. This caused another 45 minute delay as we had to fly south and around the bad weather before heading back towards New York. I was pissed and the only thing that I was able to do was order 5 vodkas, at $5 apiece, to try and get me back in a better mood. It worked to an extent, but it wasn’t nearly enough to erase the pain of a tumultuous flight. I hate you United Airlines. NYC, here I am.

Once I arrived, everything turned out great. I met up with Jackie & Amanda at the hotel and then shortly after Paula came by and we got to formally meet for the first time. We didn’t really do much, but I had fun walking around the “big city” for a bit then getting drunk off Paula’s roommates’ liquor.

I woke up the next morning in my hotel room and noticed that it was exactly 9:11AM. This was particularly weird because right outside my window was where the two towers used to stand. I thought for a while how surreal it all was and just started out the window in awe of the empty space in the ground and next door where the buildings where. It was crazy thinking that I was 50 or so stories high, towering above most of the city below me, yet if the towers were still stand me, I’d be looking way up to them from where I was standing. Surreal.

I spent most of the morning just walking around the streets, pretty much up and down every street in lower Manhattan, before taking a ferry to Staten Island to where Amanda lived. We fucked around for a bit then had to go back to my hotel to meet up with my friend Charis, who had flown up from Miami to hang out with me in NYC for the weekend. We all started drinking, taking pics, having an orgy, blah, blah, blah, until Paula showed up and we went somewhere for dinner.

I say “somewhere” because I remember very little from the evening because I was quite plastered by this point. Based on what the girls said, I was pretty trashed, Charis had to feed met at dinner and they had to trick me into drinking water by saying it’s vodka, and I spend a lot of the time harassing some couple that was on a date. So, basically, I was about as drunk as I always am by 9PM every night.

It was fun except for the fact that the cab stole my digital camera that had quite a bit of dope pics on it. Hence, everything you see in the My Photos section are ones taken with my Sidekick or Macbook or one of the girls’ cameras. Sucks!

The next day Paula had a casting to go to and Jackie had to get back home for some family thing, so it was pretty much Charis and myself for most of the afternoon. After playing Gynecologist for a few hours, we decided to hit up the Times Square area and do some tourist shit. We walked around a bunch, got one of those drawings of us on the side of she street and eventually hit up the dope wax museum.

The museum was a shit load of fun, mainly because Charis was into molesting the wax statues every bit as much as I did. We got a lot of mean looks from parents and retards, but it was loads of fun doing things like molesting the molester, aka Michael Jackson, or being able to choke President Bush like so many people would love to.

The trip was pretty short and I was blacked out for much of it, but the weekend was a blast. I loved being in NYC and could see myself living there for a year or two of my life some day, and it was especially fun getting to send time with the girls. Truly a great trip even though I didn’t get to molest the Statue of Liberty like we were thinking of doing or getting to eat from the pizza place in Staten Island that Amanda claims is the best in the area. Maybe next time!

This was what I wrote at some point after night #2:

I have fallen in love with New York City. It’s a real truly authentic and passionate love, too. It’s leaps and bounds above the run-of-the-mill love that everybody gets as often as spam in your inbox that typically results in me slipping the girl a roofie, having my way with her all night long and then when dawn rolls around play dumb and ask all shockingly, “omg, do you think we had sex last night?????”.

No, it’s not that kind of love. My love for New York City is a much truer kind. It’s real. It’s the kind that would get me to club a girl on the back of the head and drag her back to my cave by her foot and make her my wife. Mine till death do us part or she starts getting crows feet, saggy breasts, stretch marks, or the ultimate love-crushing FUPA (fat upper pussy area), which would cause me to dump her for a newer, younger, firmer model that I love just as much as I once loved her. Yes, that’s how I love New York City.