Christian & I were planning a trip to pick up my repaired ring and the Queens County Courthouse to apply for our marriage license as my birthday outing. Exciting stuff, errand running. The court clerk made us change our minds when she said, “Come early and definitely before 3:00 because the line is so long you may not get served.” Woah. WTF? Why’s that? “It’s JUNE!” She exclaimed increduously. Oh. Right. Shit. I don’t know crap about weddings.
So far, knock on wood– our “party” has not been a big deal but I forget that there are hundreds, nay thousands, of brides in New York planning their special, perfect June wedding and don’t plan stuff like this in New York regularly. Yeah, we’ll wait till August to get our license. Let the Bridezillas freak out without our prying eyes. Bless their pink and white laced hearts.
Instead I’ll be off eating French toast and Bloody Marys for lunch and having fruity cocktails in the afternoon at the Rink Bar (aka the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink in Winter) with my old work buddies like I did this day five years ago. Only this time I’ll have an awesome guy at my side and drunk all day, as life should be.
Five years ago today I got *ahem* molested on the subway after the Rink Bar outing. Three margaritas and two feet of height made me brave enough to chase the fu*ker down and make himr regret his decision. A$$hole. Which reminds me: V Day is here.