I got into work from Greenwich (as in Connecticut, not the Village) this morning after clocking six cumulative hours of sleep for the weekend, and altogether, not functioning very well. I’m taking lunch at work right now to blog and recover, toting a large coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. So much for getting writing done over the weekend.

Ran around Saturday with Harvard kids who are in the city en route to an around-the-world trip (they’re actually spending the entire summer traveling the globe). It was quite the day/night. We hit up:

-Philip Marie, my favorite brunch spot, where you score an entree and unlimited mimosa for $17.95 every Saturday.
-Rocco’s, which is a dessert-exclusive restaurant on Bleecker and Carmine.
-Aroma Espresso Bar, my preferred daytime wifi spot on Greene and Houston (Think Coffee is what I like at night).
-Casa Mono, the best Spanish tapas in the city, though I probably consumed more wine than solid food here.
-OTTO, wine bar and restaurant on 8th and 5th Ave, which — FYI to the underage — does not card.

Met up with a (quite literal) gentleman caller at Hiro which can be summed up in ten or less words: old crowd, limited/bad drink selection, girls swinging from ceiling. Yeah. Also, the decor is totally tacky but maybe that’s just because I’m Asian and know better than to be impressed by paper lanterns and ill-advised acrobatics via suspension cables. Ended up at the Westin in Times Square eating like 1,200 calories worth of room service stuff. Gentleman caller drove me home in the morning after letting me get next to no sleep. Actual question I asked mid-makeout: “Don’t be offended but do you have a girlfriend?” I was pretty sure he didn’t but you can never be too careful. I even checked for a ring/ring imprint earlier in the evening. Paranoia aside, had a great time. Even better than the fantastic hookup was the water pressure during my morning shower. Why can’t I live in a hotel?

After getting home at the ungodly (for Sunday) hour of 11:30am, I grabbed brunch with the roomie at Maroons which has live jazz and a great brunch scene. I’ve been dying for soul food and have been too lazy to trek uptown. Maroon’s, at 16th and 7th, is a good 25 minutes closer than Harlem. I left early to make a train to Greenwich.

Spent the rest of Sunday on a doomed sea voyage. No joke. Just outside the harbor, the boat I was in started sinking. We had about four inches by the time we made it back to the dock. All was not lost. We hung out, drank, ate, fended off mosquitoes, smoked, etc. by the dock. I had a good two-hour nap on the deck from midnight to 2am, at which point I woke up cold and alone because the four people with me went off to hook up with each other. Then we trespassed on a private golf course and set off illegal fireworks. Apparently, there’s “nothing better to do in Greenwich.” The fireworks were gorgeous but it was the adrenaline rush from nearly getting caught that really left an impression. I was absolutely certain the police were going to come. Stayed overnight at my friend’s place, and again, amazing water pressure in the shower. Why can’t I live in an actual house?

I’m really glad I got out of the city yesterday, but I’m totally regretting the lack of sleep. I’m a complete zombie at work right now. I started drinking coffee again last week and really need to stop because having to quit it every few months is wreaking havoc on energy levels. I’m having a cup right now and maybe tomorrow, but that’s it. Really. I’m also one lighter short of being a smoker. I have two rules to discourage smoking: 1) I’m not allowed to buy cigarettes, and 2) I can’t carry a lighter. Basically, I can only smoke what’s offered to me. Way, way too much tobacco this past weekend. Totally done after I finish the YSL pack my pal grabbed for me overseas.

Needless to say, laying off alcohol until I finished the proposal was an overly ambitious goal. This weekend, I’ve had multiple glasses of red wine, tons of beer, mimosas, a too-spicy Bloody Mary, an icky-sweet cocktail at Hiro, champagne, and a Frangelico martini, the first such request the OTTO bartender has received in ten years. This week, I have plans for drinks every single night until Sunday. Lunches are all booked up too. Apparently, every single person I’ve ever met in life has decided to come to the city this week. Not even going to try to make it to next week sober.

My new diet, based off the past five days: cake (in cup form and otherwise), vodka, Special K, cigarettes, makeshift sandwiches, caffeine in lieu of sleep. Yeah, I’m basically going to die.

No late nights, no booze (not even wine), nothing until I get this proposal done. Between my job and writing, I’m probably working 55-60 hours a week. It’s not that bad, honestly, but I just can’t afford to be tired all the time. If I’m not burnt out, I can produce something decent. So I’ll stop with the energy-draining activities. Since it’s the weekend, I have plans for brunch and a facial today. After that, I’m sitting my ass down at a place with wifi and churning out the rest of this thing by Monday. I don’t care if it is Saturday and I have to write at 1am. I need to finish this.

Also, it is really hard to write about people who are still in your life and constantly evolving. They do crazy shit like break up with their girlfriends and there goes everything you’ve ever assumed about them along with a good thousand words or so. So can everyone try to sit tight and not shatter any more of my major assumptions until I finish this? Wait until Monday to come out of the closet/cheat on your boyfriend/confess your undying love. Kthx.

Sorry about the lack of posts — when I’m not working (rare), I’m spending all my creative energy on completing a personal writing project. Everything else is getting cast aside so I don’t burn out. Even freelancing’s on hold until I get this finished.

I’d say wish me luck but someone already has. Posted to my Bio today: 加油.

Thanks. Exactly what I need right now.

Just as I was thinking of submitting to their Back Stories section, Jane Magazine has been axed by Conde Nast according to the blogosphere. Don’t know what my little sister’s going to be reading through adolescence, but the future for glossies and teenage girls is not looking terribly bright.

Unrelated, my coworkers and I are having an argument about Britney Spears. One of them thinks that K-Fed was the one who “pushed her over the edge” and ruined the pop princess. I’m of the belief that she was crazy to begin with. Never thought I’d ever say this, but the kids are definitely better off in his hands. This woman makes me look functional.

So I left my cell phone in my cab and the driver is coming back to the East Village from Queens to drop it off. I’m incredibly stupid and drunk. Wow, thank goodness for Adia who made the phone call for me.