Yet another weekend...

I'm at a swank, post modernistic Greenwich Village apartment with my friend, I do not know how I got here, and we are staring at this beautiful woman screaming at us to get out...Its Saturday morning 3:30 am, and all i can think of at that time is the Wall Street Journal that we stepped on near her open door (you conservative bitch...)
Let me begin from the beginning, which was Friday evening...
The night started innocently enuff, with me going to the Met at 7:30 with Keith and Anne from work (not their real names, and if u read on, you will know why...). The Met, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is one of the most famous museums in the world, and is tremendously boring during the day except for the fact that its on Central Park, and theres really no entrance fee to get in (you have to give a donation, but if u can endure the withering looks, u can get by giving a buck). But come evening, and the whole place changes...its as if the damn thing has been swished over by some fairy queen's wand, and has suddenly become sexy and mysterious...part of the charm is the long shadows of the UES buildings over Central Park, but most of it is the tremendous lighting they have and the way the architecture shows up at night. So they have this 'After Dark' series at the Met, where the museum is open till 9 on Fridays and Saturdays, and you can pretend to look at the sculptures (some of which are quite amazing, to tell u the truth), and head to the Balcony Cafe and the Wine Bar, where you have a magnificent view of most of Central Park and most of Manhattan's beautiful maidens with their hedge fund husbands or trust fund boyfriends, having an early Merlot before going and painting the town red (and of course, the well-meaning and extremely beautiful cougars trying to snare one of the afore-mentioned arm-candy).
After a lot of people-watching and a little drinking (all we could afford, considering the ridiculous prices), we took our leave of one museum and dived headlong into another, the Guggenheim at 86th, another famous, slightly more interesting museum because of the fact that they have these avant-garde (yeah, the gratuitous French phrase to burnish my stupid post...) modern art pieces, like the latest from this chinese guy with 3 one-syllable names (he's damn good, tho'), with the centerpiece being 9 cars in different stages of free fall from the ceiling of the central space to the ground (to represent a car bombing, apparently).

Thankfully the lines were pretty short due to it raining heavily (i.e., we were one of the few drenched unfortunates in line). Once we got in, it was magical...the center space has apparently been created by Frank Lloyd Wright, an artist who Ayn Rand proclaimed as coming nearest to Howard Roark in his creations...and the cars hurtling towards apparent destruction almost made me want to turn into one of those annoying 'cultural' types, when thankfully the free appetizers arrived and I came back to frat-boy earth.
After the gang and I feasted on some decadent fried stuff, way too expensive martinis and people with plum lips and high cheekbones (that last was equally provided by both sexes, so Anne had a field day too), we began what my friends had primarily come out that night to do, mingle with the beauties over wine and maybe snare someone interesting for afters...
So while I played the straight man in the conversations, Keith and Anne went to town...within minutes Keith was intently chatting up a foxy co-ed, while Anne was using me to front her flirty conversation with this hulk of a guy from somewhere in the Carribean...(and he had the Bob Marley dreadlocks to prove it), who possessed a big smile and a bigger speech impediment. A sample -
Subbu - 'So, T (dreadlocks guy), is this your first party at the Guggenheim...'
T - grunt...gugga...Central Park...muttering...grunt
Anne - (looking quizzically at me) 'Thats, um, nice...so where are you staying?'
T - (saying something nearly incoherent...), grunt, ...sexy...grunt...
Anne - Thats so sweet, thanks (apprently he had said something abt her hair, which she understood perfectly, leading to my observation that a woman will know a compliment in any language)
Both Anne and T glaring at me - (Anne) We are going to get another drink, do u wanna come (her glaring eyes indicating that any answer in the affirmative would make things unpleasant for me)

so I slunk off, and started talking about the relative merits of spring vs winter with this beautiful European-looking couple. Just when I was getting warmed up and ready for my 'Spring might have the sun, but it will never have Christmas' schtick, Keith came up to me, breathless, and blurted out - dude...I met this chick, she gave me her number, and her address! I have to go see her! This is awesome! Shes hot! I made out with her! I owe the bartender 30 bucks!', all in the space of 5 seconds...
As I struggled to process this barrage of information through my drunken stupor, he continued - 'Come, we have to go...she stays in the Village, I have to go to her place...'
I needed another screwdriver, or 10...Weakly, I took him to the bar and made him close his tab out (not forgetting to get my couple screwdrivers on his card, proving that a drunk desi is every bit as cheap as a sober one).
Fortified, I tried to reason with the bugger But pleas of 'its almost 1', 'you can call her and meet some other time','get the f$%k out, I'm going home', fell on deaf ears. We took one look at Anne, who was having Carribean for dessert, and trooped out of the museum...We took a cab to the west village; once there, I immediately took him to the nearest coffee shop, and tried to get some coffee into his system, and some sense into his brain. Besides, I was feeling pretty far gone myself...
'Right. I agree with you. Lets just go get some beer.' Better words were never spoken. Finally, I had managed to drum some sense into his head. We went to this pub at Macdougal and W4th. After a couple of pints of fine belgian brew (which is pretty strong, BTW...), I settled back to make sense of Keith's ramblings about the girl he made out with earlier...Soon enuff, my attention started to wander, and I started thinking about what I wanted right then, more than anything else in the world...chicken tikka, and some biryani...
I sat up with a jolt...I had fallen asleep...Keith was nowhere to be found...Oh shit. I ran out of the bar, and tried to find Thompson St (he had mentioned that the girl lived somewhere on Thompson, near the park). Luckily, I managed to find the apartment building, and my friend, Keith, sorrowfully sitting nar the front door...'The bell doesnt seem to work, and she is not picking up her phone...'. Thank God...I was about to drag him from there and take a cab, when someone walked by us, opened the door, walked in, and Keith ran inside. Curses. I had to go with him...He ended up reaching the apartment, found the door open, and just walked in...No knocking, ringing the doorbell, nothing...I ran in to stop him, and reached this amazing, duplex house...man, if this is where Caroline stays (her name was Caroline), I would gladly marry her...The living room had all these amazing pieces of furniture, art on the walls, the works...I was admiring the kitchen when I heard a scream...apparently Keith had reached the bedroom upstairs, found Caroline sleeping there, called out her name...only, the woman who got up was not Caroline...She had given Keith some random address, which jus happened to be this woman's home...It was right about then that I noticed the Journal at the door...

Epilogue - Anne called the next day..turns out she came out of the museum with the dreadlocked guy, stopped for a smoke, and ran for her life when he offered her a marijuana cigarette instead...

PS - been super busy, hence no blogs...will try to keep u guys updated with such happenings more regularly...
PPS - I saw Donnie Darko for the 2nd time, and understood it better..Best.Movie.Ever.
A question for the movie geeks (and Rawat, you'ld better stop watching English movies if u dont know the answer to this) - Connect Donnie Darko and Superbad...