This weekend, I accidentally stuck my thumb up some guys nose. Here's how it happened:
We got into Boston late Thursday night. I had had several panic attacks getting there. The first one due to a harrowing experience for which I blame Google. The map it had given me lead us absolutely astray, onto snowandice covered dirt roads, into the middle of the snowy wildernessy woods of Central New York all in order to try and get to the kennel we booked Jeeves into. In the first place, I was anxious about leaving the dog at a kennel and in the second place, we were nearly lost in the wilderness with nowhere to turn around. I envisioned starving to death in the middle of the forest, cursing Google with my last, dying breath. I also envisioned being stranded for awhile, then finally rescued, then writing a nasty letter to Google. Then I stopped the car and burst into tears.
We eventually did find the kennel which was okay, but not wonderful and had the horrible experience of literally sneaking out on the dog when his back was turned. He gave a few pitiful barks as he heard our voices in the parking lot. It was terrible.
We left the kennel and then drove 6 hours, across the rest of New York State and all of Massachusetts, towards Boston. I would love to tell you about the scenery and how beautiful it was, but it was completely dark the whole way there. We had a plan to drive to a train station outside of Boston to leave the car in order to avoid exorbitant parking fees at our hotel, but in part due to our shenanigans trying to find the kennel as well as a chain of other events that thwarted our journey (starting with a 3 hour oil change), we had set out later than planned and I was concerned we would miss our friends or get lost in Boston or some other horrible fate befalling us. Which led to my second meltdown, in the parking lot of the Needham Heights train station. I also had eaten literally nothing all day (this was part of the chain of events).
Nevertheless, we ended up on the train and headed towards the Financial District and our hotel which was a 4.5 star hotel that was ridiculously cheap through Hotwire. Once we got there and dropped off our bags, we took a cab to the bar where our friends were.
Larke is there getting her LLM degree from BU and before she and I departed for the East Coast, we made these plans with Nikki, Stuart and Amy to have a sort of convergence in Boston. To be honest, I'm a little surprised we all made it there, but I think sheer determination and an explicit dedication to the art of enjoying ourselves certainly stacked the odds more in our favour than would be otherwise. Cheers to not being stay at home wet blankets!
After a few drinks, we headed back to the hotel and went to sleep. Well, not straight to sleep, but sleep eventually after we had done things you normally do in a hotel room. You know, check out the soaps, look in the mini bar, deface the bible. That sort of thing.
The next day, we arose and went to breakfast, before meeting up with the others. We were a man short as we were a man down. Stuart had taken ill and was unable to join us on the Duck Tour as planned. The Duck Tour was interesting and campy the way all touristy things worth doing are, although we were spared the trademark Boston accent from the tour guide, as he was from Los Angeles.
That evening, we went to a delicious Italian restaurant, the name of which escapes me, but it was quite, quite good. By this time, Stuart was feeling better and we had been joined by a college chum of Nikki's, named Justin.
This brings us to the bar where I inadvertently stuck my thumb up some guy's nose. After dinner we went to this great bar, where I ordered dessert (a Godiva martini, sans cream). Then I had a beer. Then I had another beer. I think. At some point, Ryan decided he'd had enough, so he went to the hotel. It was then time to hit the dance floor, which Nikki and I did.
At some point, while dancing, some guy oozed up behind me and whispered something in my ear. I think he said, "You're the brave one - none of the others are dancing." but I wasn't quite sure. I was too excited that the band was playing David Bowie. I turned around, my hands were still in the air from waving them around maniacally as one does (or at least as I do) while dancing. My hands were in sort of a loose fist and my right thumb was sort of sticking out. I twisted my upper body around to say, "WHAT?" as he simultaneously leaned closer towards me. My right thumb made contact with the outer edge of his nostril. It was too late to stop the momentum of my upper body that had somehow focused it's force directly into my right arm and thumb. He jerked his head backwards, somewhat awkwardly and made a vague attempt to bring his own hands up to protect himself, but it was too late. I withdrew my thumb as quickly as I had made contact, wiped it on my jeans and went back to dancing. He didn't say a word or even look in my direction for the rest of the evening.
All those years of going to bars and dance parties and getting hit on by strange men in the worst, most unimaginitive way - if I'd only known that minor physical assault in a somewhat humiliating manner would have gotten rid of them I would have been saved the aggravation.
The bottom that insisted on following me around the dance floor of Q's on my 21st birthday (I never did see his face) or the man who leaned on me at the Joyce and slurred, "You're the worsht dartss player I've ever sheen...C'I show you how?? Whatsh your name?". The guy who followed me down State Street trying to hold my hand or the other guy who followed me down State Street and kept trying to get me to go to a reggae show with him (yuck on two counts). The toad who followed me around on New Years Eve 2007. All these people would have been saved at least time if not effort had I just done something like jam my thumb up their nose.
Ah well. There's always next time.