Fashionable Vagrants.

Continuing my torrid lifelong affair with carbohydrates, I decided there was no better way to cure a hang over than with a baguette in Central Park. Going to Whole Foods at Columbus Circle with the intention of having some sort of quasi picnic is one of my favorite things to do, as it reminds me of last summer when I would go to Whole Foods Kensington and then Kensington Gardens. Granted, both the Kensington Whole Foods and gardens are much nicer than the ones in NYC, but I don’t think I’m entitled to complain.

In that vein, I actually don’t mind being completely and horribly broke, because it’s the little things I’ve been finding in my travels that really matter.

• For example, forcing myself to talk with the foreign deli guys that work next to my office to get sandwich discounts.

• Dollar slices of pizza by the Port Authority bus station, where old men sit in lay-z boys by the side of the road and the younger men do chin-ups off the street light.

• The upscale McDonalds café by central park that still gives off its Americanized scent of French fries and shame.

• Those pre-packaged Indian meals I get at the organic-mart, purely because they’re on sale and I have additional coupons.

• Drunkenly going into convenience stores in the wee hours of the morning and bargaining for food. One nice man made me a Panini meal and then gave me a six pack of Bud Light pounders “for the road” in exchange for a dollar.

And finally the free open bars that beautiful NYC so graciously provides. For example, on Sunday I decided I couldn’t brave the afternoon one for various reasons. Mostly because there was no way in hell I was leaving the comfort of air conditioning and brunch eggs, so I told my friends to meet up with me afterwards. They showed up to my apartment complete wrecks, as they had somehow befriended the owner (and consequently the bartenders) and had forgone eating for the day. I dragged them to the Chinese food restaurant next door, made sure they ingested the proper amount of calories, and then went to lay out with them in Central Park.

Laying out turned into Peter passing out in the grass like some sort of fashionable vagrant in Ray-Bans and Sperry’s, and Marty and I sitting on the rock above him and judging all who walked past. Granted everyone who walked by was also judging Peter, but Marty and I are the arbiters of taste and bitchiness.

We decided that we should have a show together where we would sit on that very rock, and inform the women passing by that their husbands or boyfriends are actually in the closet. Someone needs to tell these poor women sauntering past, proudly hand in hand with their boo, that he’s skinnier and more fashionable and more attractive than you for a reason. Mainly because he’s fucking other men while you watch Real Housewives of New York and go over bridal magazines with your cat. As quoted by Cypher in the 1999 classic The Matrix…”ignorance is bliss.”