Running from Cougars

Yesterday was interesting:

It was long run day so I spent most of the day getting mentally prepared to run 12 miles.

After procrastinating as much as is humanly possible I left for Central Park at 5 pm.

I ran until it was dark.  I ran 14.5 miles.  I ran around the entire park twice and then another lap around the 1.5 m loop and then I decided to run home.  I felt like Forrest Gump. 

Here is the worst part.  It felt good. Don’t get me wrong.  The whole thing got boring toward the end, but after the crappy week I had last week it felt good to just  and not think about anything.   No IPod.  Just listening to my feet hitting the ground and the air coming in and out of my lungs.

You could say I was a bit tired after the run.  You could also say that I felt accomplished having run 14.5 miles after being out drinking until 4 am the night before.

So what did I decide to do……that’s right.  I went to the bar.

Here I was thinking, “Let’s hit the Stumble Inn. Labor Day weekend so it should be dead.  WRONG.  Very wrong. The place was packed.  Being in no mood to stand around getting bumped into all night I figured going up to Elaine’s would be a better pace for me.  Nice, quiet night at the bar and I could do some writing. 

I started to walk up to 88th Street from 76th.   At around 87th St. I caught the faint scent of marijuana.  It soon became nearly overpowering.  I looked into a car parked on the street and I saw a guy smoking a joint, while a woman performed oral sex on him.  Way to go buddy.  Living the dream.  I was going to stop and ask for directions, but I decided to leave that one alone. 

Finally I reached my destination.  Quiet bar. NO.  There was a piano being played and some woman singing.

Oh boy.  Ok, maybe I could use some culture.  I walked in and the bartender looked at my and said, “Hey Kid.  How are ya tonight.”  With a greeting like that you know I was the youngest person in the bar by a solid twenty years. If not more.

After a little while I sat down at the bar and chatted with the bartender for a minute.  Then the woman sitting next to me sneezed.

“Bless You” I said.

Yep, I regret having done that.

This woman didn’t leave me alone for the next hour.  You know the people who want to tell you their life story while all you want to do is sit at the bar and have a couple of beers and relax because you just ran 14.5 fucking miles?  Yeah, this was that person.

Let’s see…… one point I had to start writing down all the crazy shit she was saying to me.

She is an artist (a terrible one.  She showed me her work). 

A writer. She has written six plays, but only one of them is more than 30 pages.  BUT they are 30 great pages!!!!

Divorced from a screen writer. (shocking.  I was shocked to hear that). 

She went to school for math, but she is not an engineer ALTHOUGH she thought about being one. 

She is also an editor. 

She is a union member.

Apparently her high school boyfriend is faculty at Princeton – she told me this FOUR times. 

She knows “really important people” – To borrow a line from Denzel Washington from Training Day “Yeah, whatever the fuck ever” 

At one point she asked me why I was at the bar and I told her to drink.  She asked what was wrong and I just said I wanted to relax.  She proceeded to slap me in the back of the head. And that is where Andrew had enough of that.  Since my most recent brush with head injury I’m not exactly all about ANYONE hitting me. Anywhere.  At any time.  At all.

So I turned to look at the piano player and the lady who was singing – a beautiful woman with a decent voice and a wonderful presence.  This old hag behind me started RUBBING MY SHOULDERS.  Are you kidding me?  Really lady?  Really?  I’m not talking a little bit either.  I think I have scratch marks on me from this.  It bordered on assault.

Meanwhile she is yelling in my ear about how terrible the woman singing is……

All I wanted to do was yell at her, “Shut up.  Just shut your fat, ugly mouth.”

Eventually I completely ignored her.  She got the point and moved to the other side of the bar, BUT not before she got her tab and argued with the bartender about the amount.  It was hysterical.

“Listen lady.  I don’t make the prices.  The owner is sitting right there.”   He pointed to the owner.  “Go take it up with her.”

The bartender then came up to me and bought me a beer for my troubles.

I deserved it.