Breakfast with Street Cleaners

Most of the population (especially in NYC) knows about the movie "Breakfast at Tiffany's", lets be serious . . it's a classic. Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) is a gorgeous fashionista who simply walks into a room and is showered with money and men from every angle. She lives in an apartment, probably midtown somewhere, all alone with unpacked boxes, no furniture, and a fat bastard cat. She ends up meeting a man who finally makes her feel complete and she falls in love blah blah blah. My story has nothing to do with any of that, but what takes place in the first scene of the movie.

The sun has just began to rise and a taxi pulls up to 57th street and Madison Ave, yes Tiffany & Co. Holly steps out of the taxi in the iconic Breakfast at Tiffany's outfit: long form fitting black dress (that never look as good on anyone else), black elbow length gloves, and those jet black sunglasses that were definitely pre-hipster Ray Bans. Holly, ever so elegantly, pays the the driver and steps onto the curb pausing for a moment. The street is dead, there are no taxis flying by, no hustle and bustle of people, its just her. She has a small white paper bag in her left hand and a coffee in her right hand. The camera switches from a full shot of Holly and the street to her point of view. There it is...a massive marble block...Tiffany & Co. A smile emerges on her face as she approaches the first window. An array of jeweled items are smiling back at her, necklaces, bracelets and rings. These items are all nestled on satin miniature pillows making them seem that much more alluring. She pulls a croissant out of the paper bag and takes a bite following it with a sip of coffee. She leisurely walks to each window staring at each piece of jewelery for a minute or so. It's almost like she is saying hello to each one or perhaps even giving a compliment. Each piece of jewelry twinkles back at here accepting and appreciating that she is there. The whole vibe can be related to the feeling a person has when tranquility or happiness with life has been reached. Ahh if this were true after a night out who wouldn't want to have Breakfast at Tiffany's?

Hollywood. They did a very good job with that scene as they do with everything when it comes to movies. However, I think similar to reality stunt warnings that say "Don't try this at home" they should really think about posting that warning to movies that make you think 57th and Madison at around 5 am is peaceful and makes you feel content with life.

Now to my "real life" version of Breakfast at Tiffany's. It was during the winter and in New York, yes that means freezing. One of the only positives, for me, during this time is that all the Christmas lights are up. Now, I'm most certainly not talking about the Tree, oh no, I'm talking about all the big-daddy store decorations. ie. Cartier, Fendi, Prada, Saks, Tiffany's, and big daddy because at this point in my life I'll need a big daddy raise to shop there or a big sugar-daddy. No but seriously, their decorations are absolutely gorgeous, stores have been known to light up the entire building with Christmas Lights .

Anyway, It started off as a typical Saturday night. I had picked out a great black Sweetheart cut A-line dress. It was the kind of dress that just made me feel super girly. I paired it with some super high 4 1/2 inch slingback platform black heels and was officially ready for the evening. I met up with a girl friend and we headed down to the West Village to a place called Sway. Sway is the kind of place that probably used to be really cool but has kind of lost its flair and now just caters to tons of men trying to makeout with anyone and anything. Which yes, I'm usually down with, but these guys aren't exactly "the cream of the crop". The couches have a velvety look and are kind of jammed against the perimeter of the place leaving more room for dancing. The place isn't extremely big so of course the door guy throws his weight around and sometimes makes you wait forever, absolutely not worth it. The front bar is the first thing you see when you walk in and its big enough to have three bartenders. The place isn't extremely wide, so posting up at the bar is clutch. In the very back past the "dance floor" is a tiny room that looks like it came from a castle. It's entirely covered in dark wood and different colored squares line the wall in an attempt to portray that Madonna 80's vibe. The first time I went there I ran into Molly Sims which was cool but then twenty minutes later ran into my boss... which wasn't cool. By the time I arrived the place was jam packed so I headed straight for the bar for a martini. Now when it comes to Martini's I am extremely picky... Stoli vodka, dry vermouth, shaken til its nice and frosty and served on ice in a rocks glass...its absolutely perfection. I swear when its made the right way it is so refreshing. After several of these a random man is spinning me around the dance floor and I'm laughing at whatever silly joke he keeps repeating.

Yes, time does fly when you are acting like a drunk fool.

The clock strikes 4am and the bartenders yell "last call". I round up my jacket and then find my girl friend. The disco dancing man I was with is following us like a lost puppy. Absolutely not happening. So I do what I usually do... I give him my number. At least by me giving him my number he feels like he has achieved success on some small level and that will send him home happy and not with me. It's 430 am and I'm absolutely starving. My friend suggests that we go grab breakfast somewhere... and that's when it hits me. Why not have Breakfast at Tiffany's? I mean I already had an amazing evening of dancing, I was wearing an adorable outfit and the sun was practically up. It wasn't difficult convincing my friend. We grabbed the first taxi that we saw and sped off to 57th and Madison!!! By this time we were wide awake and had passed the drunken phase of the evening and our bodies were running on pure adrenaline. It was exciting it was exhilarating we were about to basically reenact a famous scene that Audrey Hepburn was in!! But shit ... we were missing the croissants and the coffee.. Not a problem, I spied a Cafe Metro which had just opened for breakfast on 55th. I hopped out of the car while my friend stayed inside. Upon entering I can feel the counterman's eye staring at me probably wondering why I'm in a full cocktail dress at 5 in the morning. I politely order 2 croissants and 2 coffees. The excitement inside me begins to build up. I pay for breakfast and leave Cafe Metro. I pay the cabbie who is shaking his head at me and pull my friend from the taxi and tell her we should actually walk up to Tiffany's to get the "full effect".

That's when things start to get shitty. We approach Tiffany's. It isn't exactly sunny out but it's a little overcast. There are about three men hosing down the streets. I walk past them trying to be careful not to get sprayed and they all seem to be staring at my friend and I. Right before I approach the window I pull my croissant from my bag. I walk right up to the window and to my dismay...not a single piece of jewelry is in the window. Nothing. Nada. All that I can see is a velvet navy colored pillow behind the glass. I am an ass. Why would Tiffany's keep their jewelry in the display cases when it's worth hundreds of thousands of dollars? They must not be expecting every "Breakfast at Tiffany's" admirer to try and reenact that notable scene. The three men start speaking in Spanish to each other and continue hosing down the sidewalk in front of Tiffany's. One would think "Wow that sucks". Yea, it did but it got worse. Within the 30 seconds it takes me to confess to my friend "this was a bad idea" it begins to rain. Actually, raining is an understatement...it is pouring out! She begins to complain that she needs to use the restroom. I reassure her that we have bigger problems then trying to find a bathroom...ie a TAXI. The streets are so dead still that there really aren't any taxi's anywhere. So we do what everyone does when they cant find a taxi when it's raining. We start to walk. Walking wouldn't be so bad if it was the summer, but its the WINTER and there are no umbrella vendors anywhere and NOTHING is open. I mean really. We get to 63rd street and are absolutely soaked and freezing. We finally spot a taxi. Determined to grab it, I practically jump in front of it. The taxi stops. We pile in and wearily say my address and her address.

Not much is said during the ride home. We simply repeat to each other, "well that seemed like a good idea".

Ahh yes, finally home. Up several flights and I reach my apartment, barely enough energy to change o. Time check 6:30. I crawl under the covers in a nice pair of flannel pajamas and pass out til around 3pm. The sun has already been peeking into my room by the time my eyes open. I slowly let out a sigh as I get out of bed. My body feels tired but surprisingly I'm don't seem to have a hangover. I bend down and touch my toes and then sweep my arms up to the ceiling. I glance at my cell phone and have about 8 missed calls, most of which are asking where I am for brunch. I have obviously clearly missed Brunch, oh well, there is always next Sunday. I do damage control and send out brief descriptions of the night. I jump into the shower and make sure its extra hot, I let the water hit my face and I instantly feel like myself again. I change into another pair of pajamas and order Chinese food. I decide to channel surf while i wait for the food. I'm flipping through the channels and then stop to one that catches my eye. . . "Breakfast at Tiffany's is on".

Uniforms = lies

On a random summer night in NYC myself and two friends were out partying. We were at our favorite Irish Bar Puck Fair. Puck Fair is the kind of place you head to 1. if you're Irish 2. if you dig the Irish or 3. if you are me and feel like flirting shamlessly with the bartender (which if you're not careful can end up banning you from the place for a good 6-12 mos). The ambiance of the place is 100% Irish, despite the suits here and there, but they usually get kicked out before 12, since they can't handle their Jameson intake. The same goes for most of the chicks, they drop like flies. Other than those two groups, I always see the same people when I go there, primarily men that are my age but all the late night bartending gigs have caught up to them and random Irish men. The music is usually rock (Rolling Stones, Ramones and Jimmi Hendrix etc..) which keeps you awake but doesn't promote dancing on the bars, thank god. After drinking pint after pint and taking shots of Jameson back to back it was around 2:30 (witching hour) and we had all decided we werent staying for after hours. It was an overall low key night. Yes, this is what a low key night is for me.

Our friend "C" bribes us to sleep at her place with promises of breakfast sandwhiches. The three of us hop into a taxi say goodnight to Soho and head to Midtown. C remembers that she has no groceries so we stop at a corner store across the street from her apartment. The corner store similar to every corner store in NYC, is over priced with tons of expired milk. We are at this point piss drunk. The pints and Jameson shots are well into our system and are probably slapping the shit out of our livers. (thank god for wheatgrass) Walking into the store towards the back refrigerators I decide to push C into the dairy section. (I know..such a fraternity guy move, it must have been the Jameson.) A police officer walks in and I immediately make a gun out of my hands and say "Freeze". He doesn't seem that impressed so my "best behavior act" kicks in. The police officer seems like a young guy, something about him resemebles Richard Gere. Not Richard Gere's current looks since he is a bit old now, but his looks during An Officer and a Gentleman. The uniform is like any other police uniform, dark pants, dark shirt, shiny name plate etc etc. He asks the three of us how are night is going and we obviously respond "its just beginning". He leaves and we pay for our supplies and walk outside. He is in his police car and flashes the lights and we give a friendly wave. I'm not exactly sure how this happened or why we assumed this was a safe idea, it must have been the whole Richard Gere look and yes I know Ted Bundy was a good looking guy as well. We proceed to tell the police officer that if he wanted to party ring Apt 3A. He laughed, smiled and said "thanks".

We settled into C's apartment on her couch while she began prepping our feast. I'm thinking to myself it would have been easier and less painful to grab a damn Egg McMuffin. The buzzer rings and we all look at eachother. It's the friggin police officer. Of course every "Unsolved Mystery" and "America's Most Wanted" episode is airing in my mind and I should be screaming DONT OPEN THE DOOR, instead I say "Well you're going to buzz him in right"? Moments later C is opening the door and the officer is standing there with a F'ing boquet of flowers. (Flowers...weeds...poison ivy...whatever, it was the thought i guess.) It turns out his name is Officer "Illy". Officer Illy asks what we are doing? Having a smart mouth I respond " well we just flushed all the drugs down the toilet so we are left with eating breakfast sandwhiches now". He finally cracks a laugh and asks if we want some beer. Ab-so-lute-ly. He promises us a couple things : 1. he is going to get beer 2. he is going to pick up his friend who also just finished his shift. Things are instantly get interesting. Officer Illy gives the flowers/weeds to C and leaves to get his friend. Jack pot.

About twenty minutes later my eyes are rolling in the back of my head. I've sobered up, ate and am now ready for bed. damn. The buzzer rings, I feel a rush of excitement as we hear the officers walking up the steps. C opens the door and What-the-F.

Officer Illy has transformed into Officer Grandpa Gere aka OGG. No uniform and no boyish good looks.. gone, taken away, stolen. Grandpa Gere is wearing light denim grandpa jeans and a northface zip up, he tells us that these are his "street clothes". A police officer's uniform not only transforms a normal man into what today would be considered a modern day hero, but I think it also makes their body seem leaner. This makes sense especially to women, the basic go to color to wear when you want to look skinnier is black. (unless your chubby...nothing is transforming that) The police uniform falls nicely on most average men, but the truth comes out once the same man takes off the uniform. Now it was clearly visible how cheesy and out of shape OGG was. He instantly before our eyes had transformed into an older man with high cholesterol. His friend follows in behind him. His name should be something like Johnny, he is about 230lbs, has the thickest New York accent (which seems to have brought out OGG's accent) and is wearing sweatpants?! and a hoodie. Things have just gone from bad to worse. The ONLY positive thing is they have two six packs..Corona. I say F-it and grab one and listen to "Johnny" ramble on about life. I interrupt and ask him about his opinions regarding "Cops", "AMW" and "Unsolved Mysteries". Those TV shows are clearly more interesting than what he has to say about growing up on Staten Island or Long Island...whatever. I throw in a couple of "wow's" and "good point" to make it seem like I'm actively listening. Meanwhile, our other friend is passed out on the couch, C and OGG are on the love seat talking about who knows... Johnny picks up a magic marker from the table and starts drawing body parts on our friend's ankle. Really Johnny.. I'm beginning to get very bored so I decide if you cant beat em, join em (aka you are stuck talking to a overweight police officer at 4am) I start writing on her leg and begin laughing. It occurs to me she should be laughing at me. She is asleep and off the radar, C and OGG are all cuddled up, and Johnny...I wont even go there. Acting like a spaz I immediately down my beer say peace and run to C's room. I hide under the covers, lock the door and hit the lights.

I wake up the next day and see C next to me. I slap her in the head and ask "what the hell happened?" She proceeds to explain that she felt obligated to watch the sunrise with OGG and had to give him a little sugar since he brought her flowers and beer. Johnny left once he realized no one was listening. (I actually think he was waiting in the car for OGG.) After the sub-par romantic session OGG left he had to go home and sleep before work started and change back into his uniform. For God's sake about time! Before leaving, OGG reassured C that he would definitely make sure the neighborhood was "safe" while he was patrolling. I was thinking thank god he doesn't know where I live and please do yourself a favor keep the uniform on. I asked C what the hell she had been talking about the whole time. She rolled over and said, "police uniforms".

What is the witching hour?

I'm sure every mother has told there daughter in some way that "nothing good ever happens after 12 am". Which yes, is true when you're 17 or 18. Now that I'm 25, I've updated that quote to say nothing good ever happens after 2am. Which for the most part is true. As I've aged, I've realized a couple of things are certain after 2am, which I'm presuming my mother already knew, I'm not going to meet my husband-to-be and I don't look any hotter or sound smarter. Why then on any given weekend night (and sometimes weekday) is it possible that someone may catch a glimpse of me running across the street or shuffling into a bar at that hour?
Well, because it 1. seems like a good idea 2. weird shit sometimes DOES happen. Now when I say weird, I'm referencing the nights that have substance the nights that end up changing you. Yes, most likely you are intoxicated but on these given nights the next day you can remember, for the most part, how everything played out. But on the opposite side of that, sometimes that night out will kick your ass.

So that's the reason why I go out the way I do. I'm hoping for something to happen that makes me feel alive. The normal 9-5 routine, in my opinion, makes a person numb. No, I dont need to go out all the time to feel alive, don't take it that way. I have that "alive" feeling while reading novels about characters who are psychotic and cause their own demise, because that's real. Life isns't always a happy ending. Soo dark and deep right. Not this girl. Simple things remind me everyday that I'm not a robot. The cold wind hitting my face, a cloudless sky and a starry night also do the trick. But going out can be so unpredictable.

Folklore considers the Witching hour to occur between 12 am and 3am. Legend has it that during this window "shit happens". I've been meaning to record everything that has happened to me and around me for sometime now, I've finally taken the first step. I promise this won't be some stupid blog about dumb drunk chicks acting she-she-frou-frou, nor will it be a post sex in the city column which has saturated the internet. I hope to really just write about really legit parties and people, things that piss me off, and of course the witching hour.