Filmmaker - Musician - Photographer

a narration of your night as if you were me


You leave the office and debate whether or not you should drop off your company administered laptop at your apartment before going out with a friend for the evening. You decide that carrying your heavy, company administered, laptop isn't so bad to deal with for a couple of hours while you grab a bit to eat. You keep it with you and go straight into Manhattan. You will hate yourself for this later.


You meet with an old friend you've known since 6th grade and think to yourself, "Wow, I haven't seen this guy since we graduated high school." Nostalgia hits for a second. You hate nostalgia, but its good to see a familiar face that only has vauge memories of you when you were a nerd. Everything from back then is funny today. Good times are to be had.

You lose track of time around here....adventures begin

You, old friend, and old friend's girlfriend go to a random bar in a random place. The bar tender is French and funny in a, "I'm smarter than you," sort of way. His accent lets him get away with insulting your intelligence a few times. Later you realize the bar is owned by some sort of big-deal athlete. Said big-deal, hall of famer athlete comes up to hang out with you and your friends for a little bit. Since you know nothing about sports you don't realize who this person is until you leave the bar and ask your old friend, "Was that guy a big deal or something?"

Time passes

You find yourself walking into a club called Ultra, which is where a party is going down. Said party is thrown by a co-worker of your old friend. The name of the club fits the vibe. You are surrounded by middle aged (45 is the average age) yuppie wanna be's who came to the club specifically to dance and point at each other while saying either, "Heeeeeeey!" or "Oooooohhhhh!!!!!" Everyone is drunk...and dancing....and dancing....and taking pictures....and hardcore dancing.

You realize that instead of going to your friend's co-worker's party, you have stumbled onto a Christmas party thrown by a company with which neither of you hold any affiliation. The open bar keeps your friends there to ride this thing out. You are not upset about this because everyone was funny looking. You enjoy doing impressions of them for your friends.

Time Passes

At around 10pm-ish you end up at the real party. It turns out that the co-worker of your friend has a very important father who is a very important fashion photographer. You realize that this guy is kinda a big deal. You realize that this is your first, "Only in New York," story to tell your twin brother as soon as you get a chance.

Models are in the room and you are pleased with this. You are especially pleased that one of them looks exactly like Nichole from The Pussy Cat Dolls, whom you have sworn to marry some day.

As a matter of fact, this model looks so much like Nichole that for a good 2 minutes you think it could acutally be her. After realizing that this woman is a carbon copy of your Pussy Cat Crush, you realize that she would be WAAAAAY sexier if she didn't chain smoke and was actually walking around the room and mingling with people instead of being sexy on the floor with her ciggarettes. You've lost interest.

Your friend points out that you and he are the only straight males in the room. You realize that he is correct until his other co-workers/friends show up.


You remember that you have to catch a 7am bus to DC for a show you are in and though you are having a WONDERFUL time out, you must leave.


You finally leave.

Between 11:30pm-12:30pm

You fumble around the city trying to find your way about the trains; too prideful to ask for assistance.


You get home after being a TINY bit lost. You decide that it would be a great idea to just stay up until time to leave for your bus and bypass sleeping. Upon making this decision you think to yourself, "This is the worst idea I've had in a long time." You still go through with it because, contrary to what people have been led to believe, you aren't REALLY all that bright.


You are still awake. It is confirmed that staying up was, indeed, the worst idea you have had in a very long time. You write a blog about the events of the evening and post it as if the person reading the blog actually lived the events therein.

This was another simple idea, but you are no one's quitter. Besides, you've just finished typing it, haven't you? You may as well go ahead and post it.

I love me.

(and by that, I TOTALLY mean that I love you)

Quincy Ledbetter1 Comment