Friday, March 23, 2007
The Second Worst Night of My Life
The Italian strangely enough was early to meet me. And was carrying 2 very large bags from Armani Exchange. And said that he had also been shopping at Versace, where he lost his phones and his Black American Express, and uses this excuse to frequently use my phone. He starts walking me to an unknown destination and pretty soon we are walking into Asia De Cuba- where everyone inside knows him. And he informs me that Matt Damon will be eating dinner with us (don't get excited, although he touts this all night and frequently calls "Matt", Matt never actually shows up).
When we don't get seated fast enough for The Italian's liking, he decides we're going someplace else. And as we're catching a cab to Tribeca, he mentions he doesn't have any cash on him. Okay. Whatever.
In the car, he makes a call to 'Robert DeNiro' to find out a good restaurant in Tribeca. Then we get out at the Tribeca Grill, but The Italian decides he doesn't want to eat there. And yes, I think he was high. So we wander around Tribeca a little and end up at an expensive Spanish restaurent. The Italian orders appetizers, the biggest steak on the menu, and 2 bottles of wine.
AND THEN MAKES ME PAY FOR DINNER, because he claims to have lost his American Express card.
Total Bill $170.
I am not joking.
God, I wish I was.
He had offered to let me live in his apartment in SoHo (because apparently he never uses it), but at the end of the night makes it a condition that if I don't let him go home with me, then I can't have the SoHo apartment. So I tell him to Fuck Off, get in the first cab and leave.
He calls me 3 more times that night.
And again, I have learned a lesson the hard way.
Trust No One.
And Beware of Pathological Liars.
When we don't get seated fast enough for The Italian's liking, he decides we're going someplace else. And as we're catching a cab to Tribeca, he mentions he doesn't have any cash on him. Okay. Whatever.
In the car, he makes a call to 'Robert DeNiro' to find out a good restaurant in Tribeca. Then we get out at the Tribeca Grill, but The Italian decides he doesn't want to eat there. And yes, I think he was high. So we wander around Tribeca a little and end up at an expensive Spanish restaurent. The Italian orders appetizers, the biggest steak on the menu, and 2 bottles of wine.
AND THEN MAKES ME PAY FOR DINNER, because he claims to have lost his American Express card.
Total Bill $170.
I am not joking.
God, I wish I was.
He had offered to let me live in his apartment in SoHo (because apparently he never uses it), but at the end of the night makes it a condition that if I don't let him go home with me, then I can't have the SoHo apartment. So I tell him to Fuck Off, get in the first cab and leave.
He calls me 3 more times that night.
And again, I have learned a lesson the hard way.
Trust No One.
And Beware of Pathological Liars.
Labels: The Italian
