We had another bomb scare at the embassy across the street from me today. It's slightly distracting to be in a meeting while fire trucks surround your block and seal it off.

It's really the waiting that's a chafe. I want the second hit to come and be done. Otherwise, I sit at my desk and wonder when it's coming day after day. I walk down the street and stick close to doorways of passing buildings in case I need to run for cover.

Today, while I was waiting to blown up, my friend D. called. We made fun of all the anthrax panic, and then she told me that an old friend of ours called.

Six years ago, I moved into this City with D. We were 22 and fresh out of college. We rented an apartment that was 493 squ ft. for $1500. D. was working for a BIG TV show and I started PR.

We. were. wild. It was during this time that I did not keep a diary and it slays me to this day because our lives were fucking insane and I have no record of it other than memories. We were out everynight until 5 or 6 in the morning and those were just the weekdays. Weekends, we would get home days later.

We'd wake up in the strangest places - hotel rooms with major rock bands, bar stools, the lobby in our building, in my case the actual doorway outside of our apt. and one time she woke up in Sheeps Meadow in Central Park.

Crazy times. During these crazy times, one of her co-workers lived on the floor below us in the same building, with two crazy roommates. Three guys, up to less good than us.

We were fast friends.

The five of us, which later grew to six when one of their moronic friends moved in on their couch, blew away 1997 like I never knew you could blow away a year.

It was bad. D. and I used to get these insane letters from the landlord recording all the complaints about our apt. and the boys would steal them and circulate them in the show's cast members mailboxes.

I hung out at the show all the time, so basically, I worked there too. The cast called our apt. "the frat house." Whenever we would get kicked out of the late-late night parties, everyone would suggest going to the frat house.

Frogs told me about a time when she was with us and I apparently got into a sidewalk scuffle with one of the cast members because of a Fraternity reference, but alas, I have no recollection of this incident.

Anyway, the year came to end and D. called herself out and moved to LA, which she later explained as her way of getting her act together. I moved on and moved to this place and the boys split up. One got married. Eventually, another did too.

But that's not the point.

The point is that they were the biggest bunch of fuck ups I have ever known.

I, of course, during the craziness ended up hooking up with the biggest player of the bunch. He was really filthy. He'd slept with hundreds of girls. But he was really hot. I mean REALLY hot. And we had become close friends. Basically, I used to call him out on his filth so *obviously* he was going to have to add me to the notches on his belt. And so, eventually...

But before you think I caved, I'd like to state that we never had sex. Although it wasn't for lack of him trying. Basically, and I'm sure the rest of them all know this because they had their ears up the door every time we hooked up, I wasn't that stupid.

The conversations when we hooked up went along the lines of this:

Me: "What are you doing?"

Him: "What?"

"Seriously, what ARE you doing?"

"PG - I'm trying to get romantic."

"No you're not, you're trying to fuck me. I mean, really..."

"What?!? What are you TALKING about? I'm getting comfortable."

"That's not comfortable, you're ASSUMING THE POSITION!"

He usually couldn't help but laugh at this point, because I've totally just called him out at this point.

"You're unbelievable! I'm not assuming the position." Yet he's cracking up while denying this.

"I'm unbelievable?!? You're the one who just MOUNTED me without any foreplay. I'm horrified."

"I can't believe you just used the word mount."

"Believe it."

"Okay. I give up."

Two minutes later, we're hooking up again.

He was a big fan of the booty call which never flew in my book, but I would generally open the door so that I could in fact, have the satisfaction of slamming it in his face. Trust me, he needed the rejection.

One time, the booty call happened at like 5AM, except when I opened the door, it wasn't him, but in fact, the three other idiots out of their MINDS.

They had just seen swingers and thought they were "money." So they had stolen a fire extinguisher and when I opened the door in my t-shirt, they sprayed me. I'm talking, covered me, with the fire extinguisher. I barely got the door closed because they were trying to get in and trash our whole apt., but I did see they had already gotten the hall.

My eyes were burning the entire time but I was laughing hysterically.

I found out later that they had hit three floors and the elevator with the fire extinguisher and then went up to the roof of the building, which was 40-some floors high and dispelled the the canister from the roof. To the sidewalk. At pedestrians. Because that's normal.

Luckily, no one was out, since it was like 5 am. However, the police came. And they got into the apartment, to find two passed out and 1 eating a sandwich.

Apparently, the police broke through the door and said to the friend who was staying the couch (picture Floyd, from "True Romance") "Put the sandwich down and put your coat on, you're coming with us! You're under arrest."

And without flinching he turned his head and said, "I'll put my coat on but I'm not putting the sandwich down."

So the NYPD cuffed him with the sandwich. I suppose in retrospect, it was rude of me not to answer their phone call to bail them out. But really, they covered me in that white shit and I'd had about enough.

So anyway, the sandwich guy (aka Floyd) has a novel coming out. A big novel. With a big Barnes and Noble display. This kills me. The last we had heard he had pitched a tent with some Navajo chick in New Mexico but called the idiots to send a message to me that he wanted his hat back.

All that time, he was a dumbass like the rest of us and he was secretly writing a novel. And I didn't keep a journal.

I can't believe I let him feel me up. That better not be in the book.

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