I
tried writing a novel before ‘He’s Just Not That in to You’ came out about girls, and how stupid they are- basically because I've spent so much of my life
working with men I have some insight and have become somewhat of a man... anyway, somewhere between
Heathrow and the United States of America my novel (which I started writing many years ago) became x rated; it was so
steamy in fact I had to check over my shoulder to make sure that no one was
watching what I was writing! So now my slowly getting there 5 pages long novel has become an x
rated piece that is somewhere between triple x rated and the Christian Grey
novel (that ironically, I hated). Once I complete it, perhaps I’ll name it ‘The United States of Awesome,
by Zara Sunderland, my porn start pseudonym (which for those of you that
remember from your school days is your first pet + first street name.) So now that I’m firmly back on the British
soil and whatever that virtual sexual cloud that was permeating my subconscious
over the Indian Ocean was, has left, this blog will
be a non x rated synopsis of my shenanigans in the United States of Awesome
(PG).
So far my
body has hated me since Budapest when I passed out, followed by my
birthday which I spent so sick I wasn’t sure whether I would survive, so sick
in fact I feared I would die at one stage, lonely in London... That was until the
beautiful Catarina knocked at my door bearing gifts of rice and coconut water
and I cried on her shoulder, haha. At one point Miss Sarah asked me what I wanted done
with my body. I said cremated please- and I want two chair dedications- one in Holland Park and the other overlooking Bird
Rock, Jan Juc- my favourite place in the world. Thankfully I was starting to
come good, but that just meant I went out more, and unfortunately alcohol
weakens the old immune system so between that and the obnoxiously bad food and
coffee in the US of A, I now always feel sick, even now, having been home and
eating well for the past week.
The night
before my holiday I figured as I was only doing a half day at work the next
day, so I may as well go out and party. That was probably up there with one of the
worst decisions I made the whole trip, nearly up there with packing whilst
drinking the night before which is never ideal (quote time I went to Torquay
with no bathers, no pyjamas, just my steamer wet suit and my Portuguese
poncho). Thursday night at the Rylston was huge, so huge we left, and went to
the Durrell until that shut and we left and went to the Brown Cow. Somehow my alarm
went off and I woke up starker’s with the taste of alcohol on my breath... Delicious. Work was a blithering blur, I had to be so ‘on’ though to get all
the work I needed done, I was like girl on a mission when I got there-
instantly sober, multi tasking the crap out of work and carefully handing over
piles of my prepared work for my boss. I left work early on Friday and landed
in New York
late on a Friday evening, having spent the whole plane trip either writing my
porno or trying to get the highest score on plane trivia. I kept getting
second. But managed to fill almost the whole screen with my high scores... My
ocd kept me awake through my sleeping tablet. So I decided again I should just
drink. I only had about four vodka, fresh lime sodas (danke to the amazing air
hostesses flogging me limes from first class), and was quite intoxicated on
arrival. I met a Swedish lady named Ulla at immigration and we caught the train
in to Manhattan
enroute for the hostel I’d booked. When i arrived it was a disaster! It was
fully booked so the owner (some guy that looked and acted exactly like Mr Chow
from the hangover) said ‘great news for you, i've booked you in to a hotel’
which was another cab ride away and i'm sure was a brothel in the middle of
China town (maybe a setting for my novel?), anyway I spent the whole night
trying to book an Air Bnb for the next night, trying not to read the reviews
about the place I was staying about people getting bed bugs, and trying my damn-est to sleep through all the banging going on!
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| With Steph |
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| With The Brooklyn Bridge |
Thankfully
my saviour/ long loved wife Laura Salvatore’s replacement housemate Steph was
in New York
with her bro and sister in law. She felt awful and insisted I come over
straight away for a shower (which I avoided in the brothel). I made it to her
apartment in lower west side (which incidentally was on Perry Street/
Carrie from Sex in the City lived there) circa 9am and by this stage had spent
in excess of 33 hours awake. A quick shower and we were off touring the sites
of New York. After a typical American breakfast (i’m sure the place and staff were straight
out of Seinfeld), and an awful, but massive cwofee, I was awake! So we walked
miles.... across the Brooklyn Bridge, checking out the 9/11 memorial and some
other sites around the meat packing district before making it home to her
apartment mid afternoon, where she forced 2 hours of sleep on me (BEST chick
EVER!). After waking from my massive sleep, we were at it again, trekking to Brooklyn for a night out on the town. A massive one that
ended with her friend piking it for being ‘tired’ (yeah seriously?). We left
Brooklyn for the main land and ended up getting a strip tease from the bar man
after Steph tipped him $20. After convincing me to join tinder I was happy to have
matched with one friend, an NBA player, Markel and not because I was interested, but
because I thought ‘fuck it, he’ll be loaded.’
The
following morning, enroute to breakfast I said to Steph how great I felt after
8 hours sleep. She said ‘when did you have 8 hours sleep?’ and I said, ‘last
night, we got home around midnight.’ To which she responded with ‘we got home
at 4am, the bar shut at 4am, and we left Brooklyn
after midnight!!’ ....Whoops!! Time flies when you are clearly killing it. That day
after breaky was not nearly as productive, I caved, and checked in to the air
bnb with my hostess with the mostest Heather late arv. After the 6 flight walk
up I had a good 30min relax before heading off again to catch up with one of
the bestest, my mate Joshy Gill.
Another night of drinking and great
hospitality from his housemates, watching the San Fran Sea horses play some
football I piked it at a relatively normal hour and headed back to the
apartment. Finally I had a decent sleep and spent a full day watching the whole season of
Real Housewives of Beverley Hills I was welcomed late afternoon by Heather asking
me to come to Yoga with her. Did I mention hot Heather is a yoga teacher?
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| With Joshy Gill |
The
class was ran in a swanky New York studio and was nothing like the yoga
experience I was used to. Instead of a flabby Indian teacher telling me to
imagine my head is at one with the earth and to close my eyes and think of palm
trees, this was a ripped guy, trying to explain the advanced yoga positions. I
lost track when some of the class started balancing on their heads or manoeuvring
their bodies in to unimaginable contortions. I spent a good 15 minutes trying
not to fart or just admiring the hanging humans... you have no idea how hard an
hour and a half of advanced yoga is after doing absolutely limited gym work for
the last 5 months! Thankfully I survived and spent the remaining time in New York preparing for Vegas,
trying to find a healthy meal that didn’t make me feel sick, or trying to find
a decent coffee. After another massive final night this time with Conor from Lagos; it became clear I failed
miserably at all of the tasks and boarded the plane early (giddy and seedy) for
Vegas early the next morning.
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| With Conor from Lagos |
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