Sunday, January 13, 2008

A New York Weekend

I got off work nice and early on Friday, so I had hours and hours in which to do nothing before meeting up at Anna's for drinks and a wardrobe change. As 95% of all Anna's going-out clothes are spaghetti strap tops, which give me the shoulders of a Venice Beach body builder, a trip to her closet is rarely successful. Thank God I found a passble top to replace my sweater, because the bar was SO hot

Julia and Booth and Booth's friend came over, and we drank and did that whole "we have to leave now. no really, now!" thing for awhile, and everyone peed twice for good measure before we left.

The first bar had some lame $5 cover (why $5? make it $0 or $20, I think...) so we just peed and left. All those pit stops made me grumpy, so I initiated a loud conversatioon in the street about how some people need to start doing more Kegels and ditching their Magic Wands, which I am convinced vibrate away your pelvic floor muscles. I love raunchy conversations in the street while drunk. We also established that I am a Google, M.D., since I extensively research my sicknesses and can always chime in with some gross true medical cure that my friend needs to try.

We decided to check out Beauty Bar, since we had walked past it last week and seen some shaggy-haired wunderboys outside that were smoking(x2). It's a 1950's hair salon turned into a bar, providing a backdrop for hipsters' ironic engagement with their surroundings. I was thisclose to leaving since I felt OLD there, and everyone seemed very wannabe (I can be very judgmental when drinking too). However, this crazy hipster couple caught my eye because they were OWNING the dance floor. They were sick dancers, and must have noticed me admiring them, because they pulled me in and we all started dancing. It rocked, and really got me into the mood.

Anyone who's ever been to a dance party with me recently knows my new favorite thing is Awkward Dance Party, which involves doing things like the bees knees and the hand jive to have fun when the dance floor feels either too raunchy or too lame. Since they were playing 1950s music for most of the night, Awkward Dancing worked perfectly. We took a couple breaks to do shots (Chocolate Layer Cakes!) but danced all night. The highlight was probably "Teenage Wedding" (Chuck Berry song from Pulp Fiction) and I danced JUST like Uma. STG.

Later on the bar shifted to mainly guys (go figure) and we also had to avoid them coming up behind and grabbing you, or even dealing with one guy who literally herded us into his friends, like a predator gathering around a herd of animals. Ridiculous. We had some late night egg sandwiches and omelettes, and I briefly went down to the subway to try to catch the L before saying fuck it and deciding to walk home, whereupon I caught the bus one block into my walk. I passed out directly after, 5:30am, feeling like such a cool kid.

Went shopping briefly in the 30s before getting ready for the next night. Anna came over drinking and we went over to Vicki's in Tribeca. Here apartment was graciously appointed, and the pastry spread was amazing. I made it my goal to try everything there, and I far exceeded myself. I believe I had seconds and thirds of the hazelnut smores tart thing. It was incredible. Vicki went all out and also made pitchers of Melon Mojitos and Sangria. I was so full from all that sugar.

We left to go to Gatsby's with this girl from Great Neck named Erin. She used to go to Tulane but had to leave because all the restaurants were too far away and they would run out of food. She lost twenty pounds, decided New Orleans was like Mexico, and transferred to a place in NYC. She greatly entertained Anna and I with her talking points about IBS and her drug dealer. Typical cocktail chatter. We took one of those "Town Car Cabs" to Nolita. Erin ran into these random people on the street she knew, and informed us they were the owners of the Miami Heat and Dolphins. K. We drank some vodka red bulls and engaged in some other shenanigans censored in this blog, beacuse Gatsby's is one of those many NYC bars we claim as our Vegas. We walked around to a few other bars and called it a night. It's rather a depressing thing to be in the lounge area of a gradually emptying bar close to closing time. You find yourself kind of zoned out and staring at the girl who is straddling the guy in the chair, making out with him. You're tempted to call her a skank because her foreplay is a little more graphic than the couple on the left and right but you know what Jesus said about the man without sin casting the first stone so you hold your tongue.

Sunday is tea, shower, oatmeal, museum, Starbucks, and walking past a film shoot (The International with Clive Owen and Naomi Watts, which I think I also walked by earlier this summer). I'm so happy I'm not a PA doing crowd control.

Work tomorrow! Have some good meetings, lunches, and dinners lined up so I'm excited. Still haven't bought more work clothes, crap I need to get on that.

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