Going away on a secret mission

Friday night, I took a break from the dating spree to celebrate Evan’s 24th birthday. He is the same guy who dressed up at the “Wendy’s commercial guy” for Halloween. Not to outdo himself, he showed up to the party in a tux! Yeah, with the shiny shoes and everything! Turns out, it is his souvenir from when he visited Hong Kong a while ago. Normally I just get sea shells or a beer coozie….maybe it is time for an upgrade.

After the bar closed down, a group of us headed next door to an all night diner. I flipped thru the ten page menu.....okay quick side note. Why is it that the more you are paying for a meal, the less options there are? I mean, for $10 you can get anything from tacos, pancakes, and chicken fried steak at a diner. But a fancy place usually only lists four or five dishes total. If I’m going to fork over $50, I want French toast stuffed in a chicken covered in salsa and fit into a waffle cone! Come on, where are my options! Okay back to the story….I browsed the menu and stopped dead in my tracks at grilled cheese. Mmmmn. I told the group what I wanted and Dana gasped and said “oh my God, I want a grilled cheese!” which only proves that we were indeed twins separated at birth. Here is another thing I don’t understand about restaurants…children’s menus. Typically they have smaller portions and therefore smaller prices. Well I ordered from the kids menu but my sandwich, fries, and soft drink were no different in size than Dana’s. Odd huh.

Saturday night was the night of two bon voyage parties. Firstly, there was Rob who would be working in Romania for the next month. We all told him to bring back souvenirs like a custom made tux or a mail order bride. Anyway, I met him out at a play called “Bottomless” which was written by his friend the bartender. In a nutshell, the play takes place in the dressing room of one girl (the other is hidden from view behind the curtain). The second act switches the place of the girls (so now we are on the other side of the curtain) and replays the play. Only when we saw it from the other perspective, did all the jokes make sense. At one point, we hear the unseen girl moaning and breathing heavy. Turns out, she is psycho and was pretending to give birth. Another time, the dressing room girl gets a call from her boyfriend and he asks her about the dirty pictures to which she denies. In the second act, you see the “waiting girl” stick the phone up her skirt and down her shirt, etc. Yeah funny.

Although I enjoyed the humor and concept of the play, I was not a fan….mostly because of the whisker butt! Yeah, the dressing room girl was trying on jeans, so she spent the entire first act in her underwear. She was all confident and wore cheeky underwear, but she must have had bad lipo or something because her thighs had all sorts of flesh pockets in them. Also, there was something wrong with her ass. She had several wrinkles (if you could call them that…ass wrinkles) just below her cheeks. It make her backside look like cat whiskers. She kept turning her ass towards the audience and I swear that mother fucking cat was staring at me! I wanted to cover my eyes because I felt like a major pervert staring down the cat. Ugh!

The next stop was a speakeasy that I have heard loads about but never visited before. You go to a harmless looking hot dog shop in St. Marks. You then enter the phone booth and dial the number. In a minute or two, the other side of the phone booth opens to reveal the speakeasy. It is sooooo cool and secret! The name of the place just says it all, PDT for please don’t tell. Ah ha ha ha. Anyway, I couldn’t stay long because I had another going away party to attend.

My running friend, Aimee, is taking a three week vacation to Asia. I headed over to the meat packing district and walked down one of the scariest streets ever. Yeah this area is supposed to be trendy and play on the whole edgy and gritty exteriors of the warehouses. Well 15th street is dark, empty, and covered with graffiti. I had a mild mugging fear sensation. I arrive at the club, and my first impression is “what the fuck!”. The exterior wall was covered in graffiti or old postings, the door was cracked/smashed glass (not even the purposely kind), and the address was written on a piece of duct tape and stuck to the doorframe. Oh did I mention it didn’t have a sign or anything? Well when I walked it, it was total 180. The place was all swanked out with a lighted multi-colored disco dance floor and the furniture was polished and super uncomfortable. Yeah you can usually tell how hip a place is by how absurd their furniture is. The chairs here were no bigger than camping stools, so I had to balance my fat ass on 3 square inches of wood held 18” off the ground by a very suspicious looking thin pole.

Now the patrons of the club were a mix among elegant Manhattan elite, manicured hot gay men (who would rub each others butts in front of me….like taking a diabetic to a candy store…what douche bags), and trust fund baby hipsters (you know, the ones who spend a fortune to wear clothes made to look like you got them at thrift store). One very drunk hipster girl kept bumping into me. By the fourth time, I finally took a good look at her. He was wearing a calf length jean skirt with a high waist. Huh…I thought we all burned those in 1990? Anyway, Aimee said “I am trying to read the brand on her butt….I think it is Jordace”. Patty squinted and intently stared before replying “nope, I think is Osh Kosh B-gosh”. Ah ha ha ha.