Dana's going away party

My friend and faithful travelling partner, Dana, has a career to be truly envious of. She was working for a big French fashion house that sent her to Paris for two months in order to brush up on her French. She is one of my favorite reasons to visit New York City because she is always up for a fabulous new restaurant or dive bar theme party. I didn’t think it was possible, but Dana snagged an even cooler job; however this job would take her from NYC and transport her to Texas (groan). In her true fashion, she held a going away party. I couldn’t resist and flew on over to for the last hurrah.
With the abundance of homecoming to NYC, I bunked with Gabby in her Brooklyn townhome. Her sister and fiancé also shared the place. Their wedding date is scheduled for the fall, so they decided to create a friendly weight loss wager. They even got a body fat measurement device. The thing is like a giant set of pinchers and it grabs you in all the fatty areas. I realize I’m not in tip top shape (spare tire), but the fatty pincher really opened my gluttonous eyes. Damn!
So Dana’s party was at a SoHo/Tribecca club. She invited this guy that she had a questionable relationship with. The question was that during dinner dates he would brag about himself, name drop, show off his salary, and never make a move with her. In fact, I don’t think he considered it a date…just someone he can enjoy expensive dinners with and wouldn’t deck him for being a total douche bag. The question surrounding their relationship was answered at the party. A bridge and tunnel gaggle of girls (presumably a bachelorette party since one was wearing a gaudy crown) were hanging at the table next to ours. I went off to get some drinks, and returning I saw the question man being dragged off by the crown princess herself. Curious, we asked the remaining B&T girls what the occasion was (cause if it was a bachelorette party, then the groom is in for a hurting). The drunk participant squealed out “it’s her 24th birthday party…whooooo hoooo!”.
When the douche returned, he confessed the birthday girl gave him a “Korean massage” at the bar. A what? I know what Korean BBQ is (delicious that is), but a Korean massage? With a giant boyish grin, he elaborated and informed us it was a hand job. Classy. Did I mention douche guy is 42…or the mirror image of the birthday girl’s age. The truly sad part of the night was seeing the birthday girl out on the street when we exited. She was drunk, without her crown, and alone…on her birthday…after giving a hand job to a man 20years her senior. New York...where anything is possible.