Level 3!!!

I'm on Level 3! Praise the Lord, hallelujah!

This is fucking hard

Damn you, Kelly. I'm stuck on Level 2.

I sooo want to be high while I watch this.

Remember this goodie?

I feel your pain, man.

Buddha Is Present

I've been trying to remember bits and pieces of my living history, because I SUCK at remembering anything. Anything at all. In high school, one of my best friends served as my memory. It was great. Otherwise, I was just a present-living being skipping along to the next event. It was nice to be reminded of the all of the fun moments I'd experienced and shared. I would laugh and laugh and laugh at all of the silly shit I got myself into when he would relay it to me. Then, I would forget it. But, then I would laugh and laugh and laugh when he would tell me again.

It's kinda amusing when you're the only one without memory gray matter. Often, my friends would say something like, "Remember last week when..." I would respond with an utterly and completely devoid of any idea what they're talking about blank stare. They couldn't believe it and would look at me as if I had turned into a martian from the planet of WhatTheFuckIsWrongWithYou?ItWasLastWeekForChrissakes. I can't help it, though. I'm like Buddha. (Yes, I am.) I'm eternally in the present. Constantly enmeshed entirely in what I am doing at this very moment.

Waiters: The New Frenemies

Waiters don't like you. They don't like me. Let's face it, waiting on people is right up there with going to everyone's home and mowing their lawns everyday to those entrenched in the jobs. And, take us customers. We boss them around, more or less, in their eyes. Not to mention, being a waiter isn't a career anymore, so most of them view it as the horrible dues they have to pay until they finally achieve their dream job. Anyway, I tell you all of this because they don't want to be the only suckers in town. They want all of those ordering them around to have a stay at suckerville, too. THIS IS WHY THEY ARE STEALING FROM US. No shit. This is happening on a rampant basis, I just know it.

I've begun monitoring my finances to try and track where I'm hemorraging all my money these days. I keep a little notecard with me and hold onto my receipts and dutifully write everything down. It's cute. When I get to the office, I match my receipts with my online bank statement to see what I forgot to write down. Things like that fifth round of mai tais at 1 in the morning seem to escape my recollection entirely. As I was matching, I noticed the total for my dinner at Saturday's restaurant was off. On the receipt, I tipped $3.75, but online it says I tipped $4. (The total I was tipping off of was $20.) Initially, I started questioning myself, naturally assuming the inherent goodness in anyone who brings me paella with chunks of chicken and shrimp: Was I being a meiser by not tipping the full 20%? I tipped her more than 15% definitely. Did she see it as some crazy slap in the face because I didn't tip whole dollar amounts? Is that weird of me to do that? Was that rude? Is 20% de rigueur now? These are all of the questions that were (ok, still are) haunting me a tad. Not a bit- a tad. Because, REALLY NOW, what the fuck was she thinking? She changed my fucking tip?! No, no, no. Not good.

Bad, waiter lady, baaaaaaad.

This really topped off my whole experience of the place. Of course, I'm going to tell you the name of the restaurant, so you can avoid the place, too. Or, at the very least ALWAYS BRING CASH. It's TAPEO. Wait, did you catch that? It's TAPEO! TAPEO IS CHEAP!! TAPEOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! It rhymes with mayo. T-A-P-E-O.

Before they sat us, they made us promise on our unborn children we would order at least 2 tapas each. "But, of course," we pleasantly replied. We are quite famished and will be eating copious amounts of your (although average, but, hey, it's tapas) food. Although the place was pretty busy, I was wondering if they were experiencing some sort of slump, making them have to double-check with their patrons to make sure they are indeed hungry and that is, in fact, why they are going to a restaurant. We sat down at our table and ordered a couple of iced teas. It was a hot freaking day and I sucked mine down in about .25 seconds. It was a regular size glass, I suppose. Smaller than my water glass, but not miniscule. I asked the thief-waitress for a refill. She replied, "Oh, you would like to order another?" Me, "I have to order another one?" Thief-waitress, "Yes, we don't serve refills." Ah. Yes, I remember reading about the sugar water price gauges sweeping the nation, right next to those oil articles. I understand. Me, "No, thank you."

Who knows, maybe I am the big meiser lady for tipping under 20. Perhaps soon I'll catch myself at Denny's everyday ordering their spaghetti special. What am I saying? No! That's not me! I eat at nice restaurants! I tip 15%+ all of the time!

Sigh.

Maybe my age is showing. I guess it's time to start tipping 20% forevermore.

But only in cold hard cash.

Man Bag Bitchslap

The man bag has entered my life.

My boyfriend currently believes with all of his soul that a man bag is a vital component in keeping him on top of his new doctor game. The palm pilot, cell phone, notecards, black pens, red pens, contacts case, and toothbrush aren't going to carry themselves, I suppose. But, come on. Would you carry a man bag? That's not even supposed to be an option really. It should never even enter your thoughts. Not even with a ten foot pole. His doctor friends have futilely attempted to block his purse-backpack-wrong-wrong-wrong-hybrid faux pas. They've tried telling him the lack of sleep and never ending onslaught of patients will eventually win over all of his excited about new job eagerness anyway. Evidently, soon he'll begin lying down on every surface available and speaking as if he washed down 3 valiums with a rum and coke at lunch. Needless to say, he'll be unable to hold onto a pen, much less a man bag. Well, I hope he gets delirious very, very soon.

Have I told you how cute I think his white coat is? To me, it's like a fun prop he gets to adorn to go cavort in the doctor hospital. Cause really he's still just a goofy guy in my book. Someone who makes me ask where the bathrooms are when he has to pee, gets a little too excited about ordering dessert, and tries on at least three different shirts before going out. In other words, so not what I imagine doctors to be like. The day before he started his doctor rotations, we had to feng shui everything onto the coat. There's a lot of stuff he has to throw on there- stethoscope, beeper, access badges, nametag, notecards, pens, power bars.

On another note, things keep hitting my face. On my way to work this morning, a bug flew into it. Now, I know my head is on the big side and is more like an inflated beach ball strapped to a pole, but I just can't take it anymore. Yesterday, a pigeon flew up and bitch slapped me. No, I'm not kidding. Like pigeons aren't scary enough anyway. People make fun of me for constantly ducking and running out of pigeons' flight paths, but I feel this redeems me 100%. They will bitch slap you, people. You best join in on the running and ducking.

My favorite quote of the moment: Bobby Brown, regarding his slandering of celebrities on his reality show, "If you can't take a joke, then you need to go somewhere and die." Yes, DIE! Ha! Take that serious people! Bobby just wants to bring you merriment.

Boyfriend Blocks A Vote on Tottering for the Second Time

For the second time in a month, Notyomomma's boyfriend blocked a vote on Monday evening on the nomination of Notyomomma to be ambassador to the Confederation of Soused, Tottering and A Few Decibals Too Loud Brethren, raising the possibility that Notyomomma will circumvent the confirmation process and attempt to appoint herself when her boyfriend recesses.

The final tally was 1 to 1, 1 vote short of the 2 required to win.

The vote, a setback for both Notyomomma and her social calendar, came after the evening's dinner, in which Notyomomma made a fruitless attempt to negotiate an end to the impasse with chicken curry. With the boyfriend holding firm in his demand for Notyomomma to release specific information relating to Soused, Tottering and A Few Decibals Too Loud Brethren's planned activities, her future is unclear.

"At this juncture, I think it's a pretty tough climb," said Amit Aravindan, who has seen many such deals brockered at India Shalimar before. "The chicken curry can be very satisfying or it can leave a burning sensation in your stomach."

The next move, then, is up to Notyomomma, who must decide whether to exercise her prerogative (even though ego trips are not her thing) when the boyfriend takes a vacation, perhaps as early as the July 4th break. Notyomomma has not ruled out a recess appointment, though she did not answer directly when asked about it Tuesday morning after her morning shower.

"I think I ought to get a yes vote- that's my call to Mr. Boyfriend," Notyomomma said.

But critics say that Notyomomma is too slight and not able to keep up with the rounds the Soused Brethren are capable of imbibing. Notyomomma's detractors also say her recent intoxication from one glass of rosé makes her unfit to represent Soused, Tottering and A Few Decibals Too Loud Brethren, a group known to pee little less than the concentration of whiskey straight up.

Sushi-Freaky Friday-Gotta Go

Friday night, began as most of my Fridays have recently: dinner with the boyfriend. We bought this magazine called WHERE TO EAT. It told us to eat sushi in our next door neighborhood, Roslindale. We obeyed. Now, I was under the impression Roslindale was this secret up and coming little area, but after seeing this, I realize, no, it's not so secret and already pricey.

Needless to say, that wasn't the highlight of my weekend. The highlight of my weekend occurred Saturday when I got drunk off of a glass of rosé. There's so many things wrong with that, isn't there? I got drunk off of something pink. Not only that, pink and with an accented letter. I've reached absolute bottom of the sober barrel. After that, I settled in for a night of FREAKY FRIDAY (next up on M. Waters' body of work). Well, that glass of rosé caused me to immensely enjoy the movie and unnecessarily (on hindsight) laugh out loud at their oh so wacky! fish out of water antics. It's a PG Disney movie, people! I'm so sober, I'm underage.

Now, today, I'm having one of those days where I can not pin myself down. I'm doing this- then that will catch my attention- then, what is this?- then oh look at this thing over here- then, oh yeah! I want to look that up. I'm all unfinished and diverted and all over the place. What is my problem? Theory 1: I have ADD. Theory 2: My body goes through manic cycles and not manic (aka being normal) cycles. Theory 3: I'm goofy. Theory 4: I was brought up a wayward child by a mom who resembles more of a bemused buddha than a disciplinarian...Ok, enough of this. I'm gonna dash.

I Gotta Chill About the Freddie Prinze. Really.

I finished the god-awful movie this morning. All I could think about was how cute Freddie Prinze Jr. must be when he gets angry. He's like a pug or chihuahua or something. Every emotion he conjures just makes you want to bear hug him. The New York Times was right about the movie though, "HEAD OVER HEELS exists in a realm beyond sense, and it induces in the viewer a trancelike state, leaving the mind free to ponder the mysteries of the universe." I was thinking about having a Prinze Jr. retrospective, but after reviewing his cv, I realized that would be a slow form of torture. Perhaps having retrospectives of actors is an idea better left unrealized. I'll stick with the directors.

The only other Prinze Jr. movie that's come across my viewing palette has been SCOOBY DOO. It was a pirated copy. A friend of mine in San Diego had downloaded it (for about 20 hours) onto his computer. I have absolutely no idea why he chose this movie. Perhaps all of those drugs from Tijuana were clouding his judgement. And ours, too, for making it an actual planned viewing event. And Freddie, too, for that nasty blonde hair.

You know, I actually personally know one of those guys who sell pirated copies of movies on the streets of New York? One of my friends from college is married to him, as a matter of fact. The last time I visited the couple, we settled in for an informative night of pirated FAHRENHEIT 911. The quality was surprisingly good. At times, I would entirely forget the dvd's true origin. That is, until someone would get up to go to the bathroom, their silhouetted head blocking most of the frame. My pirated dvd married friend is now with infant. Sadly, she has consequently dropped off the face of the earth. Well, maybe she has only dropped off the face of my earth. Sometimes I fear people regard me as an anathema to children. Maybe it has something to do with my exceptional ability to drop 50% of the things I carry. Or they fear I'd just forget about them and leave them at the quicky mart nibbling on powdered donuts while I boogied at the local discotheque. Or maybe they think I'd actually take them to the discotheque.

I should really alert her to my new disease.

My Immune System Can No Longer Fight Off the Adult Disease - Be Forewarned- It Can Happen To You

Well, I appear to be the last sober person residing in Boston. Even my boyfriend is in on the action. This is a man who is about to begin treating sick people next week- their lives will be in his hands- and HE came home drunk last night. I was awoken at midnight by a pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-pat-you get the picture on my head. When I opened my eyes, there he was, his face about 2 inches from mine, just blankly blinking and patting my noggin. I could tell he had partaken of the drink from only 2 seconds of conversation. Mainly because he said things like, "That was a lot of wine!" and "You would've really had a good time." "Because of the wine!" As for myself, I had gone to bed at, oh, 10 pm. What is my freaking problem? Why am I drinking milk and baking cookies and reading a lot and actually cleaning the freaking house? I must be coming down with something. I pray to god it's not that 'responsible adult' disease.

Ashbloem Cracks My Shit UP

(The title above is a link, by the way.)

Freddie Prinze Jr. is Still Hot, Though

I've been watching the most inane movie EVER. EVER! I'm having a Mark Waters retrospective at my house. I briefly blogged about his first movie, HOUSE OF YES. And I kept hearing about his last movie in the theaters, MEAN GIRLS, which everyone is evidently in love with, most notably Feety Scent. (In the last issue of ELLE, evidently, its star L.Lohan gushed about the movie's effect on "black guys." Uh, ok, white girl.) Since HOUSE OF YES is edgy and the Tina fey penned MEAN GIRLS sounds promisingly edgy, I thought I'd watch all of this up and coming director's movies in a row to cop a feel, if you will, of his style. This second movie of his, though, is UNBEARABLE. It's throwing me for a loop. How did he ever work again after it?? I mean, it got a 9% on Rotten Tomatoes and only made a paltry 10 million its opening weekend. (It distresses me that I have added to its video numbers.) I'm going to share a little dish. Back in the day when I worked at the talent agency, the star of HEAD OVER HEELS was a client and was endlessly pitched as the next Julia Roberts. You can definitely see the resemblance. They've got the same nose or something. And the same voice. But she lacks all of the charm. Ouch. I don't mean to attack her personally, really. I'm sure she's hot and I'd probably want to do her if I met her in real life. But she's not effective as an actor- at least not in this vein. The writing is so, so, so bad as well. Maybe I'll jot down some of it for you. Second thought, ex that. That would require a repeat viewing.

What do you do in a hot tub besides have sex?

It's usually when I'm idling through blogs and cursing everyone for not updating recently, I turn to my own blog to amuse myself. Hello!

Well, my boyfriend finally talked me into stepping into the silver behemoth. (What am I talking about? What has it been? A week? Yeah, I really held out there.) Anyway, I got in. Ladies and gentleman, say hello to the silver behemoth's first convert! Oooooooh la la. La la la la la la. It's so relaxing, I almost fell asleep and drowned. It has four main seats. Each seat has a different pattern of massaging jets, so you can pick your favorite. Oh yes, I found a favorite. A sweet, perfectly pulsating favorite. Oh my.

Plus, you can control the intensity. And there are benches in between the seats, so literally 8 people can fit inside. At first, the jets were on a bit too strong, so I couldn't stay in any of the seats and kept floating away. After about 15 minutes, he informed me of the controls. Thanks there, buddy. Although the weather was ridiculously humid and gross and I'm-sweating-just-from-blinking, the tub was surprisingly enjoyable. He tried to talk me into getting in again last night, but I had already showered something like 4 times in two days, so I had to decline. Aaaah, but I'm already imagining all of the hot tub parties I'm planning on hosting. I'm trying to think of ways to consume our time while relaxing in the bubbles, though. You know, something to take our mind off of the prune texture we'll all be sporting when we finally emerge. Yes, of course, alcohol. Duh. But, I want to have something else going on besides sparkling small talk. Here's what I've come up with:

A Spelling Bee!

What? What'd you say? Define 'lame.' No, no, no. Come on now. It's fun! And you will have no choice if you come to my hot tub party. So, there. Spelling Bee and Glorious Hot Tub or No Hot Tub and Pain and Suffering for the Rest of Your Life. You decide. No really, it will be fun. You just don't realize it yet.

Now I'm on the T with yet another suggestive book.

I'm lying in the grass with my Body Sculpting Bible.

What a barely not porngraphic cover my bible has.

Phase One of Attack: Attempt to Maim with Spoiled Food

Ok, last night, she told me there wasn't enough room in the humongous refrigerator for my food. Her hate tactics are befuddling me and starting to take on crazy manifestations. I'm beginning to think Monster In Law may have nothing on the actual bizarre reality of my life. Um, ok, lady, maybe my food will spoil and I'll eat it and DIE! Ha ha, you got me! Of course, there was enough room and I put away my groceries in disbelief. She's certifiably insane with hatred for me. There's no other explanation. If I think about it too much, I'll scream, so moving on...

Ahhh, the weekend. Spent roaming the streets of Boston to avoid my abode at all costs. Luckily, it was the perfect weekend to be temporarily homeless. The sun was shining non-stop. I took little naps in the park, I tanned, I spent more hours in the gym than I did all of last month. I caught up on my magazine reading. As a matter of fact, I'm quite digging this roaming of the streets. I plan on keeping it up even after she flies away on her broom. It gives me a bit of the feeling I have when I travel. As I navigate through my quests, my interior monolgue becomes quite active. It's entirely different from shuffling from room to tv to computer to bed to couch in the confined space of my house. Everything feels more limited and stale at home, whereas out on the streets, I have to construct focused mini-journeys. I'm less aimless and much more interactive. Perhaps not wearing the pjs helps with more of a sense of purpose. Whatever it is, it's working for me. Thank you, crazy lady, for reacquainting me with the great outdoors. But not for the spoiled food. That's crazy. Crazy Lady!

Danger Zone

I tried to sit through the enire graduation. I really did. But that CEO from Qualcomm is insanely boring. He was talking about cell phones and how the video is going to get so much better and everyone will have one yada yada. I can read an article about that techno drivel any time. Really, now. What was he thinking? What was the college thinking getting this guy? He must've been the third or fourth choice.

This wave of tiredness just hit me. I need food, but I'm avoiding the kitchen. The parents are here and whenever they're in town, the mom rarely ventures out of the 5 foot radius of the kitchen. There is something that has come to my realization: she doesn't like me. Indeed, she has a nasty habit of picking on me. I've been avoiding her as much as politely as possible, but there was necessary interaction this morning. As I was making some toast, my boyfriend was making his way into the hot tub for the first time. So, I'm chatting with him as he relaxes in the warm bubbles. I didn't get in, of course. The wrinkly skin thing and all. I tell him I'm on my way out to go jog. My boyfriend takes a liking to the jogging idea and announces to his parents that he wants to go jogging, too. This was his mother's response: "You have to work hard to be able to relax and jog all day, CARMEN." What? Wait. What? She continued on, "You can't just relax and do what you want. You need to work." Talk about blunt and the opposite of pleasant. Woah, nelly. I fear she has it in for me. My beau says I should talk back to her. But I just can't. She's old and it just seems like a waste of breath. So, I've opted for the avoidance route. Wish me luck. 5. more. days.

Ok, one more of the scholar. Congratulations!

This looks like it's going to be a looong graduation.

My boyfriend is becoming a Dr. Doctor today!

You will never BELIEVE what greeted me at my house yesterday

Nope, you won't. Never ever. I'll give you some hints:

-it's silver
-it has a subwoofer
-it requires a cover
-it requires steps to enter
-a man named Anthony will be coming by today to install the necessary plumbing
-some people hang out in them naked

Give up? It's a freaking hot tub. I don't know- to answer all questions. No, I haven't seen one since the 80s either. I don't know why or for what reason or in what capacity it was decided we need one of these things to be a part of our living quarters. I'll, of course, take a pic when I get home to display the bizarre Boogie Nights prop 3 steps from our living room. I thought the neighbors were giving me funny looks when I came home yesterday. Who wouldn't? Even my dad has gotten rid of his. No one owns these things anymore. I mean, we're not in physical therapy and we don't have quintuplets as girlfriends. Therefore, there is absolutely no reason we should have this thing.

The silver behemoth has brought all sorts of visitors upon us, too. Besides Anthony above, the OWNER of the hot tub store stopped by on his way home. Of course, I'm the only person home during these visits (and was unfortunately a little off and tipsy, see below). I feel he was quite a bit suspect when he arrived. We still have our blue 'party lightbulb' as our patio light. Making our house look more like a possible prostitute/crack den than, oh say, just another normal house with a hot tub. I'm sad to admit, I actually was in my robe when he stopped by, which really doesn't help matters. It was late, people! The hot tub store owner skeeved me out a bit, too, though. I felt like he was checking me out, imagining all of the wild antics me and my quintuplet friends would be up to once we got the tub working. Which is so far from any truth. Honestly, I'm going to have to be dragged in. I don't find sitting around, staring at a fence, and getting wrinkly any fun whatsoever. There's nothing to do in there really. Have relaxing conversations with my boyfriend? But I can do that without getting my hair chlorinated. Foreplay? The hot tub is actually pretty visible from the second story of every single house surrounding us. So, it's sexiness factor is not so much. If you knew our neighborhood, you would know why. There are dudes that sit out on their porches all day even when there aren't half naked people frolicking in frothing water. These days, they only say 'Hi' to me as I walk by. I shiver to think of the other greetings they might start throwing my way. However, if anyone else finds having stringy hair, raisin skin, and nothing left in your friends' imaginations, by all means, come on by.

Shake it to the right, if you're having a good time

Again, I found myself in a constant state of distraction last night. I was determined to commit to making a meal, though. To help myself committ, I decided to pop open one of the 500 beers in my fridge. It made the chopping of the onion and all of the other menial tasks involved with cooking seem less daunting. Well, I ended up having too much fun. One beer turned into two, which turned into a glass of wine. But let me tell you, I was having a BALL making those nachos. Talk about good times! It didn't dawn on me to turn on the stereo until I was feeling my first beer. My iPod is hooked up to our stereo, so I put it on random. It was picking the best songs ever! Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls and some vintage Depeche Mode, among other goodies. That was about the most fun I've had all week. Probably will be the highlight, actually. And really all I was doing was chopping and drinking. Who knew? At first thought, it seems like something I would want to repeat everyday possible, but I fear the beer calories will doom me in the end. Of course, what's really so wrong with being happy, fat, and drunk? I can't think of anything off of the top of my head.

I'm going to bed. Good night.

Weird Body Phase

I'm kinda in a weird body phase right now, which I'm sure has much to do with the crazy hours I kept during the long weekend. Essentially, I can't focus and I'm generally apathetic, particularly when it comes to this day job stuff. Yes, I'm quite apathetic on a normal day, but I'm finding it hard to even fake it right now.

Last night, my lack of focus carried over into my evening hours. I couldn't commit even to, like, a piece of food. I would nibble on a chip here, an egg there. Just making a freaking meal already and be done with it! Alas, nothing held my interest for long enough. I even attempted watching the Food Network to try and work up some sort of enthusiasm, but to no avail.

After frittering my time away watching fascinating documentaries such as Mariah Carey Uncut, and feeling bad about myself even before the 'pajama birthday party' part came on, I finally snapped to and did something that didn't suck the life force out of me. I watched House of Yes. Have you seen this? Delightful. The characters are smart, sarcastic, like to fuck with people, and are generally bored with the world. My kind of characters. Parker Posey stars. She's one of the actresses around today who I think would be chosen to play me in the movie of my life. Her and Winona and Molly Ringwald, and, according to my grandmother, Alyssa Milano.

But back to HOY. It's a story about a dysfunctional family. Every character is a bit off. They know what normal is, but they want nothing to do with it. I fantasize about becoming as eccentric as these characters. Who wants to be average? My lot is to be an innocuous involuntary dancer, though. Ah well. Freddie Prinze, Jr. is in it and he's a doll. He does a great job playing the dim lightbulb. Somehow the sweater vest he wears just completes him. Along with the characters, the dialogue is fun stuff. Parker gets most of the good lines. She actually won the Sundance Best Actress award for this role. "Were you poor? Did you eat chicken pot pie?" The director of HOY is actually the brother of the writer of Heathers. They're both naughty black comedies. And so fiendishly fun.

These are the pics of the party I found on my camera very after the fact. Or, Reasons why one should never leave their phone unattended.

I am a wee bit concerned about the mental states of my guests.

You think this story's over, but it's ready to begin

Ok, ok, I'll try and wrap up. Sadly, I couldn't keep up with my cohorts at the sake bar, although I was digging all of the Beasties songs playing over the speakers. The huka was not playing nice with my delicate tummy. Of course, it affected no one else. So everyone drank round after round of sake and talked about science articles because they're a little dry like that (mostly PhDs in the group that night). Once again, I found myself spending a portion of my night holding my belly and trying to delicately burp off to the side. I tried to settle my g.i. system by eating more food. More sake for everyone else and massive number of pork dumplings for me. Woo hoo. Now, everyone definitely had their groove on and it's all I can do stay awake. I was so tired, literally all I could do was blink. I tried my darndest to laugh and nod at the right times. I think I suceeded in fooling them to believe I was into the conversation. Anyway, they were drunk and wouldn't have noticed much anyway. But, all I could think about was how nice it would be to take out my contacts and lay my head down. Just for a little bit. Just for 5 minutes. Please. Pretty please. Etc., etc. I think it's like 1 am at this point. Lucky for me, the table reached the concensus that since we're in New York we must party like the rock stars we will never be. So, on to the next club!

Yay.

The only place I know about in New York anymore is this place called Bob's in the Village. This was far more knowledge than any of the others posessed, so off to Bob's it was. Bob's is mainly hip hop, but they throw in some nice throwbacks like Bel Biv Devoe and MJ and En Vogue. Every nationality under the sun is there. It's a small place and everyone is dancing, so the place has a lot of energy and a fun vibe. I have this affliction wherein if I hear a beat, my body will involuntarily move to it. No seriously, I can't help it. If you know me, you've probably at least once watched slackjawed as I boogied in the checkout line at the grocery store or somewhere else inane like that. Although my body was rebelling and my eyes were trying to seal themselves shut, once we stepped into the club- it was on. I wouldn't say I was the best dancer, ok yeah, I would. I did some mean dancing. Even my boyfriend felt the vibe and stepped it up a notch. Because everyone continued to drink even more, even the whities in our crew got up the nerve to shake their tailfeathers. Some better than others. We danced until 4 am.

Of course, with all of the alcohol coursing through everyone else's veins, some late night noshing was desperately needed. We picked a diner and everyone pigged out on waffles and burgers. As for myself, I blinked until it was time to go home.