Oh, What A Night. (July 9, 2005)

The Four Faced Liar, 10:00 pm
The night began inauspiciously enough. Sara met me in the Village and we went to a little bar a friend recommended due to the high percentage of hot Irish bar staff. I was not disappointed. Angela joined us, and after a couple of Sapphire & tonics, everything was magically drunk.








Dark Room, 12:00 am
After a marathon stroll to the Lower East Side, we were in search of somewhere to go dancing and cause trouble. This place is atrocious but always provides entertainment galore in the form of scenesters and wanna-be scenesters. Sara verbally abused a man in an honest to god clown suit complete with blinking nose, and Anglea met a nice guy named Edgar. I got excited that they played "Your Love" by the Outfield.

NO PHOTO PROVIDED DUE TO: I AM LAME
The Magician, 12:45ish am
After deciding that the Dark Room was no longer funny and was instead reeking of desperation, we escaped to the Magician in order for me to play Matthew Sweet, the Beach Boys, and Echo & the Bunnymen on the jukebox (which I was too drunk & distracted to do after we got there) and stare longingly at boys with more expensive haircuts than mine. I realized I was pretty drunk when someone played "Imagine" and I screamed "Who the fuck goes out to a bar and plays this song?!" But really- who does that? How depressing. Edgar and Angela encouraged me to talk to a cute boy but I was too freaked out. As drunk as I was, I was still too shy. Bad idea, Brandy.








Welcome to the Johnsons, sometime at like, 2:00 am?
OK. This is when it all got kind of fuzzy. There was Ms. Pac Man and screaming from Sara & I as a result of it. There were 2 or three cans of PBR for me. Annie arrived at this point in what she called her "prom dress"- a very pretty non-stuffy black evening gown. She had been at a family friend's wedding and as such, was hammered. Perfect. We decided there were no cute boys and we ditched the bar to embark on a search for them. This is when things began to stray off the bicycle path- literally.















Tour de France 2005, 3:15ish am
There were many photos taken on the bike someone had oh, so foolishly chained to a pole outside the Johnsons. I had to pick Sara up to put her on the bike, and pick her back up to set her down. Some random drunken pals that were leaving the bar offered to take our picture, with one of them insisting he would do the honors as he was a "photo major". We bought his line. One of them insisted that I was "hiding", and I tried to explain that I was a huge monster compared to all the tiny tiny ladies I was with, and therefore was adjusting so as not to be an Amazon in all the photos. But what came out was this following loud drunken comment: "I'm too big". How elegant!















There was an awful styrofoam helmet hanging from this bike and I clamoured for a photo of Sara crouching on her hands and kness wearing it. Now at this point, a guy who had been sitting out front of then Magician on his bike the whole time we were there, now rode across the street and somehow talked Sara into getting on his bike. I immediately hated him and blamed my lack of makeout on him, and I named him Lance Armstrong.





















Sara had her heart set on a snack, so we went to get crepes. The clock was ticking, and I was craving a good stiff G&T and a tall gent to breathe it onto and had my heart set on Lakeside Lounge. But the clock was ticking to last call 4 am, and there were numerous distractions. One of these was a joint from Lance Armstrong, one of these was Sara grabbing a cute guy's phone and screaming "You're a whore!" into it, then hanging up. It turns out he was waiting to meet his freinds- the very same friends whose ranks included "photo major" from before! Sara threw herself on the hood of a BMW and sang "Here I Go Again" and made many new friends (sans the car owner who- after this display- managed to come out and drive away unnoticed by us). I finally lost my temper at this point, as I realized it had taken us 45 minutes to simply walk around the corner. Luckily a kind man named Sean happened to be walking by and gave me a beer.


But I was in a such a mood, that later when I spilled a bit of it on my top, I then dumped the rest of its contents down my front, yelled something close to "wet t-shirt contest!" (I think?) and then threw the bottle in the air. It sailed neatly over the fence surrounding a car lot adjacent to the projects on avenue A and smashed into a million pieces, like a movie sound effect. Now, there is talk from others in the party that the rear window was also smashed. I wouldn't know- I didn't look back. I was too busy pouting over lack of makeout and booze. What a diva.


We made our way to a bodega to get money for Angela & I to take a cab back to the amazing borough of Brooklyn. I think this final photo sums it all up nicely. Yes, Sara is modeling her penis made of apricots and a turnip. And Angela somehow has gum stuck to her money...we still don't know how. Thank you kindly. Good day to you, sir.

















I said, good day!