As I mentioned, the blog is about to undergo major changes. In the interest of this regenesis, I plan to post a variety of things from its archives that I have re-read and deemed "not totally shitty". Please, hold my sweaty hand and walk down memory lane, all the while relishing what a cooze I am. Bon appetit!
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
El Sombrero/The Hat
You'd think by now that I'd take a moment to reflect and learn from experience that I always, always end up getting way too drunk when I have a pint sized margarita on the rocks, no salt, at the Hat. But after a few years, it still has not seemed to sink in. Even after numerous nights which ended in puking up guacamole and rock salt. Nope.I don't know how I got so drunk last night, I just know that all of a sudden I was blatantly hammered. I hazily remember getting up to dance at the party and as I did, the oh, so wacky Dj who was at the most 20, decided to take it back to the 70's and school us in her supercool "Look at me I use ironic incorrectly to describe myself" ways. When I got up, MC Lyte was playing. When I arrived at the dance floor, it morphed into some lame ass Led Zepplin song. There are a few of these that you could dance to, perhaps if you were peaking on acid and scampering around a tent covered in your own patchouli filth. However, I am not one to partake in such exploits and certainly will not even after raiding the open bar. I wanted to go over, give her a time out, and say, "Look, I know how much your life has been changed since last week when you discovered Stevie Nicks because you read about her on Courtney Love's website? But no one wants to dance to your attempts at being a 'hip DJ' in order to anger your conservative midwestern parents who pay for your East Village walk up rat infested closet, so fuck off and put on some James Brown, princess." I didn't, though. I instead went promptly to a bodega and knocked over a can of Sapporo which exploded while I was trying to paw at a 40 of Coors Lite. I'll show her, I'll show ALL OF YOU!
A guy I have an ill-informed crush on was supposedly spotted at the same bar. I got excited at the thought of such romantic kismet; instead I drank too much free Red Stripe and staggered out. Later, in a move reminscent of the star of the movie, "Problem Child" I swiped a huge handful of Hershey's Kisses from the bartender at the karaoke place, rather than taking the proffered one serving.
In other news, my new black-with-kelly-green-wheels roller skates came fresh from eBay and I could not be more thrilled. I decided it was wise to make myself some hangover treats- tea and ginger noodle soup- while wearing them. About halfway from the kitchen to the couch I realized what a fucking douchebag I am 99.7% of the time.
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