anything with an accent

Not every night out with the Ivy League Crew is a glammed-out fun fest (okay, it's rarely glamourous, but you get my point).  We're actually notoriously bad at Fridays.

(the following vid may not want to be what you want a co-worker to walk in on you watching)

 

I had received less-than-stellar news at work, but I had also gotten $8 tickets to Naked Boys Singing.  I offered a few friends to see it on me (b/c let’s be honest: it’s rare that I can justify paying for anyone else before I own property).  Home, change, Gatorade bottle.

And I forgot the tickets at home.  Cue the 3-second temper tantrum on 8^th ave.  Okay, deep breath, regain composure, and turn the corner.

“Hey, girls.  I heard this show sucks, so let’s go to Chelsea Hotel instead.  We still have 45 min of open bar left!”  The only protest was from Urban Sprawl, who couldn’t bear to part with $3 for the cab ride.

Me: “You know, a drink in each hand really isn’t cute.” 

France Pants: “Où est yours!  Je suis know (sic) you had two!”

Me: “I gulped the first one down before anyone cute saw me double fisting.  Take notes.”

We were mighty quick to ditch Chelsea Hotel after the open bar (after a brief run-in with the Long Island gays).  Next stop: Chi Chi’s.  Surprisingly, there was no line.  France Pants and I had a brief discussion about how we liked Caribbean guys, his preference being for Trinis and my preference being for anything with an accent.  But watch out for the Jamaicans.  No, really. 

After about four(teen) screwdrivers there, we go somewhere else (Pieces?), but nothing noteworthy happens there, and it closes down around 3.  At this point, it's just Bottomless Pitt and I.  We end up going back to Chi Chi’s (hey, it’s the only place south of 96^th st that’s still interesting after 2:30).  Bottomless Pitt ends up talking to some Trinidadian guy (of course, I promptly text France Pants), who is accompanied by the two biggest queens in the bar.  The fat one insists that we go to breakfast (of course).

I suffer through the meal, and I'm so disgusted that I end up speaking only when I’m spoken to.  Pitt keeps on trying to justify himself to his trick's cunty friends for some reason.  He gets all, “I just want you guys to like me!”  Everyone at the table (including me) all responds, “WHY?!”  And in my head, you’re never going to see this trick again, so definitely don’t worry about his friends.

The bill came to about $90.  Everyone had gotten beers except for me.  I put in about $20 for my $9 meal.  The fat one put in $40 for all 3 of them.  Really?  And you’re still taking this free-loading bitch home, Pitt?  Did I mention if he can't pitch in for breafast and beer, he probably doesn't have a place to host you anyway?  Nope.

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