Saturday, February 05, 2005

Friday night 2 Bar Hopping Madness: When Models Attack

I had planned on staying in and studying Friday night. But for some reason after two hours in Butler, I was ready to get my drinking on and I was particularly itching to go do the imbibing of alcohol downtown. So I called up a few of my boys to see what they were up to and their answer corresponded to mine. First, I had dinner at some Thai restaurant on 108th and Broadway with an old college buddy of mine who was in NYC visiting his long term gal pal: Stephanie and Jesse I picked up my friend Mike who was on 75th Street and we headed down to meet up with everyone at favoritist bar, Botanica: Mike and Kaizar. The DJ at Botanica played at my request, Juicy by Biggie. That made me a happy man My old work buddy and Red Sox soldier, Nick met up with us at Botanica. He brought along his roommate who is mad dope but did not believe me that I was from Alaska. We had planned on bar hopping all night and in the meantime to wait for Cyrus, we stopped into a random bar on Bowery and Houston. I fucking hate these loungy bar/clubs popping up all over LES and East Village with their door bitches and velvet ropes and shit. That shit is fine for the Meatpacking District but not fucking Bowery. Anyway, rant aside, we stop in and we all decide to get one (expensive ass) drink while waiting for Cyrus. Of course, first, the doorman gives us a bit of a hard time and after some persuasion which is bullshit, we walk find NO BODY in there. In the immediate moment this picture was taken, we were talking about how dead the bar was and how we should leave soon. And also, this is also about the soberest part of the night. Soon after, we hear that Cyrus could not come in because the door bitch told him there were too many boys in the bar. As if on cue, ALL THESE MODELS walk into the bar. At this point, Cyrus had just called Mike to tell him they wouldn't let him in and he was going home. I asked Mike and Kaizar if we should leave and they look around and say, "Nah. Let's stick around." Mike (on right) tries to act as if model appearances are an everyday thing for him, but Nick is fucking thrilled. He gives it the ol' one thumb up Cyrus wasn't allowed in, but Mike's friend (on far right) was. And then the night quickly became debaucherous: Public touching The back of a model, Nick's roommate and Nick In one of the more brilliant pictures from the night, this is Kaizar and me with the blond model we became friends with that night and from whom I jacked cigarettes all night: Kaizar, Me, Swede, Couple making out Kaizar giving it at least one try. I'm not the best wingman here In the middle of all the good times that were occurring, they quiet all of us and two of these fellas that came with the chicks, perform some lame ass John Mayeresque crap on all of us. Talk about a buzz kill. The funniest part for me was one of the singers' girlfriend draping herself on him and singing along to every word. They sang. They sucked. They left. DJ kicked back with some hot music. In the meantime, Nick is getting more and more hammered And the Party Gods said, "Let them dance." And so I danced: Check out my cool fucking Yves Saint Laurent jacket and Nick getting his groove on However, the prettiest people in the bar were clearly these folks right here: Nick at this point was fucking wasted if not slightly belligerent: And he gets kicked out by the bartends. Kaizar, Nick's roommate and I finally convince him to get in a cab and we go to their place. Nick doesn't remember any of this, but like a hostage taker, he FORCED us at his apartment to watch clips from the Red Sox world series run. I told ya'll he was a Red Sox soldier. But I love that boy. He finally calms down and Kaizar and I meet back up with Mike and his roommate. While Kaizar and I were running around looking for Mike in Ludlow, we eat a kimchi hot dog which was the fucking shit. Fucking shit = Good. We then go somewhere else (I forgot the name) which I always seem to end up at when I'm drunker than fuck. Don't remember much. Mike and I share a cab back to our respective apartments (We live next to each other practically). Pay the cab fare. I then promptly throw up. And throw up again. And finally reach my apartment. Dry heave into the toilet. Somehow take out my contacts. Pass out. And I'm supposed to go out again tonight for karoke reasons... I'm scared. And tomorrow is the Super Bowl... My liver is crying out to me asking me to stop.
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