Lawks 'a mercy, but I've been drinking too much lately. In the effort to get in visits with all the important friends before I head out for a five-month absence, I've been going out a lot, and consequently drinking more than I'm used to. I'm such a lightweight.
As we've discovered before, I have no shut-off valve when it comes to alcohol. Since I don't drink much, I tend to drink it like other refreshing beverages.
Too quickly.
So last night Topher and I went to what's becoming our accustomed hang-out: G Lounge, on 19th Street in Chelsea. It's not that we particularly like it that well (I loathe bars in general, and loud bars in particular), but we're both totally crushing on the cocktail waiter there. And last night we actually went to the trouble of introducing ourselves.
The evening started out as a one-drink-then-dinner affair, but we ended up staying at G because, well, we were having a really good time. Like, belly-laugh good time. There was this one guy in the most amazing outfit -- straw hat, black sleeveless shirt, painted-on striped white pants, and large, dark sunglasses -- who was just stalking around the bar, taking up a position against the wall where everyone could see him, and showing all the world how big his, er, "member" was... by becoming -- how did Topher put it? - "refulgent" inside those diving-suit-tight pants.
In a word: Train wreck. Or, two words, actually.
We had the most fun watching everyone else in the bar doing double takes. 'Cuz, really, G isn't really that kinda place. It's a place where yuppies go for an afterwork drink, even if the thumping music is a wee bit oom-thah oom-thah oom-thah oom-thah for my tastes.
Anyway, that was good for some laughs, in an "I'm horrified by that but can't look away" kinda way.
Anyway, in the process, we stayed longer and drank more, and laughed more and more. Eventually this young couple sat down near us and we learned more than we should have about them. One kept abandoning the other to smoke and take cell phone messages, so during the caesuras (caesurae?) we learned that this guy -- we'll call him Bobby -- was meeting his ex for a drink, after having broken up badly a year ago. It went downhill from there, as he was nervous about meeting this guy he was still seriously into, and the guy was clearly a cad. As the evening went on, Bobby got even more drunk than we did.
To keep ourselves from getting depressed over the young derailed love before us, Topher and I kept on in the jovial vein by opining about our beloved cocktail waiter -- and we finally got up the gumption to introduce ourselves. His name is Wil. Dreamy, dancing Wil.
We were liquor-filled laughing monkeys by the end of it. At one point, we were both watching Will glide about the room attending to his duties, and I turned to Topher and said, "Will is..." but he cut me off with a fervor that can only be born of three glasses of wine: "Wil is Life! Wil is Hope!"
I nearly peed myself and fell off the sofa.
It was at that point we decided it might be wise to get some food.
As we've discovered before, I have no shut-off valve when it comes to alcohol. Since I don't drink much, I tend to drink it like other refreshing beverages.
Too quickly.
So last night Topher and I went to what's becoming our accustomed hang-out: G Lounge, on 19th Street in Chelsea. It's not that we particularly like it that well (I loathe bars in general, and loud bars in particular), but we're both totally crushing on the cocktail waiter there. And last night we actually went to the trouble of introducing ourselves.
The evening started out as a one-drink-then-dinner affair, but we ended up staying at G because, well, we were having a really good time. Like, belly-laugh good time. There was this one guy in the most amazing outfit -- straw hat, black sleeveless shirt, painted-on striped white pants, and large, dark sunglasses -- who was just stalking around the bar, taking up a position against the wall where everyone could see him, and showing all the world how big his, er, "member" was... by becoming -- how did Topher put it? - "refulgent" inside those diving-suit-tight pants.
In a word: Train wreck. Or, two words, actually.
We had the most fun watching everyone else in the bar doing double takes. 'Cuz, really, G isn't really that kinda place. It's a place where yuppies go for an afterwork drink, even if the thumping music is a wee bit oom-thah oom-thah oom-thah oom-thah for my tastes.
Anyway, that was good for some laughs, in an "I'm horrified by that but can't look away" kinda way.
Anyway, in the process, we stayed longer and drank more, and laughed more and more. Eventually this young couple sat down near us and we learned more than we should have about them. One kept abandoning the other to smoke and take cell phone messages, so during the caesuras (caesurae?) we learned that this guy -- we'll call him Bobby -- was meeting his ex for a drink, after having broken up badly a year ago. It went downhill from there, as he was nervous about meeting this guy he was still seriously into, and the guy was clearly a cad. As the evening went on, Bobby got even more drunk than we did.
To keep ourselves from getting depressed over the young derailed love before us, Topher and I kept on in the jovial vein by opining about our beloved cocktail waiter -- and we finally got up the gumption to introduce ourselves. His name is Wil. Dreamy, dancing Wil.We were liquor-filled laughing monkeys by the end of it. At one point, we were both watching Will glide about the room attending to his duties, and I turned to Topher and said, "Will is..." but he cut me off with a fervor that can only be born of three glasses of wine: "Wil is Life! Wil is Hope!"
I nearly peed myself and fell off the sofa.
It was at that point we decided it might be wise to get some food.
Food was at Mary Ann''s, on 8th Avenue between 15th & 16th. Great Mexican food, yo.
'Course, the fact that I was well-oiled by three mandarin & cranberries (or, as I like to call them, "manberries") might have something to do with it. But I've eaten there sober, and loved it.
On our way back home, Topher decided he had to pee, so we stopped in at G one more time to use the potty. This is where our happy evening takes a bit of a sad turn. As Topher was passing through the bar, he found "Bobby" alseep at his table, liquored up and having been abandoned by his cad of a date.
Alas, men. Just remember:
Wil is life. Wil is hope.
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