The problem with being a party girl is that you are always expected to be a party girl.

If you decide to take it easy one night, you will get more boos from your friends than amateur night at the Apollo. Going home at midnight is considered anathema. Declining a round of shots is insanity. You will feel more like a freak for not drinking than for taking body shots off of random strangers. You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t.

But I did manage to get into some shenanigans this weekend without having to go balls to the wall.

This is the Jinius guide to taking it easy:

Friday

My friend Kinan is in town from L.A. and my friend Steve is back in town from France so the whole gang meets up at Tapeo 29 for tapas and sangria. Kinan commented that my friends were really international. Yes, I like to befriend freaks from all over the globe. I hope we didn’t scare her with our freakiness. All we did was sing theme songs from Disney cartoons. In the restaurant.

Afterwards, I head over to Cherry Tavern to say hello to Meredith who is there with some friends. I chat with one fellow who is particularly easy on the eyes. Meredith comes up to me and offers some interesting background info.

Meredith: He used to be an Abercombie model
Me: Really?!
Meredith: Well, like ten years ago.

Some of the guys try to pressure me into doing a shot of Southern Comfort but I decline. I may have laughably low will power but you will never force me to do a shot that smells like the devil’s bathroom.

Then I go home and watch While You Were Sleeping. Now I know why people go out drinking on Friday nights. I regret passing up that shot of Southern Comfort.

On Saturday, I go to my coffee shop and wait in line to order a sandwich when I start sweating heavily and feel my stomach about to come out of my mouth. I run to the bathroom and projectile. Some woman accidentally opens the door and probably thinks I’m the next Tracie Gold. The 6 block walk home is HELLACIOUS. Every smell triggers more nausea and I curse myself for living in the East Village and not some odorless land.

I rally and head out to the PS 1 Warm Up party with Suzette and Sabs. If they had an Olympic challenge for people who puke and then continue to party, I would be the Michael Phelps of that challenge. I think. I know alot of people who can rally. I know alot of alcoholics.



A shot of an installation. Random dude’s cranium not included.



Rapscallions at PS 1



A view of the crowd


Staring at a rotating mirror on the ceiling. This is kind of like when you’re really drunk and you feel like the room is spinning.


This elevator has mad lighting

I notice that this dude keeps staring at Suzette. After an hour he eventually comes over and asks if we know of any good places to go around here. The dude recently moved here from Australia and is with some friends visiting from out of town.

We tell him to go the East Village. As we leave, the dude turns to Suzette and says something like, “You should give me your number and I’ll let you know where we end up.”

I’ve noticed that guys are employing the “you should” line. For example: Hey, I’m at this bar right now. You should let me take you here one night.

I think this enables guys to take the pressure off themselves by forcing the woman to make the final move. It’s a bit passive aggressive but I guess this is how modern man is evolving with feminism. I suppose when it comes time for men to propose, they’ll drop the “Will you marry me?” and just say “You should marry me.”

After PS 1 we head to Williamsburg and have a lovely dinner on the rooftop of Juliette. Ooh, they have the best BLT sandwiches. THE BEST! I order some rosaaaay. Ooh, and I may have cultivated a crush on one of the waiters. I’m like a shark in a pond!

For Sunday Funday, I meet up with Vidya for coffee and panini. Then I meet up with Meredith, Emily, and Dana for the blues and bbq fest on Pier 54 because clearly one lunch is not enough. Besides, summer is almost over and I’m trying to cram as much bbq time as possible.

We wait in line for Dallas Bbq (not to be confused with the chain altho I could really go for those massive bowls of margarita).

Dana and I both get the pulled pork with baked beans and corn bread.

Meredith gets chicken that is undercooked. We can’t tell if the chicken is covered in barbecue sauce or its own blood.

I’ve become a beer snob with my affinity for Belgian ales and am flummoxed by the selection of beer. Budweiser or Bud Light. That’s like asking if I want piss or watered down piss. Oh, the woes of being too bougie.

The crowd is a little questionable (think overweight men with ponytails) so we head over to the Rusty Knot. On the way we there we pass by Julian Schnabel’s palazzo.


Mere and Dana try to pose like tourists.


A random shot of the pier.

I think the Rusty Knot might have to be my new Sunday Funday spot. It’s by the same people who do Freemans but instead of taxidermy the theme is tropical beach bar. (Think Mai Tais and drinks with umbrellas.) Oh, and they have the best jukebox. (Think Kenny Loggins and Jimmy Buffet.)


Dana likes cocktails served in coconuts.


Meredith is playing with her plastic mermaid.


Emi likes Sunday Funday.


My friend Sophia stops by. We’ve been friends since highschool and now she lives in New York but somehow we only see eachother every nine months. If she looks familiar it’s because she’s in a scene in the new Batman movie! Go Sophia!

Then I come home and watch Mad Men. Ah, to be a party girl in the 1960s with those precious dresses and sexy cigarrette holders. Of course, if I grew up in the sixties, I would not have been allowed to enter the country until 1965 thanks to those immigration exclusion acts. Once again, I am foiled by reality!

Oh, and how awesome was last night’s episode? Did you guys notice in Peggy’s flashback scene that her sister is pregnant? Does that mean that–spoiler alert–Peggy never keeps the baby??? When Don tells her to forget what happened, is he referring to –spoiler alert– an adoption??? Curioser and curioser!

Oh, and the woman who plays Bobby totally reminds me of Patricia Clarkson.

And what was up with that scene when the guy plays Mozart with his fly???

Also I liked the title of this week’s episode: “The New Girl”–it serves as a literal reference to Don’s new secretary but also a figurative reference to Peggy’s transformation as a more assertive woman. And even Joan’s new status as an engaged woman.

I’m starting to get obsessed with this show. I might show up to its house and cook a rabbit on the stove.