There are times in life when you laugh. There are times in life when you cry.There are times in life when you laugh AND cry at the same time because you are stuck in a cab with a driver who doesn’t know where the fuck he is going and you resort to schizophrenic behavior in order to cope with the utter misery of your situation.

So I was in Boston this weekend.

It was my friend Binnie’s birthday but the poor thing got food poisoning and was exiled to her bedroom pretty much all weekend. Is it just me or do birthdays diminish in amusement after your 21st birthday? When you’re young you get balloons and a clown on your birthday. When you’re in your late twenties you get food poisoning.

So while she was trying to keep the room from spinning, I was on my way to meet my friend Ilana at a karaoke bar in Boston.

Little did I know that trying to get from the Harvard Business School Campus to Downtown Boston would require the patience and endurance of a pioneer on the Oregon Trail.

I know I hyperbolize alot on this blog because hello, I am,oh, so dramatic, but I kid you not when I say that my cab driver was the kind of person who needed directions on how to get from his hand to his ass.

Me: Hi, I need to go to 204 Tremont.
Driver: Where is that?
Me:Um, 204 and Tremont?

He has no idea where that is so I call the karaoke club and ask for the cross street.

Me: It’s 204 Tremont between Boylston and Stuart.
Driver: So it’s on 204 Boylston?
Me: No, it’s 204 Tremont between Boylston and Stuart.
Driver:Where is that?
Me: Can I shoot you in the face?

I would’ve gotten out of the cab except the area I’m in doesn’t have any cabs around so I wait until we get to Boylston street and tell him I’ll find the place myself.

But I leave without paying.

And then the driver comes out of the car and yells expletives at me in the middle of Boylston street which is like where all the clubs and bars are in Boston so there are all these people staring.

Then I yell back at him.

He yells at me some more.

Finally I feel bad and pay him.

And I even tip him out of my liberal guilt.

Ugh.

So then I walk on Boylston street, trying to find this club, and all of a sudden I just start crying. Tee-hee. I know, I know I’m lost in Boston not Somalia but for some reason the whole process of just trying to get from point A to point B was so freaking complicated that I just broke down.

But it doesn’t take a genius to navigate downtown Boston and I found the club. And my poor friend Ilana was waiting for me in the cold and offered me her beer. Then once we got inside she bought me like 30 drinks.

Sigh.

You know you have a good friend when they tranquilize you with alcohol. Ilana is my ride-or-die-bitch.

The karaoke bar was so much fun.

Ilana’s husband Josh put in a Destiny’s Child song for us because he knows Ilana and I like to sing cheesy pop and R&B except he couldn’t remember the name of the group so he turned to this guy next to him and asked, “What’s the name of Beyonce’s band?”

And then we started heckling the people singing on stage and would say things like, ‘Boo!” or “Get off the stage” or “You’re supposed to sing INTO the mic.”

We did not make any friends that evening.

Then I leave the karaoke bar to meet up with some of Binnie’s friends at Club Mantra. This time I make sure that the cab driver knows where he is going before I get in the car.

Me: I need to get to Temple street. Do you know where that is?
Driver: No.
Me: Do you know where Club Mantra is?
Driver: No.
Me: Okay, let’s start with an easy question. Do you know what city you are in?

Jesus Christ.

So I finally find a cab driver who knows where he’s going.
He drops me off at Mantra.
A big, burly, black woman is manning the door. She looks like she could murder me and then eat me without chewing.
She tells me they can’t let me in because they are at full capacity.

Um, dear readers, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am the size of a midget. I hardly think that letting in a small Asian girl would suddenly have the club explode like the Hindenberg.

“Can’t I just go inside? I’m from out of town and I just want to say hi to my friends.”
“We’re at full capacity.”
“Really?”
“We’re at full capacity.”
“THIS IS WHY NO ONE LIKES BOSTON!!!!!”

Then I flipped her the bird.

Okay, I didn’t. But I wanted to!

I can understand if they didn’t let me in because they had a strict door policy and only wanted clientele who looked like Gisele Bundchen but all the club patrons in there looked like THE GOTTI BROTHERS!!!!

I mean, I was just one girl trying to get into a club. Even the most exclusive clubs in New York will let one girl come in because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that one girl will not cause your club to suffer.

So to the people at Club Mantra: I hope you choke on a bottle of Axe Body Spray because apparently that is the official fragrance of your establishment.

So that was my weekend in Boston.

But if you disregard the idiot cab driver and Shaft’s twin sister at Mantra, then my evening was quite lovely.

And next time I visit I will make sure not to leave the Cambridge area. And if I do venture to downtown Boston then I am giving all the cab drivers and club bouncers advanced warning that there will be blood!

Um, yeah, like I said, I’m only 5′1. But it’s still fun to threaten people.