Yowsa. That's all I can say about my Friday night Brooklyn adventure. It started out all so innocent. I was to meet Carly for drinks in Bay Ridge and see her 'hood (although I've been to bay Ridge on at least 3 occasions before) and apartment. I hopped on the N train at 6. The mother effing train was local. So I switched to the R and half-napped all the way to the last stop and went to her apartment. It. is. huge. Honestly, if it hadn't taken me over an hour to get there (and the following events n ever happened) I would consider moving there. She has a huge bedroom, tons of closet space, a bathroom bigger than the one at my mom's house and a ginormous living room. It's just amazing, minus the fake plants bolted to the furniture in the building's lobby.
Another one of our friend's met us and we went to grab a bite before we began what eventually turned into the great Bay Ridge drink off of 2007. I inhaled some nachos and a mini-pizza and then we went off to some bars. The evening started off pretty normal. The three of us, standing around, drinking. We ended up at a bar called The Salty Dog which is pretty funny considering there was a mix of middle aged firemen and women in walkers. We parked ourselves next to the restored model of a fire trucks and caught up on gossip, etc. The crowd wasn't exactly what we are used to (although, drinking around the elderly is more amusing than you would think) so we headed over to another place called The Pour House. I've been to this bar before and it's ok and I remember why...ladies, if you are ever suffering from any sort of low self-esteem go to this place. Odds are, you will be better looking than most of the other women. If you aren't well, sorry, you may want to look into hanging out at The Salty Dog with the elderly.
So we started buying rounds and definite buzz started creeping over us. Expletives became more prominent in conversation. I was drinking Sam's Summer like water. A few locals started to trickle in and finally the bar got a pretty good crowd. A DJ came in a Bon Jovi started blasting. I was fully enjoying myself when some weirdo with Drug Teeth (meaning the bottom row sort of looks like Corey Haim's, you know, because of the crack) and starts chatting at me, definitely not with me. Finally he gets to the point and drops his pickup line on me. Now, I've heard some nutty stuff. I've been told things like "I just want to marry you, knock you up, and divorce you," and "Your ass is as soft as two pillows," and the ever-present "PSSSSSSTTTTTTTTT." Drug Teeth literally threw me for a loop.
Here is how it went down:
Drug Teeth: "You look like a squirrel."
DT: "Like a smart squirrel."
DT: "You know... squirrels are cute."
Carly: "I think of squirrels as little rodents with diseases and stuff."
DT: "No, I mean it in a good way."
Carly: "Well, that's not a nice thing to say." To bartender: "He just called her a squirrel."
Me: "Yes. A squirrel." To the man: "I don't think i look like a squirrel and I'm really just here to hang with my girls...so......"
DT: Keeps talking
Me: "I'm really just here to hang with my friends and you called me a squirrel..."
Bartender pours free shots.
DT: Still talking.
I start thinking and decide I'm going to channel my brother-in-law who calls people "guy" whenever he gets annoyed. I slowly turn around and look at this man, my annoyance written all over my face and my hands ready to bust out all of the hand gesture I can think of.
Me: "Guy..." as Slice my hand down in the air in a move I can only describe as a karate chop.
DT: "Please do not say anything bad..." walks away, frightened, never to return.
Enter two British dudes, more shots, me blabbing about Robbie Williams to one of the British dudes, until I realized he smelled like someone who sleeps in his own ash tray and probably hasn't showered in a day or two.
Next thing I know I'm begging the DJ for some Beastie Boys and he says OK come look...in the DJ booth. Which was up really high. I stumble into it and start flipping through his books while he puts his hands on my hips is order to steer me to face the equipment--which I know think was a total pickup move--and he tells me to push a button to play the song I had requested. I guess the owner spotted me and made me get down but not before I played "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn." Oh yes, like a loser fan wearing a t-shirt with the name of the band they are going to see (I was Gutter), I played "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn," late at night, in a bar, in Brooklyn and started fist pumping. No one seemed to care though. I the blink of an eye it was 4 am and i had promised Future Mrs. Krabbypatty I would go with her and Spanish, to her 1st bridal dress fitting. (PS She looked amazing.)
I jumped in a cab with the other girl we were with ( she drinks like a rock star btw!) and we came back to NYC. The whole time she was begging him to stop for pizza and then he took us to the wrong neighborhood. It was nutso. By the time I got to my place I was exhausted and passed out. I made it to Future Mrs. Krabbypatty's fitting and then did what I do best, went home to Westchester to give my liver a break (although I did go out the next night...but only for a minute since I started to fall asleep!).
All in all, BK was a riot...even if the people there think I look like a rodent with diseases.