I can’t be clever all of the time – so on Wednesday nights, I'll leave the funny to you.
7:27pm – Idle Rich. Three embarrassing first dates, two vodka tonics and a one-stop-shop for the 30+ crowd.
Oh, the lean-in. Never normal, usually awkward, and always funny to watch. Similar to a first date. This time, we got both. Jackpot. She looked a little like a terrified deer in headlights who wasn’t going anywhere because Match.com had guaranteed the car coming at her at 70 MPH was her 100% compatible mate. So, she stayed. And so, he kept leaning. And she kept retreating. It was all I could do to not stay longer to watch her fall off the back of that bench. I would have to assume as soon as we left, she did, cursing Match.com and the backless seating at Idle Rich the whole way home. I know I did.
8:45pm – Mi Co West Village. This one speaks for itself.
It’s like the cracked-out version of Mexico City, accented with a disco ball, neon lights and techno music from 2002, exploding together to create the real-life result of puking up a mambo taxi. Or seven. But I always go back, and always have a good time. Upon entry, a friend and I sat in one of the ironically white couches that seem to scream “the jig is up” like a hooker in a white wedding dress.
Then the stares came. Not because I resemble someone famous, or because I was so audaciously carrying a white purse in November. No, much worse. As I glanced at the beanie-wearing table of guys to my left, one was giving my ruggedly handsome (you’re welcome) platonic friend and me the death stare. Then I realized – I probably knew him. Did he stumble home with me one late summer night post-Loon? Or maybe we had even been on a real date last spring… I couldn’t be sure. All I was sure of is that this town is way too small and I have really got to start… wait, that’s it. I remember. He lives in my building, and a friend set us up. Then I painfully recalled how the girl at Idle Rich felt - but, let’s be honest, if all I had to pay for a 22-ounce bone-in rib eye and five martinis was the lean-in and an awkward stare at a bar… SOLD. I’m free this Friday… just sayin.
By the way, to the guy at the bar with the hoop earring – I love you. You, and my post-third mambo cigarette, made my night.
12:15am – Home at last… passing out… and ready to go again tomorrow.