The Posts are a Lot More Fun to Write When I Can Actually Remember Everything That Happened

Filed under all of my friends are prettier than i am, living in new york is neat, par-tay

Saturday night began innocently enough, with five friends meeting for dinner at Mexico Lindo in the Murray Hill section of Manhattan to celebrate an impending birthday.

The friends, in order, are me (managing to look extra-crazed because I specifically tried to look normal), Sonya (in her authentic American Indian headdress), Jack (who is not as perverted as he appears), Beth (the birthday girl and owner of many granny sweaters), and Emily (who arrived twenty minutes late due to hair-straightening needs, which was generally deemed very worthwhile).

Not pictured: Bridgette, who stopped by for twenty minutes before returning to her GMAT studying and who DID sit beside me, lest you judge me uncool for having an empty seat next to me in the photo above.

Dinner, which was scheduled to last two hours to lead up to a showing of The Reader at the theatre across the street, actually lasted four hours due to extensive talk of how best to hide your tampon on your way to the public restroom at work (up the sleeve was eventually decided upon), whether it’s okay or not to pile trash on your friend when he falls asleep during karaoke (perfectly okay), and why Emily’s sister-in-law would buy her a shirt with a scoopneck that shows off ¾ of her boobs (because those things deserve to be enjoyed by all). The waitress brought out a giant bowl full of flambéed pears with a candle on top for Beth to blow out, but the pears were actually the dessert I ordered, because of course restaurants in New York City don’t give you anything complimentary on your birthday. Beth drank her coffee in silence as I licked every last flaming inch of the bowl myself.

After Sonya took it upon herself to explain what Two Girls One Cup is to me and we debated the feces’ similarity to chocolate softserve, the four of us girls piled into the back seat of a cab

and made Jack sit up front while we unabashedly discussed how you have to consciously remind yourself to look at the penises instead of the faces at Naked Boys Singing because you’re trained to be a good girl, and how totally hilarious it would be to hand over a tampon right out of your vagina when your friend asks to borrow one. “It’s only been in there an hour; it should be good as new!” Sonya said.

Having missed the movie, we got a private room at our favourite karaoke spot instead and spent the hours leading up until 3 a.m. enduring Sonya’s renditions of O-Town and the Spice Girls, Jack pretending like he was badass enough to know the lyrics to KISS’s Love Gun, and sadly realizing that only listening to male-fronted bands all my life means that I don’t actually know any songs in my vocal range as I really let Weezer down with my Say It Ain’t So.

Luckily, Emily and Sonya more than made up for it with some super-sexy Melissa-Etheridge-inspired lesbian dealings that would’ve been much sexier had they been in focus

and Beth–literally the whitest person I know–sang not one not two but THREE rap songs. One of which involved saying the word nigger over and over again, causing crowds of people to peek in the window into our room to see whose ass they should kick.

And all of this while we were completely sober.


  1. Jack should be ashamed of himself.
    He doesn’t respect what’s written in the book “Man Law”.
    This is a clear violation of our law, so Jack is no longer male (as if he ever was male).

    If I was out with you ladies I would have gotten all of you highly intoxicated.

    There’s no reason to act a fool sober. I hope I never hear of another instance of this happening.
    You know if I was there, by midnight all of us would have been doing tequila shots.

    You would have known that you had a amazing time the next day by one (or all three) of the following:

    -the large number of extremely blurry pictures on your camera

    -huge hangover

    -the fact that you can’t explain how your panties got stuck on the ceiling fan.
    (But with the huge Cheshire Cat grin on Kamran’s face, you don’t really care how they got up there)

  2. Patty says:

    oh. my.

  3. Tracey says:

    Dangly earrings! Dangly earrings!

  4. Anonymous says:

    Hey! I actually got a compliment on that sweater…. And, yes, the hat, well, i like a warm head when i go out drinking in 15F weather.

    Sarah Palin might look good in camo-moose, but i can rock a trapper hat better than she ever could.

    • All that matters is that YOU like the sweater. And if you want to own it in several different colors, you go ahead and wear all them with confidence. I will not judge you, for I only own black shirts and jeans.

      Also, no one but Charles thinks the hat is anything but amazing.

  5. Anonymous says:

    So, where does Jack hide his tampon? (Man License revoked!)

    • In his man-purse, right next to his Cover Girl powder and his trial size Chanel No. 5.

      • WTF Jack doesn’t carry M.A.C.?

        In NYC you can’t be caught with anything else but M.A.C. in your purse!

        By the way that’s not Chanel No. 5…give Jack some credit it’s actually Stetson.
        He’s not bothered that no one else has worn it in 18 years and that it’s a brokeback mountain cologne.