I think I can actually feel myself starting to age. The last time I partied like a rock star was nearly a decade ago. That's when I was fresh meat in the city and still in college. I don't remember it being so hard to wake up the next day though, then sitting through classes for the next five hours. Maybe I'm going through the first stages of dementia? When I woke up Sunday morning, after only three and a half hours of sleep, I took a gander at myself in the mirror. Yup, I looked exactly how I felt, not very pretty. Dragging myself to work hoping to restore my bank account, after nearly putting it in the red over the weekend, was one of the hardest things I've done physically and mentally in a long time. I was swimming in a fog all morning and three cups of coffee was as useful to me as drinking air. I think my boss was feeling bit sorry for me, because he was unusually helpful and asked if I wanted to go early. I should come into work looking like death more often. Somehow, I made it through the few hours I was there, met up with my friend Erin, who was as perky as ever, (I hate her, and her birthdays) and we made our way back to our apartments to get ready for the last stand. Two nights down and one more to go. Oy.
Later that evening, Erin and I had regrouped with our friends Megan and Nichole, at their Park Avenue apartment and went about the final touches to our ensembles for the night. As I was sliding on my 3-inch heels from the previous night, I realized that my big toes were as numb as nuggets. What on earth was wrong with my feet? I'm writing this blog three days later and I'm just now getting a tingling sensation and some feeling back in my toes. I wonder, is this normal or am I going to walk around the rest of my life feeling big toeless? As much as I loved the look of my new shoes, I would have loved to sport me some flip-flops for the evening, but the girls would have none of that and I found myself putting on the stilts once again. Walking to a cab like a Tyrannotitan in my heels, the ladies and I head downtown for another night in Chelsea.
When we got out of our cab we were standing in front of 1OAK (1 Of A Kind). A bit presumptuous, but a clever name nonetheless. On the guest list there, we had ourselves quick entry and free drinks all night. Which, was great because I wasn't at work long enough, that day, to cover the amount of money I had already spent on drinking all weekend as it was. For a club that is known to house many celebrity VIPs, I was surprised they would want to go to a place that was a bit too claustrophobic and lacked privacy. We sat with a group of about five other girls at our table, which faced a wall with a large canvas that confused the hell out of me. It was as big as the wall was high and had a small boy in the center wearing a red blindfold holding the reins of two horses on each side of him. I sat there half the time in a daze trying to make sense of it then moved on to survey the populace of the club. I don't know if it was because I was exhausted at this point or just bored, but I was not at all up to grinding with the crazies that were slithering on the dance floor. However, I was very amused by watching the guys in the place from our ostrich-leather banquette between the dance floor and the bar.
The scene was full of the all the typical personalities I find in men who frequent these clubs. At the bar, I spotted the recluse stalker. Wearing his hat low to cover his eyes as they have latched on to the girl with the big blonde hair and large breasts shaking her bootie on the dance floor. Waiting like a lion in the grass for the guy next to her to take a leak so he can slide right in there and drag her away. On the floor next to us was a small group of young foreign guys with their button ups looking mildly uptight with an air of nonchalance, but secretly scared shit of girls, even though they want them. At the table across from us were the guys who are too cool for school, drinking their vodkas on the rocks, arms spread wide across the backs of their banquettes, marking their territory around the girls beside them. And, there, making their way through the dance floor, I was wondering where those guys were? The ones who had too much to drink and start walking up to random girls whispering sweet nothings that make sense into their ears. I love those guys. They make me giggle from my comfy couch. No, thank you. Like my mother always said... "It's better to be alone then in bad company." Right as always, Mom.
A few hours later the girls had had enough and my dogs were barking, so we set out in a cab and made our way through the streets of NYC and back to our castles of brick and barred windows for some much needed beauty sleep. We managed to get through another one of Erin's epic birthdays in one piece. Now, we spend the rest of the year recovering for the next one. I can hardly wait;)
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