Saturday morning,
with just five hours of sleep, I woke up with the phone buzzing in my ear.
Literally. I was sleeping ON my phone. The last thing I remember was getting
out of a cab and half running, half wobbling to my apartment door. I don't know
how, but apparently, between the cab and my bed I managed to feed my cat, wash
the makeup off my face, brush my teeth and set the alarm. I have to give myself props.
Even though I spent the night making bad decisions and came home entirely too
drunk, I was not deterred from keeping up with good hygiene. Apparently, I even managed
to take the time to floss from the evidence I left behind in the bathroom. I
happened to find a three-foot strand of mint-flavored floss draped across my
bathtub with a handful of bath salts scattered haphazardly around the base of
the tub. I think I might have tried to take a bath WHILE I flossed, that's the
only conclusion I could come up with. However, I was still in last night's
clothes when I woke up, so I know that the bath never happened. I don't know
how Ke$ha does it. The girl parties all night, gets up, writes another song and
does it all over again the next day. That's got to be a rough lifestyle,
sometimes.
An hour later, I met up with Erin at
our local Starbucks for another round of what we did last night. I was most definitely
judged by the barista when I slurred my order for whatever they could legally
give me that had as much caffeine as possible. I confused the poor man so much
that he had to check with Erin for clarification and she went ahead and
apologized to the man on my behalf, blaming it on my still being intoxicated.
This was at one in the afternoon. I can never show my face at that Starbucks
again.
With our breakfast through a straw,
Erin and I schlepped our way to Supple Spa where our friends, Nichole and Megan,
were already taking advantage of its convalescent benefits. I have never in my
life had a spa treatment before and this was something that couldn't have come
on a better day. If I had to do anything that required thought, it would not
have been pretty...funny, for everyone else for sure, but definitely not
pretty. I was a little taken by surprise by Supple Spa when I walked in. It
wasn't exactly what I had imagined a spa to look like. From hotel ads and what
I've seen in movies, spas were always portrayed as crisp, airy places with
white washed walls and fresh rose petals scattered around fragrant candles.
When I walked up the narrow staircase to the second floor of the old
brownstone, it felt like I was in the red light district of the movie Taxi Driver. When Erin and I opened the
door, neon red light poured out of the room and seemed to wrap around us like a
smoky hand, pulling us into its lair. I looked over at Erin for reassurance but
I couldn't see her face, the room's only light was coming from a single red
lamp behind the front desk. When we entered, I was able to eventually make out
the silhouette of the two Asian women standing behind the desk. As we
approached, they smiled at both of us, and one of them put a finger to her lips
in a warning to be quiet. I made the "oh" face and obeyed her order
as best as I could, but I was having a hard time not stumbling over small
objects on my way around the desk.
Once Erin and I checked in, we were
both led into separate rooms. Well, not rooms per say, they were more like
screened stalls. In the stall I was able to make out a bed draped with a white
towel and a small table with another red lamp. And yes, there they were, the
candle and the rose petals. Not quite the ones I had envisioned, but a plastic
battery operated candle and manufactured polyester fiber petals had done just
as nicely. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, the little Asian woman who
led me to the stall, told me I could undress and leave my belongings in the
basket I tripped over when I entered. Once she left, I did the best I could
without toppling over and knocking down the screens around me. Once I managed
to undress I laid myself down on the bed, face first, with my head in a hole as
I waited for my little Asian masseuse to come back. Before I knew it, the door
was sliding back and she set to work. The first couple of minutes were gentle
soothing massages where I found myself starting to fall asleep and I could feel
the drool begin to ooze its way out of my mouth. At the same time, my head was
swirling with the chiming of the music floating in the atmosphere around my
head and the alcohol still trying to break down from last night’s extravaganza.
In the stalls next to me I could hear the mummers of the others as they went
about their massages, and every now and then, a series of slaps then some
squeaking. At one point I couldn't help but imagine Nichole in the next room
possibly giving her masseuse a sampling of her lap dancing expertise and I
started to laugh. I think I might have given my masseuse the wrong impression
because after that she went to town on me and started doing some deep tissue
massages that had me inwardly writhing in agony. I left there, knot free and
smooth as silk but black and blue from neck to foot.
After leaving the red light district
behind us, the girls and I knew we had a second round of living the booshie
life set up for tonight, and Erin and I had to measure up to it's standards.
The thing that seemed to be missing from our recent purchases were a pair of
high-heeled shoes. I don't know what made us think we had the money to spend
like we have in the last two days, but we both went through a weeks worth of
pay like we were expecting a bonus check in the mail. High heels, in my
definition, are the shoes short girls wear to reach my height. I'm not as tall
as a Victoria's Secret model, nor do I have the boobs for that matter, but
being five foot, ten inches, the last thing I want is more height. However,
flats are out of the question when you're wearing a cocktail dress in Chelsea.
I ended up spending over a whopping hundred dollars for ONE pair of three-inch
heels that were on sale. I have NEVER
spent that much money on a single pair of shoes, not to mention on anything
more than two inches high. I don't know what has gotten into me? Did I suddenly
confuse my life with an episode of Sex in
the City? Well, I did it. I was frivolous and I smacked down my debit card
at Bloomingdales and purchased a pair of shiny, black, three-inch heels that
cost me as much as a plane ticket to Mexico. My pal Erin, ended up spending as
much on a pair of neon yellow three-inchers that glowed in the night and made
her look like Minnie Mouse with her black tights on. That girl has balls.
Later that evening and a few shots
of stoli raz later, the girls and I were sporting our little mini cocktail
dresses and three-inch heels as we made our way to Las Cabanas, located at the
Maritime Hotel in Chelsea. The tikki looking lounge made you feel like you were
away on a Polynesian hiatus. With its half open dried grass roof, dim yellow
glow of the tikki torch lamps dangling overhead and the lulling beats of the
music behind us, we nearly dozed off on our little couches as we sipped our
mojitos. When we arrived, the place was nearly empty but a few pitchers of
mojitos later, the place was nearly full and the pounding of the music had us
upright and wide awake in no time. While we were enjoying our surroundings,
Nichole had been communicating, via text messages, with her Indian friend from
last night. Apparently, he enjoyed his lap dance so much he wanted a
reenactment. By miscommunication, he was on his way over with some friends to
meet us at Las Cabanas instead of later at our next destination, IF Nichole
didn't find herself a new friend to dance with before then. Yes men, women can
be shady too. We might not be very good at it, but we can play the dating game
too. When Nichole confessed her predicament, I shot up and petitioned that we
should jet out of there before they showed up. Again, Nichole sheepishly
confessed that they might already be there. That's when I grabbed the girls,
and we clattered away in our three-inch heels looking like scared rabbits. None
of us could remember what this guy looked like except Nichole and we had her
out of view behind us, so as we made our way down the stairs we surveyed the
people around us and I was in charge of leading the pack. Eyes wide and alert
for the likes of this guy and his friends, we reached the landing at the bottom
of the stairs, when I suddenly spotted someone that may have been our guy and
screeched out, "Indians!" then shoved the girls back around the
corner as we nearly fell over each other. Trying to calm ourselves and looking
for another escape route, our Indian came around the corner with his friends in
tow and we were surrounded. After making some bad excuses as to why we had to
leave, we scurried out the door, jumped into the first cab we saw and peeled
out of there in our carriage, into the night.
To
be continued....
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