Now Tana knows how to roll right. Upon arrival, I met her at the Ritz-Carlton where she brought me upstairs to the Presidential Suite we would be staying in. It was bigger than the first floor of my house.
Shall we have a dinner party? Because we could.
There was a dining room, a living room, an office area, 2 bedrooms, and 2 and a half baths. And, clearly, champagne in the fridge. I thought only Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman stayed in these. Am I a hooker? Is there a middle aged business man hiding in here somewhere? While I gawked at the suite like some commoner, Tana waited patiently for me to return to reality.
Come. Sit on the couch. Or the chair. Or that other chair. Or that one over there.
A shout out to Tana and her family here for treating me to more dinners and drinks than any one person should ever be treated to. Yum.
Friday night Julia met up with us and I took the two of them to a bar I liked that I had been to once before (Yes, I have been in this city enough times now that I am actually recommending bars to people that live here). We walked in, and in less that 5 minutes the only lesbian in the bar came over and I got her to buy me a drink. Why can't this happen every time I walk into a straight bar? This would totally eliminate the homo guilt I struggle with. Not that I was remotely interested in this girl, but somehow I felt significantly less guilty accepting a drink from her. Let's not spend time analyzing that.
I felt so overly confident from the drink experience, that I somehow convinced my two straight friends that we should absolutely go to to a gay bar next. I'm not big on celebrity sightings. They are normal people. If I met one I would probably just be like, "hey, what's up?", give them the head nod, and continue on my way (possibly secretly hoping they would be intrigued by my aloofness and call after me). But when we spotted a group of girls clustered around someone, and I glanced over my shoulder and saw it was Finn from Glee, I forgot my "play it cool" approach and turned into a teenage paparazzi. I yelled, "AHH! FINN!", and whipped out my phone, frantically pressing the camera button while it refused to cooperate with me. I didn't end up getting a picture in time, but spent the rest of the weekend in an I-Saw-A-Glee-Cast-Member high. Also fitting, is that this was on the way to a gay bar- Glee gets associated with the gays even when it doesn't want to be. My father's response to me telling him this story was even, "Don't a lot of gay people like that show?" How hip of you Padre.
We finally arrive at the gay bar, and the bouncer is a super butchy lesbian who hands us a pink and leopard printed business card and tells us to come back next weekend for her birthday. Which is Sex and the City themed. I had to just stand there for a minute smiling like a weirdo at her waiting for her to appreciate the irony with me. I'm not sure she ever did.
Later that night after arriving back at the hotel we ordered Mac & Cheese from the room service menu. The formally dressed server entered the room with the fancy table containing our mac and cheese served on silver platters and I remember thinking, "Don't look drunk. Pull it together. You're at the Ritz. This is classy time. Shit, you are in your PJ pants. That's OK, you can pull off classy plaid flannel." But I mean really, I was receiving Mac & Cheese from room service at 4am. The only option for this is drunk.
I LOVE YOU ELBOW NOODLES!
Saturday was Tana's birthday, and to celebrate we went to "The Box". A little background on this: it is a common perception of those who are only vaguely familiar with this establishment, that it features a live sex show. This is not true, but will defiantly prepare you for what you will witness there. I encourage viewing the website, as it gives you the general feel of the club. Very old school, glamorous, theater type place that is black tie optional, and I can best describe as a Burlesque-Variety Show-Circus-Strip Club hybrid. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced, and not remotely comparable to anything in Boston. One of my top 5 favorite places I've been to, hands down. (No it's not because of the strip club factor, you pervert) (OK, that might've helped.)
Some examples of performances perhaps?
Woman in cooking apron meanders around a man tied to a chair. She takes off her thong and shoves it in his mouth. She then pulls a cake out of a fake oven, places it on a table, and smashes it with a hammer. Cake splatters everywhere. She kicks him over in his chair. He somehow does not crack his head open. She whips the apron off and walks around the stage butt ass naked. She sits on him as he lays on his back still tied to the chair. The curtains close.
Totally normal thing to watch as you drink a vodka cocktail, right? Ummmm.....
One of those circus hoops hangs down from the ceiling. A girl performs extreme acrobatics on it...you know the kind....hanging from her ankles, spinning in circles, pulling herself into the hoop and spinning through it to hang back down. She is also completely naked.
Have another vodka cocktail. This is the kind of entertainment you wish was in every club. Everyone else in the place thinks it too, don't worry.
Break dancers come out and rock the stage for a bit. No nudity here.
I knew something normal would happen eventually. Short lived though.
A fairly elderly male member of the audience is brought on stage to be "saved." Which apparently means given a lap dance by four women in bras and thongs dressed as nuns. At one point they are all sitting on him while he's laying on his back. He miraculously does not have a heart attack.
None of these nude performances were done with the intention of arousing the audience though. It was all very artsy with the intention to shock and surprise. I loved it. A handful of other similar performances occurred, and in between there was amazing music and the stage turned into a dance floor for the audience. In honor of Tana's birthday we had a private table with bottle service, which going forward is the only way I want to experience clubs. I just can't go back to standing around and walking back and forth to the bar. I've been spoiled.
I've also been spoiled to taxi's. Instead of taking one of those yellow death machines to the club, we took the Ritz-Carlton's black Cadillac Escalade. The driver put up with us smoking in the car, and blasted music louder than even I do. To summarize, I spent my entire weekend feeling like I was filming a rap video.
The night winded down, Tana got a backstage tour, I held my friend's hair while she was sick, and by the time we made it back to the hotel it was 6:30am and the sun was out. I woke up in the morning feeling like half a human. I had a 4.5 hour commute ahead of me back home, and the thought of doing it made me want to die.
Bad Decision: Requesting Monday off work at noon on Sunday.
Better Bad Decision: Texting your boss when he's drunk at a baseball game to make this request.
I am lucky enough to have a boss that is understanding of hungover pain and flexible with my time off work (Thankssss Dannnn). So I remained in NYC an extra day, ate some more amazing food, walked 40 blocks to the point where I got shin splints and cramps in my calves (I'm so in shape), and got a solid night's rest before heading back to the burbs. But don't worry, I'll be back for you soon new york...
Life Lesson: Just because there are nude people on a stage, does not mean you are at a strip club.
Don't make it rain.
-LSLP, Ash.
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