Taking a much-needed break from job hunting to (finally) write the last post in my three-part series on my whirlwind weekend in NYC. See "Tim Burton at the Moma" and "Discover This" for more!
[ gussied up for a night on the town... in new york!!! ]
Saturday: I dragged Tabor up and down Manhattan in search of a great pair of hot pants to provide modesty for the "dress" I planned to wear that evening. The quotations are necessary: this teeny piece of fabric could barely qualify as a dress on my 5'10" frame. For most girls, it wouldn't be an issue. In fact, my wedding photographer wore the very same piece (in a solid periwinkle colour) sans tights. For me, it passes as a tunic, at best. But, at Tabor's urging, and her explanation that Jersey girls are "much sluttier", I caved. Of course, I had planned on a very opaque pair of glittery tights to accompany the dress, but the shorts were extra reassurance. I would avoid any amount of bending, obviously, but I lack grace, so you can't be too careful.
Tabor explained that New Yorkers (from Manhattan) "never go out on Saturdays" because the city's bars and clubs become flooded with people from Jersey. A bit of a snobbish practice, I thought, but then I realized that Torontonians have much the same attitude about "905-ers". However, we were going out on a Saturday. My day and a half stay didn't offer any other options.
We started at Brass Monkey and while I was dismayed by the line-up (I don't do line-ups), Tabor marched to the front and applied feminine wiles in abundance. We were in. We stayed all of 12 minutes: the overcrowded spot was clearly a fire hazard. Tabor insisted on a drink, and when we were finally served, we decided on a shot - getting out quickly was key. The "shot" in question was tequila and was the size of a juice tumbler. This was New York, she said. It took me three tries to get it down. I suddenly felt like I had come from the way rural mid-west, rather than another major metropolis. Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore...
We then hit the bar at The Jane, a swanky boutique hotel near the Meatpacking District, where Miss T knew the bartender. Much more my pace. Apparently one of Jennifer Anniston's old haunts (if you care about such things).
[ poor unsuspecting victim at The Jane ]
We sat at the bar and chatted with a few chaps that were vying for a spot right next to the single girl. It's awkward for a married woman to go out with single girls sometimes. I tend to play matchmaker and wing man, just for something to do. I think I actually ended up showing cel phone pictures of my husband and dogs to a few poor unsuspecting guys. With domestic bliss occupying most of my time, I have little else to share. The drinks were lovely, albeit too strong (New York again?), and the bartenders were amazing:
After a texting frenzy with an old friend, Tabor decided to meet him and his brothers (in town for the weekend) at a divey little neighborhood pub. Honestly, I don't even know where we were at this point. We had a quick beer and headed home to the upper west side to get very little sleep for my flight the next morning.
Catching up with a good friend was amazing! I have to say, though, that going out in New York was much the same as going out anywhere: I don't need to do it very often. In fact, my favourite part of the evening didn't involve the short-short dress and heels: before heading home to get pretty, we grabbed an early bite at Tabor's West Village watering hole, Wilfie & Nell.
We were both haggard from a day of work/shopping/walking and nestled into a corner with (incredible) grilled cheese, gossip, and a few pints o' Guinness. Perfect!