This past weekend I ventured from my small little Southern city to the big bad city of New York to visit my dear friend and colleague, Queen Liz (she studied in London and has a sweet tattoo of a coin with The Queen’s face, it is sweet. Thus, Queen Liz. I know, you’re impressed with my creativeness). She and I had been holding down the female fort while working in the ex-capital of the Confederacy and now that we are apart, each struggling in mostly male-dominated working environments, I miss her dearly. So we planned a visit! Thanks to Raleigh-Durham International Airport and Philadelphia for making a 3 hour trip more like 7, but the up side is I didn’t have to drive. Anywho, I finally arrive around 9pm on Friday and we ventured to some area of the city with Murray in the name and went to this adorable little eatery called Cask. If you live in the city or are visiting, I recommend it. It was super chic and delish. I recommend the Riesling. Whatever it was went really well with our crab cakes, mozzarella flatbread, and mac&cheese with truffle. Yum. We said screw you to our trainers, ate to our heart’s content, got a little buzz, and miraculously found the right train to take us to her chic pad in Stamford.
Saturday I was hoping to do some shopping (I mean, am I breathing? Duh) but we ended up sleeping half the day away (which is just as glorious and much better for our bank accounts), hanging out at her cute little condo, and spending a good few hours getting ready for our evening out. Flashbacks to college days when we’d spend the whole Saturday “getting ready” for DT and still not making it anywhere before 11pm. Good times – shout out to all my old roomz. Thanks for letting me borrow 5 shirts only to return them all and wear something of my own. Obviously nothing has changed, as I brought about 5 shirts of my own to possibly wear but ended up wearing one of Queenies shirts anyway. Oy. Whatev. So finally we’re ready to go, venture to the train station and barely make the express to the city. It’s slightly anticlimactic since we’re all rushing and in a hurry only to relax on a 40 minute train to our destination. The next fun adventure was the subway. I must admit that the subway really makes me feel like a country girl, although deep down I’m really not (I think the suburbs puts people in this weird in between…I’m not a city girl and I’m not a country girl, but seriously who want’s to proudly exclaim to be a suburban girl? Not as exciting) because it’s way complicated, way busy, no one smiles, and everyone is pissed and in a hurry so get out of the effing way! And now all you NYC residents are scoffing at me saying I just don’t get it and it’s so easy, blah blah blah. 1) You live there, so bugger off, 2) let’s review how long it took me to figure out I-64 and I-295 in Richmond (one of the simplest interchanges ever), not to mention the 64/95 interchange and I-195 and Powhite Parkway and holy crap I couldn’t go downtown to save my life until like last year. I’ve improved since then, thank you very much, but the subway is a different creature. PLUS the 1 train was not making it’s usual stops so me and Queenie were a bit confused. Anywhooooz, we finally made it to the right station and luckily ran into her friend T-Rex (I am full of creative nicknames right now!) and, feet already hurting, clicked our way to….
The BEST Tapas bar I’ve ever been in. You know, because I’ve been to so many. But seriously, never have I had better sangria or more delicious tapas. And there was no chips and salsa with queso or little Mexican waiters walking around with 9 plates of food stacked on one arm. Mr. Smarty Pants and his sweet gal/my hot friend Miss Fancy Boots (in her fancy boots, obviously) met us there and we 5 enjoyed a long and luxurious meal, mostly consisting of sangria. My only complaint is that they turn down the lights so much you can’t freaking read the menu. I mean seriously I almost broke out my new iPhone (thought I’d throw that out there) and turn on the flashlight app. The upside to the dim lighting was that we all looked beautiful and perfect. Dim lighting always makes skin look clearer and makeup jobs better. So, thanks. I think I’ll leave the detailed meal breakdown to Mr. Smarty Pants, as he is better and more thorough, and more serious about reviewing meals and discussing pairings and whatnot. I am simply hollering at the sangria and dim lighting which helped my complexion. Sassy.
By the time we left there, I’d say we all had a significant buzz. Queenie, T-Rex and I said farewell to my dear pals and headed to some tiny restaurant to meet another of Queenies’ friends, who just so happens to be on a rugby team. Yep. So we walk into this tiny Indian restaurant, which is maybe the size of my bedroom (small), and are greeted by 30+ rugby men. Not boys, men. I immediately start salivating. JK. But seriously, it was a sight to behold, and being that this particular place was BYOB (?!?!?) they were all ham-boned, as my friend the Senator likes to say. Liz and I might have been one of 4 chicks in the whole place, so the ratio was top notch. Eventually one of them stood up to make a very sad attempt at a slurred drunken announcement which sounded something like “Heyyyyyy alskjlwiheoirwehklsahklhogtinan!!!!!!” Which apparently translates to, “Hey, let’s move to the next bar!” because that’s what we did. And let me tell you. This next place we went to was SKETCHYYYYY sketch, but in a totally charming and non-scary kind of way. And it was a huge contradiction. They were playing country music (the old school kind, not Keith Urban or Taylor Swift), had cowboy boots glued to the ceiling, a juke box, and……Goth bartender chicks. And they were not cute by anyone’s standards. I don’t care if you like your girls a little heavier in the middle or sans curves or any kind but these girls were just UGH like wow. THEN we went to yet another bar, and don’t ask me how we got there because I don’t remember, simply because it’s been a week and I just didn’t retain that detail. Regardless, we went to this third bar, had some tequila shots, played beer pong (right?! in a bar!) and, shockingly, missed the last train back to Stamford. Which means we had to stay over at one of Queen Liz’s friend’s places (awesome apartment on the 57th floor with a legit view of Manhattan…$$$). I’d go more into this part of the story except it gets SO much less sassy from this point that it’s really not worth sharing. Bottom line is, I bonded with the porcelain throne at the apartment (shut up), and then dominated a super comfy air mattress for all of 4 hours before we caught a morning train back to Stamford. Epic. Also side note for those of you that don’t know, trains and planes are a terrible idea when you are hungover. Miss Sassy does not recommend it, and can assure you it was not a sassy situation whatsoever. It was pure trifeness through and through. I mean ultimate walk of shame people.
In conclusion: love me some NYC, love me some Queen Liz, sarcastically love me some hungover flights, and will be lovin me a second visit in the near future. Perhaps I’ll remember to keep it a little more sassy next time and lock down the tequila.