I Went To New York and All I Got Was This Lousy Blog Post, pt. 2

Nightlife

Me: I’ll try to dress ‘New York’ when we go out tonight.
Friend: What does that mean?
Me: Oh, you know. Slutty. Black clothes.
Friend: What’s the difference in LA?
Me: Still slutty. Slightly less black.
Friend: Yeah, that sounds about right.

Night 1

With my big from Alpha Phi, Maggie (follow her recipes at Made With Hartley! #shamelesspromo)

• First lesson: catcalling in New York is a goddamn epidemic. Sure, it’s not unusual to have undesirables holler at me*… but it’s a whole different level when 80% of the passerbys are whistling as you stroll past.
• I.e. “What’s yo name, baby?” or “You ladies have a very lovely evening” (accompanied by sleazy smirk). Given that I hate men but love attention, I was deeply conflicted.
• Two of Maggie’s friends propositioned me for a threesome. I said I’d get back to them.
• Coke was offered by basically everyone I interacted with. And they say New Yorkers aren’t generous!
• I broke a chair.
• Later, while dancing on a couch like a basic white girl, I tripped on my heel laces and plummeted straight to the floor, bringing an innocent bystander down with me.
• By that point, I looked like an abuse victim and strangers appeared concerned.

*”How did we meet? He bellowed ‘Nice tits!’ from his shitty 2001 Honda, so I couldn’t resist chasing him down so we could sleep together!” -said no girl ever

Night 2

With my main squeeze from London study abroad, Jen (see: pretty much any of my old ratchet entries)

• “You’ll love this place. It looks like a drag queen threw up everywhere.” -Jen’s description of House of Yes. She gets me.
• For the first time in my overconfident life, I was plagued with that “insecure” feeling I’ve read so much about. I had been hauling a backpack that overflowed with the standard sleepover materials (snacks for when I wake up famished at 4 am, chic llama nightgown via the kids’ section of Target, etc.)… and the bag check was MIA. Dope, let me just look like an Mt. Everest explorer as I gingerly sip my tequila soda.
• … Yet even with a bag the size of a small child, I was undoubtedly the most normal human there, surrounded by bearded grown men in leopard-print onesies. And for reasons that escape me, countless others also toted backpacks – perhaps it was the easiest way to keep their excessive drug supply on hand?

Night 3

With my former ballet partner, roomie in Madrid, French study buddy, and another celebrity of previous blog entries, Kayla

“I just got back from Cuba. I may or may not have Zika.” -Kayla, every time a random hit on her

• My Make-A-Wish for that evening was to experience the bevy of facets NYC nightlife has to offer. And oh, did they deliver.

The Back Room

• As I descended down a stairwell to a dimly-lit alley, that’s when I knew: this was the moment my life had been leading up to.
• If you’re not a Broad City fanatic, it’s time to reevaluate your life choices and embrace the light. In easily the most iconic scene of Season 2, Ilana discovers that when Abbi gets blackout she evolves, much like a Pokemon, into slick nightclub performer, Val. Considering my drunk alter ego, Bad Gal Riri, gravitates towards kleptomania and table twerking (see: Night 1), this episode deeply resonated with me.

• In person, the bar is much tinier, pool table non-existent, and bathroom pitch-black – evidently they should’ve paid that pesky electric bill, after all. But I did approve of their tequila shots!

La Caverna

• One of my most cherished Madrid watering holes was El Chapandaz aka “Cave Bar,” where bartenders streamed alcohol from the ceiling called Panther’s Milk. The ingredients in those immaculate goblets remain a mystery… all I can say for certain is that your blackout will last until sometime next Thursday.

• So, naturally, we bounced on over to its East Coast equivalent where Bad Girl Riri began to surface by celebrating with even more tequila and bopping to classic Nelly anthems. +100 points for their 90s hip hop rotation, my favorite genre after angry girl rock.

Sweet & Vicious

• “Sweet and Vicious? What a coincidence, I used to dance under that name.” -my thoughts on our third location
• Another plot twist: the bouncer dared inspect my purse… which had a flask stashed inside. Seeing as I’m a professional in the art of turning up, I always carry spare alcohol on me for emergencies.
• Fortunately, I also stockpile snacks – tonight’s being a peanut butter Cliff bar – because my metabolism ain’t a joke, which incidentally concealed the medicine/whiskey.
• I chose to take that as a transcendental sign that God didn’t want me sobering up.

The Bowery Hotel

• It was time to pretend we were classy, order exotic beverages, and mingle with the 1%. It didn’t go smoothly.

• So that was our clue to retreat back to the dive bars, with their pitcher specials and asbestos infections and stools secured with duct tape, where we belonged.

Roaming The Streets of NYC

• 5 hours in and I was still going strong like the Energizer Bunny/your most coked out frat brother because – to quote the great philosopher, Drake – I come alive in the night time. We traded good weed and white wine for hookah and artichoke pizza.

Night 4

Also with Kayla… aka the 6 hours building up to my Sunday morning flight

The Garret

• Thanks to the night before, my body felt like it had been guzzled through a paper shredder, my liver wept, and I had somehow completely lost my sense of smell, but we marched onward like the devoted alcoholics that we were.

• Here, we dedicated just enough time to order Hendrick’s and tonics and conclude that no one was hot.
• Where was Chace Crawford’s pocket-sized self when you needed him?

Blind Barber

• They have a sister bar in Culver City so I was curious how this one compared. You would assume the ambiance screams ‘hipster’ – after all, the entrance is a damn barbershop – but I could’ve sworn I had transported to a J-Crew catalog with the onslaught of polos and khakis and trust funds and other preppy essentials that give me nightmares. Most of the men had that specific sort of aesthetic that suggested: “I’ll hit on your mom the second you leave the room.”
• I can also officially affirm that, no, haircuts are not available while you chill in line. Which was a major buzzkill because Lord knows I could use a trim.

Fat Buddha

• The patrons here looked like the sort of dudes who edit Wikipedia pages in their spare time. You know exactly what I mean.
• But the bar redeemed itself when I stumbled upon this gem via Yelp:

The Aftermath

• My pilgrimage to JFK consisted of a solid 3 hours walking, riding the subway, hiking to the train station, and then transferring to the Air Train. The sting of last night’s vodka still sat on my tongue… which, as we’re all aware, tastes less like alcohol and more like eye makeup remover, chlorine, and the sins of humanity. Death was surely around the corner.