Maybe the perfume isn't cheap. Maybe it's a lot of Jean Paul Gaultier and Burberry and D&G and Armani and stuff like that, but I can officially say that I've partied in New York City.
Last time I was in the City I went to a bar or two in SoHo with some college girlfriends. I should have remembered from that experience that SoHo bars are overpriced. I didn't. Hence the hipster shit show on Thursday night.
I've been out a lot with Liebling and co. We started the going out with a Friday Happy Hour at La Palapa in the West Village. Happy hours are big here. Happy hours are glorious here. Half price drinks? Yes. For those of you not privy to the Alaska Laws of Liquor, we don't have happy hours. We don't have amazing drink specials. We limit the number of drinks set before a person. In New York City, imbibing 5 drinks in two hours is a brilliant idea. End of happy hour nearing? Better grab another drink while the special still stands! At that first, lovely happy hour I had three Margaritas - maybe four - plus a small flute of champagne and a shot of hibiscus infused tequila (the latter two on the house). We were celebrating the birthday of the Natalie Portman Doppelgänger. Saturday night was another night out, but this time we went out a little later and had dinner at a restaurant in Little Italy (once I had been directed to get there and met by Miss Tall A and brought back) and lots of Sangria. After that was the overpriced B Bar in the Bowery.
This last weekend we did a happy hour in honor of Liebling's birthday (we're entering our MID-TWENTIES now) and went to this giant open air bar and restaurant on the river. It was a long wait and the service was sparse, but with hundreds upon hundreds of guests, I won't complain all that much. The Margaritas were cheap during Happy Hour and plentiful all evening. I had enough to get a nice buzz, but not quite so much as Liebling, who was skipping and frolicking and joyfully drunk. I will do her a favor and not list the funniest moments here. Let's just say that when the tale was told at the nail salon ($23 mani-pedis!) the little asian ladies giggled hysterically and Liebling turned a shade of fucshia which rivaled her newly polished nails. We went to a second bar after the Happy Hour, but I wasn't particularly feeling the vibe and was feeling a bit sleepy so I headed out after one drink.
Saturday was another party night. This was the official celebration of Liebling's birthday with sangria and mexican food at her apartment. We had a lot of fun and some of the highlights included my dirty feet (from walking barefoot on the porch) and my travel mug kamakazis. At around 12:15am we headed out to go to a bar to drink and dance. During the ten block walk, the party crasher - a geeky, homely looking fellow with sport sandals and a blazer - insisted on butting into my conversations. My friend from Germany, Miss I, and I were trying to catch up and he would regularly pace us (on my side) and ask, "What's up?" I should have replied, "Well, we were having a conversation." Even after we got to the bar he seemed to have picked me out as the person to follow. Miss I was picked out by the Italian neighbor (he wasn't bad though). At one point, scanning the table of friends, he waved to me. Eventually he was absorbed by another group and we went downstairs and danced until it was time to head home.
Including the shit show in SoHo and the brief but fun sojourn in Williamsburg, I'd say the nightlife in New York is acceptable. Happy Hours have been the most fun, so far, but perhaps the dancing would be nice too if my feet weren't so sore from the touristing.