A night at Copperfield's

C's friend BJ is a character. He is the self proclaimed "greatest salesman on the planet." And truth be told, he is probably right. BJ is loud, friendly, and talks up a storm about any topic on the planet. He has a million friends, all who have a story that start "BJ is so crazy, I remember once when...."

On Friday night, BJ's band was having a CD release party at a bar called Copperfield's. Oh I forgot to mention, BJ is a drummer of a heavy metalesque band. Their normal fair is to cover 80's songs, but on occassion they play original material, which may lack the polish of their covers.

Copperfield's is a dingy sport's bar next to Fenway park. In the background there are unstrategically placed obligatory flatscreen plasma TVs, that were playing the final game of the World's Series. The ambient light is yellow and ungainly. Jack'o'lantern plastic buckets around the bar overflowed with sugary sugary treats. Let's think sugar and alcohol, always an interesting mix.

Friday night, was not about baseball, it was all about BJ. His whole family was there, including his new wife wearing a baby doll tee with their band logo on it. She had the honor of selling CD's. His parents were there. His mother-in-law wore a pink shirt that said "BJ's other mother." His friend from high school wore a t-shirt with a picture of BJ with glasses on, which only could have been taken out of their high school year book. And of course, his college roomate, C, and the Holy Cross contingent was there.

B, S, and I had gone to dinner prior and was resigned to the fact that we were old and tired. Well, maybe not old, but definately a little sleepy and full of yummy malaysian cuisine. So when we got the bar, I nursed my Bud light as we gossiped about the people around us.

C's friend N had taken the bus from NYC that afternoon, just for the night, and for his one crazy night out thought shots of vodka were appropriate. I declined, but then was goaded into it by Sh. Sh is B younger brother, and as long as I can remember our relationship is to annoy the crap out of each other. That means I muss up his gelled coif, he punches my shoulder etc.. So when he said, "What you some kind of ivy leaguer?" I downed the shot slammed it on the bar and replied, "Yup, Columbia and Harvard. And that's how its done in the ivy league." Of course, the rot gut speed rack vodka may not have warranted such dramatics.

As the night progressed, the pile of KitKat, Whopper, Crunch bar wrappers and beer bottles around us got larger. The sugar alcohol high lead to dancing on the bar, ass slapping, and throwing candy at the girl in the teal sweater with the largest cleavage. During one of the band's breaks, BJ came back to say hello. He got C and Sh to pin me down as he stuck his band's bumper sticker on my collar bone.

More shots of tequilla. We bopped our head's to BJ's band. There was a lot shouting. Some wrestling. More beer. N missed his bus to NYC. C missed his booty call. More candy. Lots of laughing.

'twas quite the night at Copperfield's.

somewhat selfish

I tattled on Gari 46 to increase my chances of getting a table once they actually open. Is that wrong?

Loving singledom

Besides the fact that the newest polling that single people outnumber married people in the United States, most of the time the pressure to be coupled is upon me. I hear it in my mother's desperate pleas during our weekly phone calls. I see it when I am the fifth wheel yet again at dinner. I feel it when I buy my frozen dinners for that serve two at Trader Joe's (because really those dinners made for two are tastier than the single serving bowls).

But there are other times when I come to realize that I love being single. And more often than not they occur when I do something normally considered disgusting or weird. For example, when I let out a little gas in the middle of the night under my nice warm covers, I am glad no one is there sharing it with me because frankly I would not appreciate the reciprocal. Or knowing that my Costco cotton underwear will never give me a wedgie and having no one to be turned off by their granny like qualities.

On Sunday, I went running with D and S. After Saturday's night of mild drinking, it was a struggle, but as I hit snooze for the fifth time I motivated to get up. There was no one to complain about my overuse of snooze or waking them at 7:30 am on a Sunday. I wore the world's ugliest running outfit (silver, aqua shoes, pink socks, black tights, red shorts over the tights, and a royal blue thermal top), and went to Cambridge to meet up with everybody. We had a pleasant run, but by the time I got back to my apartment I realized I was late for my shopping date with H.

But what was I to do, I was ravenous and obviously smelly from exercise. As I microwaved my two servings of Trader Giotto's gnocchi sorentina, I had a moment of brilliance. I would eat and shower at the same time. So there I was shampooing my hair between intermittent bites of chewy potato dumplings. And the bonus was two servings was exactly the amount of food I needed.

Excuses, excuses...

This article confirms something that I have observed and remarked on for the past few years. Really, when did Halloween become "Dress-Like-a-Whore Day"?

The Days [and nights] of Wine and Roses

BF and I went to going-away party the last week. It was for a soon-to-be-married couple that is leaving NYC for a house in NJ. I didn't really know what to expect as I had only learned that said couple was moving about a week before their farewell party.

Because the hostess went to a certain school across the way from our alma mater, BF and I were having some fun by predicting what the party would be like. He thought that it would be full of overly chatty women. He was right. I told BF that I thought they would all be in PR/HR/or marketing and that we didn't really need to eat dinner b/c they would have lots of hors d'ouvres. I was right.

It was a proper soiree with a selection of various cheeses, crudite, 3 cases of wine, and most importantly, wine glasses instead of plastic cups. She also had fresh flowers and autumn decor -- meaning a martha stewart style shindig, complete with color coordinated candles and centerpieces with twigs shaped like pumpkins. I wasn't aware that anyone not living in the suburbs put that much effort into throwing a party... I guess that's why they are moving to a house in NJ (the host had, to hostess' delight, thrown together a powerpoint slide show of photos of their new house). The other noticeable thing about this cocktail party is that almost all of the women who attended were actually wearing cocktail dresses and heels. I was in black pants and sweater.

BF made an interesting observation about the guests at the party:

BF: All these women are way hotter than their husbands.

ET#2: Hmm... I hadn't noticed. But I think you're right.

BF: [After hearing a fiance tell his future bride, "Does it really matter what I say? Get whatever dress you want." He was talking about a dress that was in the upper 4 figures] All of these men are whipped. They hardly say a word and let their wives walk all over them.

ET#2: Yeah.

It really was true. The women there were all talking a mile a minute at super high volume. Plus, they were all wearing really big engagement rights that were blinding me. I had to step away because it was making my head hurt. When I told ET#1 this story, she called them "over educated women that turn into over educated housewives". Sadly, I think she is right.

I wonder if my housewarming will be as fancy... Given that I will have to use plastic cups, I guess not. But I'm ok with that.

Sold!

I have just returned from my apartment closing. I am now the proud owner of a 2 bedroom apartment that needs some TLC. I used to think that my Law School loans were big. They are nothing compared to my mortgage which is four times as much. Yay debt!

Tempting Fate

If all goes well, as of this Friday, October 13 at high noon, I will be a homeowner. Actually, to be completely accurate, I will be the owner of 92 shares allocated to my unit, subject to the terms of a proprietary lease -- in other words, I'm buying into a coop.

I haven't posted anything about this impending purchase because I didn't want to jinx it (given my closing date of Friday the 13th, I think that if the sale is meant to happen, it will). This unit has had its problems -- closing was scheduled for September 27, but when I went on my walk through, there was water damage to the ceiling. I went on another walk through today, and everything looked fine and dandy. Next comes renovations... I hope I can move in by Turkey Day, especially since the family is planning on spending it here in NYC. It'll be a bit crowded to have 5 people plus our dog in my studio.

I anticipate that the upcoming renovations will be quite blogworthy.

God is whispering in my ear

(Evil Twin #2 and I went to France last weekend, but she has the pics so I will let her post about it)

My high school physics teacher Mr. Hrasky used to get so excited about the subject that everytime he would derive a fundamental law of nature on the white board, he would say in a really hushed tone "Do you hear that kids? Do you hear that? That's God whispering in your ear."

On Friday, I went out with G to celebrate his company getting the go ahead to go public. It was a big deal, which may explain why I relented and go out with him and his posse.

We went to Sorellina, an old man restaurant that is the mirror image of its sister restaurant Mistral. I walked in with my blue and taupe chiffon longsleeved wrap around dress that makes me look like a thirty something business woman. I did sneak in a pair of bronze sandals, but even though they were kind of cool they were hidden on my feet, and I think that is how I got by the hostess. Inside, I could smell the desperation in the women wearing way too sexy work clothes, making that one glass of white wine last as long as possible, and the gelled haired men wearing their Brooks Brothers sports jackets sans tie to make them look lassez faire.

I drank a cosmo and then a flirtini. I was charming or at least amusing as I told my story about getting stuck in between two women fighting on the 39 bus. (A story that deserves its own blog entry.) Of course, the only question the boyz had was "Why would you take a bus?"

By the time we got seated at our table, I was drunk. Normally, it takes more that two drinks, but then again I do not normally wait until 10 pm to eat dinner. Dinner was fun. Maybe it was the alcohol goggles. We even shared appetizers, which included Wayku beef meatballs, which we were cool for ordering because meatballs were off menu.

The entrees were good. The bass I ordered was tasty and I drank the table's choice of a Bordeux. Did I mention I was drunk? Even K's annoying commentary on everything and anything seemed amusing. I did not call him an idiot once.

By the time I crawled into bed, I knew I was in trouble for the morning. My stomach was a little queasy. I took in a few bottles of water. I kept sweating all night. I had the chills. I woke up at 6 am to run to the bathroom. I felt better and crawled back into bed.

At about 10 am, I walked around outside. At about 4pm, I started having uncontrollable gastro-intestinal distress. On the 6 o'clock news, there was a story on e. coli found in ground beef sent to Massachusetts. Ding ding ding. I called G and asked if he felt ill too. "Well, I did fart a lot last night, and had the worst s$#@ this morning, but I feel fine. Actually, I think some of the other guys had the same thing. None of us are sick now. Maybe it was the fish." Well, it was something. It is Monday night, and I am still afraid of leaving my apartment in fear of not finding a bathroom in time.

After consulting with my roommate C, a pathology resident, she said that it was likely the meatballs that has made me ill. HA! Vindicated, I knew it. She, also, said, it is normal for just one person to be more susceptible to it. And that is where I disagree.

As I was sitting on my porcelain thinking chair, expelling what only could be gatorade and my intestines digesting itself, I heard it. G spends too much time on this blog, therefore must be too much a part of my life. I wasted a quality boy trolling Friday night (and eventually the whole long weekend) on G. Yes, it was God whispering in my ear yet another fundamental law of nature, "Find addtional single people to hang out with because some people will always give you distress in some form or another."