This weekend, on the first full moon of 2013, I celebrated an amazing friend’s bachelorette party in the city that never sleeps. We had an incredible time chatting over amazing food and dancing the night away. I met a few of the bride-to-be’s good friends, reconnected with an old friend and reminded my body it’s good to dance. Here, in no particular order, observations of a night on the town by an almost 32 year old.
- Club clothes aren’t as slutty as they used to be. Far less boobage. More fashionable, less whore-y. Pants a plenty, mini-skirts in the minority. Sure the freezing temperatures might have something to do with it but you know cold weather never stopped me from pulling out my skimpiest clothing.
- While clothes are less slutty, smart phones have made everyone dumber. It’s almost an oxymoron that they should be called “smart” phones when they cause the complete opposite effect on people. For example, one girl posed with her hand bag cradled against her chest like a withering rose from a lover while eye f*cking her iPhone camera. I found it bizarre the first time. I was convinced they were shooting an SNL sketch by the 8th time.
- I got offered free coke. The yeya, folks, not the red can kind loved by polar bears and St. Nick. I wanted to lecture the kid on how I’m a mom & threaten to call the cops but thought the better of it and just told him to get lost. Apparently I look more gullible now than I did in my younger days. I blame it on too much smiling.
- I’m convinced the full moon has magical powers to make me nearly invincible or at least stay awake forever. I started my day at 8am and ended it at 4am. I drove three hours through four states and made half a dozen stops then finally hit the town and felt amazing. No Red Bull or energy crap drinks here. So now I know to plan all my big party nights during a full moon.
- In college and pre-kid years, I prepared for a night out drinking by drinking. This weekend I prepared by taking shots of echinacea and swallowing horse-sized pills of an herbal wellness remedy to keep my cold at bay. The packie then, Whole Foods now.
- To date myself – the entire time the DJ played house music I was waiting for someone to break out some glow sticks. Either the local party store sold out or they’re no longer “in”.
- Either I think too much like my parents or I’ve seen too man Lifetime movies but I made lots of decisions based on the least likely route to not get attacked. I don’t mean this to be funny because it’s no laughing matter but just really to showcase my neurosis. Looking for parking? Choose the most well lit easily viewable lot with plenty of foot traffic going by. Need to go to the bathroom? Never solo, always recruit someone to tag along. Taking a cab? Better keep an eye on the street numbers to make sure he’s taking you where you asked and not some remote location. Yes, I actively thought about these things.
- I’ve had my share of crazy bathroom moments in nightclubs. However, this one was either brilliant or entirely creepy; I haven’t decided yet. To get to the bathroom you have to go through a door into a dark hallway (sign #1 this might not be a good idea – easy place to get attacked) then go down stairs (sign #2). When you’re downstairs you don’t see any bathrooms just two black parallel walls with white penmanship on them. Quickly you realize the doors are camouflaged into the walls. Just when you think you can just go in when someone steps out, an attendant in the hallway shouts at you to wait because it’s not your turn. They have system for hustling people in and out of the bathrooms. It’s incredibly efficient but also kinda creepy to take a strangers word as they open a door into a wall for you.
- A private booth with a stripper pole is not for strippers or raunchy dancing at all. Stripper poles give drunk thirtysomethings something to hold on to while dancing. I suggested next time we bring rock climbing belts and just hook on.
- One thing that hasn’t changed? The DJ never plays enough R&B/hip hop/90s pop. Wait. Does this mean I have to go to oldies night?
- I can dance until the sun comes up. Really.
I’m turning 32 tomorrow and this weekend was one of those glaring moments reminding me of my age. Not in a bad way but in a very funny “don’t you forget” way. It was a worthwhile reminder and I’d do it all again!
This post is about our dancing adventures but my favorite part of the night might have been dinner. We met up at this quaint restaurant in the Village. The cab driver pulled up and I thought it was a joke because all I saw was apartment buildings. I was convinced I was going to have to get another cab to get to the right location. Literally two steps and there was this very secret garden type door. I descended the two steps down towards the door and the quiet of the street was swallowed up by the heat and energy of a bar packed to the brim. It was a classic New York restaurant scene – not an inch to move, groups of people enthralled in conversation, couples, friends, reunions, first dates and then me slithering my way through jabbing strangers in the back with a giant box of cupcakes. Classic. Then just as you think the endless sea of faces won’t end the bar leads you to a dinner space equal parts rustic, romantic, medieval and cozy. I’d go into the food but then you’d hate me. Alta. Go.