I have alluded to my friend DC in a previous post, and she is an insanely important person in my life. Over the years I have acquired an amazing collection of gorgeous, amazing women. Some have fallen by the wayside courtesy of jobs, marriage and children, but the memories of our misadventures will always live on in my mind. DC started off as a friend of Boubelah's, but I have co-opted her as mine. She is a tall, gorgeous, witty, intelligent, blond ex model, who is my own MTV party to go.
It was July 4th weekend 2007, and I had opted to stay in the city instead of heading to the beach. I didn't feel like fighting the traffic, dealing with the nonsense (no matter how entertaining it may be) of weekend warriors in Avalon, and it was the first 4th of July without my grandmother. Her birthday is the end of the month, and every year I lived in Avalon, even after she went in the nursing home we would watch the fireworks together, so I stayed in Philly.
It was one of those amazing July nights. Warm without being swampy, perfect for walking around the city and enjoying a relaxing night. My calender was wide open, and I had no set plans on the agenda. Leaving my loft, I walked south on 12th Street towards Market Street. Debating my options I decide to go to Knock at 12th and Locust. Figuring that all of Philly's Gay-list would be at their summer shares, I was hoping I wouldn't be assaulted by their attitude and I could simply relax have a few drinks, dinner and some normal conversation. Entering the bar, I grab a seat, and I am pleasantly surprised to see people I know (and actually like) that are having drinks.
Ordering my dirty Bombay martini with one olive ( I HATE bar Olives, so I insist that the bartender re-use the same olive until I am done with my last drink, after the third martini I will then eat the olive, hoping that the flavor of the gin has killed the flavor of the olive). I chat with the bartender and people at the bar, and order a second drink. I definitely feel more limber, and my friend Anthony comes in with his BF.
We laugh and carry on, I order a third martini, and begin to question dinner. The guys are going to Pesce on Walnut Street to visit a different friend who is working the bar that night. Pesce was an amazing space, with good food, ridiculously good looking servers, and never any customers. Since I am hungry, I tag along, sit at the bar order some great red wine and enjoy my dinner. I send a text to DC asking her what she is up to. She responds with "At TLA Black Crows tonight" I respond with "LOVE them, have an extra ticket?" I then get a text saying, "No, but we just put your name on the VIP list, just show up and meet us in the VIP area the doorman will show you where".
I pay my bill, grab a taxi, and get my ass down to South Street. I am on the list, and in the door I go. It is me, DC, Entourage, Mr Entertainment, and Mr Entertainment's friend Hippy Chick. The drinks are free, the music is amazing and we are laughing and having a blast. Leaning on the bar we watch Hippy Chick dance. Wearing a long peasant skirt, a belt of bells, and some kind of high heeled solid sandal, we watch as she climbs up on a ledge to get a better view of the band and dance. Dancing like a typical Hippy Chick, her heel suddenly gets hung up on her own skirt. Diving through the air she slams face first into the carpet in a heap. As we pick her up from the floor, she asks if her arm is OK, telling her that yeah it looks OK, but her blouse is torn, she continues drinking and dancing.
After about 20 minutes I think,"Isn't anyone going to tell her about the rugburn on her face?" Since no one does, I query DC and Mr Entertainment about it, and his response is "NO!, then she will freak out, want to go home and the night is young, I have my babysitter until 3AM."
With that decision made, we grab a drink for the road, call for Entourage's car and driver, and roll out of TLA. E's car can't get close, so we walk down South Street, and climb into his chauffeur driven S550 which is double parked on the corner. While everyone on the corner gawks and attempts to figure out if we are Anyone, the chauffeur cranks the music, Entourage climbs out the sunroof and blows kisses to the crowd as we roar away.
Tearing through Philly we pull up at G lounge, completely skip the line that snakes down the block and summarily get kicked out because E and I are wearing flip flops. So off we head to Pearl. Again rolling VIP (DC is a PR and social Goddess, and her magic rubs off on everyone in her circle), we skip line, fist bump the bouncer, kiss the hostess and in we go. Inside we encounter the stock broker, VP of finance crowd, and the assorted hot model / PR assistant / Receptionists who are gunning to be wife #2.
The bar is jumping, tons of pretty people, drinks are flying, Entourage is being vetted and googled by the models, I am chatting up one of the male models, and hanging with Hippy Chick, when it becomes apparent that it is time for her to go. Since the drinks ain't cheap, and the crowd is vacuous, we walk Mr. Entertainment and Hippy Chick downstairs to the street, dump them in a cab, and debate where to go next. Since Entourage has only just moved into the city after living in the burbs, I decide to take them to one of my favorite bars that completely define Philly.
Hidden in a basement of an old rowhouse on Sansom Street is a bar called Oscar's. I decide to take DC and E there for a nightcap. This is one of those places where if you sit long enough you will see everyone and everything. Saddling up to the bar we order drinks, and are just enjoying the vibe, when the Audio Visual club from High School walks in the door. Wearing matching T-shirts overprinted with a tuxedo shirts, they take a seat next to me at the bar. I turn to the man to my right and say "So which one of you poor SOB's is getting married?" Which elicits a chorus of How did you know's etc from the guys. I tell the bartender to get the guys a shot of whatever they want.
I put some money on the bar and turn back to DC and E, chit chat for a moment when the guys do their shots, and start saying thank you. I turn to say no problem when suddenly a bowling ball thunks onto the bartop. ""DUDE! Is that a real bowling ball?" I bellow to the guy to my right. "Yeah"he responds, "It's....." Before he can finish I grab the bowling ball, heft it into the air, spin to my left shouting, "YO Entourage, check it out man its a real bowling b..." when the chain stretching from the ball to the ankle of the groom snaps taut, rips him off the barstool, slams him into the man to my right, knocking him and his chair to the floor of the bar.
Standing there, I stare at the tangle of limbs and furniture on the floor, amazed at the level of destruction I have wrought. Still holding the bowling ball, I think OH shit. Handing the bowling ball to one of the men, I help the two guys up, throw a twenty on the bar, slam back my drink, get a stynk eye from the bartender, and high tail it out the door.
Laughing as I head out on my own to an after hours bar, I think to myself, well, another night for the record books. Chicks with rugburn, bowling balls, models, a great concert, good food, and DC, GOD I love my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment