Friday night was epic and meandering. And so for this post, I shall meander epically. To be thematic, you know.
OK, so whenever Francesca is in town I move earth and sea in order to find a way to hang out with her for real – not the way I usually hang out, which is by going somewhere for a drink and then panicking that it’s SO LATE (meaning 7 P.M.), because I am old like a tortoise and exhausted. No, I mean hanging out like we used to: sitting in bars and talking for hours and laughing until we cry and then getting pizza afterwards because we’ve got nowhere else to be.
Friday night Kendrick and Indy stayed at home and I took Goldie into the city to hang with my mom so Francesca and I could go out like we haven’t gone out in years. (Or…well, we went out like this in L.A. a couple of years ago, but I ended up clinging to the DJ booth like it was a life preserver because I was too tired to stand up anymore, and the night ended with the DJ actually telling me that I really needed to let go because I looked so weird, so this night was arguably more successful. Except I fell. In a gutter. We’ll talk about that in a moment.)
I started with a bubble bath and champagne, because that is really the best way to start any night.
Then Francesca came over and we ate Tate’s Chocolate Chip Cookies while we waited for my mom, and then, once Goldie was happily settled in (or at least semi-happily; we’ve moved into the separation anxiety portion of early childhood) we headed out for dinner, and thought oh, what the hell:
Nobu, if you’re not familiar with the place, used to be the kind of ridiculously fancy restaurant that you had to book a table at weeks in advance, but is now sort of a New York staple. Still fun and fancy-feeling, but you can totally just walk in and sit down. And wear jeans.
Oh god, and the food is SO GOOD. I’m always an ‘oh, let’s split something’ person, mostly because it makes me sad to spend north of thirty bucks on an entree, but Friday night was our Christmas present to ourselves, so we just ordered and ordered and ordered. Rock shrimp tempura and tuna wrapped in soy paper and yellowtail with jalapeños, yes and yes and yes.
Next, we taxi-ed down to St. Mark’s place and stopped into a bar for shots of Casamigos.
First I fell.
It wasn’t the fault of the Casamigos; that hadn’t happened yet. No, it was the fault of the dude walking past me who hooked his foot around my ankle and literally TOOK ME DOWN (presumably not on purpose, although the utter lack of disregard he showed after putting me flat on my back made me wonder). It was pretty epic, actually – the fall had LAYERS. Like, first there was the backward-stumble-oh-my-god-I-may-fall. And then there was the resigned yes-I-am-totally-falling. And then there was the plonk down on the butt, followed by the roll into the gutter.
I fell. In a gutter.
I am thirty-three years old. I thought my gutter-falling days were behind me.
But not to worry; I totally recovered quickly. Because, you see, this kind of thing sort of happens to me all the time. And sometimes when it happens I am wearing a bathing suit, so at least this time I didn’t end up naked.
And finally, apres-fall: the tattoo parlor, obviously. Because when a really good night starts with bubble baths and champagne, it should probably end with the sun at your back.