(If you listened to “Gasolina” on the party bus to prom with your soft ball teammates, don’t be concerned that this side-by-side means nothing to you).
A few days ago I had the pleasure of discovering a new hobby: drinking alone in public. I have always been a big fan of
crying drinking alone in a bathtub, and drinking alone at an airport until you’re 30 seconds shy of missing your flight is easily my favorite activity– but just going to a bar to drink by myself is something I’ve never done until recently.
I was in Boston with nothing to do for a few hours while I was waiting to meet up with a friend. So I wandered around and somehow found myself in Faneuil Hall… and I never like to find myself in Faneuil Hall because there are so many tourist dads smacking people with their backpacks while they look for a rogue toddler. It was hot, my feet were starting to hurt, and I didn’t want to walk to another part of town. WHAT was I going to do for another 2 hours? I ate half a $5 grilled cheese and wondered how I could let my life get so bad.
Then it dawned on me! There’s no such thing as waiting when you’re 21! What could I do for 2 hours? What could I do for SIX hours? Margaritasssssss!
I went to a Mexican restaurant and sat at the bar and got a margarita. My phone was dead, so this felt like… camping? I’ve never been camping, but I was cut off from the world! Roughing it! I pretended to watch the Olympics because nobody knew me there so I thought maybe the bar patrons would buy that the Olympics are something I’m into. But I could sense that they knew I was just staring at a TV screen and all I saw were colors, so I finished my drink and moved on to a new scene.
If you’re keeping track this means I’m officially on a BAR CRAWL, through FANEUIL HALL, by MYSELF.
I hit up my next bar because it reminded me of a small restaurant you’d find in an airport and that was comforting. I ordered a Blue Moon, and then some older gentlemen on business started talking to me. They were border patrol agents, and they gave me some good advice like “if your boyfriend ever asks you to hold a package for him, don’t do it.” (I nodded politely as if I had never seen Broke Down Palace and this was new information) and “You wouldn’t last 6 hours in jail” (also duh, but don’t you kinda want to see how that would play out)?
Anyway, it was pretty fun and 2 hours passed quickly. I would probably only do such a thing during the day, though because going to a bar alone is also a great way to get stalked by a bus boy, followed to the parking lot and murdered. I’m just trying to look at this through all angles.
I finally feel like that perfect mix of Dina Lohan and a Real Housewife of New Jersey. I may be 3 glasses of Sauvignon Blanc deep (which is just deep enough for me), but I feel like the classiest lady this side of Long Island (I’m actually from NH but my soul is from Long Island).
I just bought this coat from Banana Republic. This is what the joy of tipsy suburban mall shopping looks like. I walked through JCPenny’s liked I OWNED that dizzy bizzy (look, I can’t be held accountable for anything I say right now… though my grammar and typing is still flawless). My parents said ‘look she’s strutting through Jay-Cee-Pee-Pee’ (okay, I added that abbreviation and the extra ‘P’) as if I was Carrie Bradshaw, I said, “do I strut? Am I a strutter?” like the coquette that I am in this faux fur coat (that’s a real Carrie Bradshaw quote, btw).
Anyway, the point of this post is that I hope you find your faux fur leopard print coat this season- whether it’s a real materialistic piece or just a state of mind. It’s a bad economy, ya know? Just find whatever gets you in that spirit. Okay bye, the Sex and the City Movie is on. But I’m serious…