Saturday night's birthday party was fun. I made it out- awake and with extra eye makeup (for a 'sophisticated evening look'). In preparing for the night at the bar I realized that I have absolutely nothing to wear. I have a nicely organized closet full of clothes, but nothing to wear out to a preppie bar. I started out with just jeans and a purple sweater, but then realized what a moron I looked like and K went and ruined it by saying the dreaded "That's what you're wearing?!" He says this to get my goat and it does indeed get my goat even though I know he's only saying it to get my goat. My self confidence spirals as I go through the racks, pulling out clothes, putting them on and trying not to cry and say "I don't wanna go out." When we usually go to a bar, it's in the 'hood, and I just wear jeans and whatever shows my boobs without being too trashy. But the bar we were going to was a little more upscale that our usual rocker, slouchy, 70's basement bar we frequent on the Lower East Side. I try on my black satin pants and a see-thru black shirt with cami underneath, nope too dark and dowdy (see thru and all, I know!). I've recently transitioned to the winter wardrobe and all my cute little skirts and semi-sexy sleeveless shirts have been retired for the year in a large tupperware bin and all I was left with was sweaters and slacks that scream "WORK CLOTHES!" and thermal shirts and slouchy jeans. Seven outfits and several suppressed screams go by and I am at a loss. I finally decide on a lacey black dress with a flesh-colored attached slip (makes it look like you gots nothing on underneath) that I bought my sophomore year of college and doing a little math in my head I realize that this is 6 years ago. SIX YEARS AGO!!! AGGHH it was '98 then and I had a whole different group of friends! And still I pull on this dress and put on a skinny pair of black pants on underneath (ruining the naked slip thing effect). I'm not completely satisfied with the ensemble, but it will have to do because I am slowly being killed by the impatience being shot at me by K's eyes.
So we take a cab to The Star Bar and we walk in and I realize that all the guys in here are wearing vertically striped button down shirts, untucked. Hair clipped short with a little bit of gel spikey spikey. Cologne (ugghh, yuck) and very preppie indeed. I groan, audibly, but the music is too loud for anyone else to hear. We spot C, the birthday girl and it was great to see her and meet her family. Points to her folks for braving this place. We run into some of K's former colleagues and he catches up on gossip etc... I drink many, many vodka gimlets. The gimlet is my favorite drink, but I am often disappointed because it is rarely made well. The best gimlet is served at Simone on 1st Ave and St Marks. I drink gimlets because they offer quite a kick for one cocktail, meaning I only have to drink one, and I'm on my way to tipsyville. Well I drank three and don't remember much afterwards. I do remember clutching the porcelain later at home and yelling mean things at K, but that's about it.
I woke up the next morning in agony and with much remorse for the yelling of mean things at K. My eyelids are glued shut, my head pounding and my stomach is making its own transatlantic journey- all I want to do is spend the day in bed and be miserable. However, our friends M&M are coming to pick us up at 10am so we can go APPLE PICKING!! Normally, I would find this to be a great deal of fun and excitement, but really, when you are hung over, the last thing you want to do is to go APPLE PICKING!! I make it thru the shower and manage to look presentable. We load into the car (Champ too!) and begin the two hour journey to the farm upstate. Agony, pure Agony my friends. I don't know how I made it through the car ride without hurling all over the backseat of M&M's nice new Jetta stationwagon. Champ kept on climbing on me to look out the window and I kept on pushing him back into the middle of the seat and concentrated on not puking in my mouth and swallowing it again. We made it to the farm and that fresh country air hit me like a brick. I managed to scramble behind some bushes before I christened them with my cereal, bananas and yummy stomach acid. Bananas don't taste half bad the second time around, they are all warm and mushy. After my successful regurgitation I felt SO MUCH BETTER and was ready for apple picking goodness. We had a blast and although I , myself, did very little picking I took loads of pictures of Champ staring at the pig, and goats and chickens. Champ eating mushy apples on the ground. Champ marking each and every apple tree. Champ being surrounded by oodles of admiring kiddos. I also snagged a few pics of K and M&M as well and the beautiful foliage.
We returned home triumphant and still a bit hung-over (K too, this time), bearing about 20 apples- and lets see if we eat them all. We also have two pumpkins, peanut brittle and apple pancake mix. Yum!