A Petition for Better Lighting in Bars

This past week I prepared to move from the cave of dispare to 10G, the newest instalment in a long line of crazy living spaces. In this case, "crazy" actually means good; not crazy like the house the town's people of Springfield built for Flanders, but I've done that kind of crazy too. The J-breezy, VAN and I are still unpacking but on Saturday after a week of sobriety, it was time for some 54, 40 or fight. I was supposed to head out to B-lyn to Adam's new digs, but I was so wrecked from moving that I decided it would be prudent for me to stay in the NYC. This turned out to be a really good move as I proceded to get obliterated on a mere four drinks. I was astounded. How could I possible get so ridiculous after having a appetizer sized amount of drinks. The world may never know. This is what happened.
J and I went to best ev cousin Jamie's for a few pounders before heading out. here, I consumed about 12 oz of my 16 Bud. We went over to the Garment district to a party a friend of Jamie's was having. It was hot. I'm talking equator hot. The sweat was pouring off of everyone. After a moment, I noticed something about the people there. Some were dressed in the casual slut wear offered by abercrombie and fitch, while others were dressed in fishnets and leather...and as preists. I can only assume it was an attempt at a Tarts and Viccars party but was affraid to ask after a story my friend Blair told me. A few weeks ago, he was at a club that was holding a bondage party later in the evening. As he was chatting up a girl who was provocativly dressed, he asked if she was there for the impending bondage event. She looked at him, stunned and said no. Blair ran off.
In the upstaris part of the appartment there was a full on game of beirut going on. Yes, I was at a frat party. But I wasn't drunk and I didn't know anyone there, and you couldn't smoke so I finshed my beer and rallyed everyone to go to my friend Carl's birthday party. Which was, of course, a huge gay dance party. To ABBA and Madonna we grooved and Carl made me some sort of Jupitor Juice. At around 2, we came to the realization that (and I quote the J-man) "We're in New York, we can do whatever we want, let's go to the Hog Pit." So we left the Castro (Murray Hill) and headed to the Meatpacking. This is where I realize that I'm wasted and I've had THREE drinks. The Hog Pit was a disater so we went over to Rhone. The bar at Rhone is in the middle of the room so the other patrons can see one another. From across the bar, I noticed this guy eyeing me. I found this really amusing. We were all like is this guy for real? That's when the drink he ordered for me arrived. Lauren convinced me I should go over and thank him, as that's the polite thing to do. I agreed as it is proper etiquette to offer thanks to a gentleman who has just bought you a drink. And I thought, through my drunken haze and the dim lighting that perhaps this person may even be good-looking. As a approached however, the truth revealed itself. He was a pock-marked decendent of an extra in a Mad Max film. I chatted with him for a while, about what, I have no idea and then it was time to go.
We got in a cab and had the brilliant idea to go get cheese-steaks at the only good cheese-steak place in town on 33rd St. The shop was closed, so instead we bought 15 different slices of pizza. As we were walking abck to Lauren's who shows up on the corner out of nowhere? That's right, Mad Max throw back. Crazy. I made a whole bunch of drunken phone calls as well. I'm not sure to whom and I'm not checking my phone cause I don't want to know. If I happened to call you, accept my appologies.