Kitty Power

Shake It Up

I need something new hella quick. I’ve exhausted all my party resources and patience. I almost don’t want to go out anymore. And knowing me, that’s a fucking travesty. I’m a nightlife columnist, for christ’s sake!
P. Fizzie and I have been having movie marathons like a mofo: Friday, Chris Rock: Bigger and Blacker, Kings of Comedy, and Old School with a painful bit of Not Another Teen Movie since Thursday. We’ve also discovered that vodkas and gins have the non-liver destroying, easy sleeping properties that we can’t find in our beloved whiskeys. I might never go back to that. He’s the one transplant non-hipster living in the LES, so we traipse around the hood like “you suck…you suck… you might be cool…you suck… get out the way, drunken assclowns” before getting pissed and calling it a night. We’re especially irritated at the way the sniffers have a chokehold on lounge/bar fun. In the 70s/80s, sniffers were known for being all fun-loving and dancing all night and shit, but the 00 variety (zeroes in more ways than one), like to just sit there all glassy-eyed in their banquettes staring out and not dancing or anything. Some of my most beloved NYC friends are sniffers, but I say exile those motherfuckers to a house somewhere where they can snort lines off a bannister or boiler or something and leave the clubs to the rest of us. And send those non-mixing ass DJs with them.
Friday night in a new hipster stronghold on Orchard, I saw the really hot bartender from 419. Now, that’s like saying the fluffy cloud or something, but this one is tops. Only because he radiates “I might be a too skinny hipster perfectly dishelved like all the rest, but I actually give great head” or perhaps I’m just projecting? I’ve been fooled by that before. (Yeah, I threw that in there to fuck with you. You know it.)
Jay-V and I traipsed out to the far reaches of Brooklyn to go to her boss’s afternoon party Saturday. In East Flatbush, he had an inground pool (!) and hot tub. It’s good to be him for sure. They were also winding things down when we got there. She should draft a note on Monday that says: “Oh sorry, we’re black, when our people say “starting at 2,” that means get there around 6/7! We’ll know for next time. Oh, and we don’t do pools. Thanks for having us! The cakes were great!”
And for future reference, copious amounts of alcohol + being the instigator that led to a bowl party in the bowels of subsoda (a place that I always expect to suck more than it does. Not that it’s good or anything) + getting blocked from my nap by running into an annoying HS person that wanted to yap yap yap at me on the train = hijinks on the ride home. I overslept my train and then bus stop. I woke up about a mile past my house all “where the fuck am i right now?” My one saving grace was that at least it wasn’t the Far Rockaway bus and I woke up just in time on the return trip to get off home. Damn it was bright when I fell into bed. But at least I had fun, I think.

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