No more trips to Long Island for me...

It was Martha's 29th, so the girls decided on another night of dancing and drinks. Once again, Yvonne's brother was suckered into driving our drunk asses around town, so we piled into the Suburban and headed into the city with our red cups full of "magic punch" in hand. What, there are laws against open containers in a moving vehicle you say? No worries, we had a rock-solid emergency plan if we got pulled over; chug, nest the cups inside each other and hide them under the seat before the officer got to the window. Our college educations have certainly not gone to waste, boys and girls, we are WAY SMARTER than the fuzz. Oh yes.

Anyway, we planned to go to this restaurant called SoHo. Very modern, minimalistic, with graphics that looked like boobs all over the menu. My kinda place. The martini list was thrust upon us and we immediately ordered the Espresso variety. It looked like diarrhea, but we chugged that shit like we were scat porn stars. Hazel and I neared the bottom of our drinks and even rediscovered our respective cherries.



The Espresso martinis were a bit heavy, however, and I moved onto my standby: Long Island Iced Tea. This drink is incredibly dangerous, as it has enough alcohol in 1 to equal 2 1/2 normal drinks, and it tastes like regular fucking iced tea. After 3 magic punches, a martini and a Long Island, I was completely lit. Everything was hysterical. I saw a girl in a sequinned tank top and suddenly found myself doubled over with laughter, not caring if she noticed.

It was at this point that Hazel fatefully decided that she "had to go tinkle".

Being a responsible friend, I saw it as my duty to lead her to the ladies' room, as she was a full drink ahead of me and a bit wobbly. I led her to the back of the restaurant and scanned the bathroom doors to determine which one was the little girls' room. Imagine our surprise when we came upon the bathroom doors and found no stick figures on them. Hazel stopped dead.

H: "Umm...K?"
K: "Yep."
H: "Which is which?"
K: "Uhhhh...."
H: "Think they're, like, unisex?"
K: "Right, like in Ally McBeal."
H: "Don't get me started on THAT skinny whore."

[Hysterical laughter. We lean against the wall to stay steady.]

K: "Oh wait...there's letters..."

Above the handles were an "M" and a "W", respectively. Fuckers. We chose the "W" and headed in.

I was heading to the lefthand stall when Hazel stopped me again.

H: "Uh...K?"
K: "Yep."
H: "There's a TV in here."
K: "WHAT?"

Thinking she must REALLY be drunk to be imagining this, I walked into the handicapped stall...lo' and behold, a fucking TV. It was in a really shitty spot, I mean you really couldn't have watched it from any throne in the place, but whatever. There was a TV.

H: "I gonna turn it on, K!"
K: "Ok."
H: "Why have a TV if you're not gonna have it on?"
K: "Good point."

So she got up on the toilet, heels and all, and turned on the TV.


H: [up on the toilet] "K, I think I'm a little dizzy."
K: "Ooooh shit."

She was really starting to wobble, so I helped her off before she broke her neck. As soon as she dismounted, the toilet flushed. We both stared in awe.

H: "How did THAT happen?"
K: "Hmm...must have a sensor?"
H: "Woooooow...fucking cooooool."

Hazel did her business in the stall next door (I guess she didn't feel like watching the game) and came upon another snafu: her toilet wasn't flushing automatically. We stared at it...no handle, it must just not have sensed her getting up. We waved our hands in front of it, sat up and down...nothing. Finally we discovered a small button on the side that did the job. I guess only the handi-stall gets the fancy auto flush.

As Hazel approached the hand dryer, more adventures awaited. She pushed the button and there was a sound like a fucking plane taking off, and she could barely keep her hands close enough to the dryer. It was like one of those dryers at the car wash that blows all the beads of water off of your car at the end, really impressive. I actually had to help her hold her arms up.

More hysterical laughter ensued. She finally got her hands dry and we turned to leave. Once again, the door was playing cruel tricks on us, and we couldn't figure out which side to pull to get out. It looked roughly like this:


2 giant handles, one on each side.

Stumped. Absolutely stumped.


K: "Which fucking one is it?"
H: [staring closely] "I dunnoooooo..."
K: "Why are they so goddamned big?"
H: [goofy look on her face] "They're tall like the treeeeeeeeees....."

[more hysterical drunken laughter]

We yanked on the door and took our leave, stumbling back to the table with our arms wrapped around each other, partly because of our bathroom bonding experience and partly because we probably couldn't have stood up on our own if we'd tried. We ordered up another round and toasted to modern bathroom technology. Then I remembered that I'd been so busy laughing at Hazel that I'd forgotten to take care of my OWN business...back to the bathroom. Dumb ass.

After the hilarity that was the Soho sanitary facilities, the rest of the night was a let down. We ate, drank ourselves silly, danced a little...now, I don't normally dance, but 'Golddigger' by Kanye West came on, and I was dragged to the dance floor by some chick I don't even know very well ("It's KANYE! WE HAVE TO DANCE." Uh, ok.). Hey, what the fuck did I care, I was 8 drinks deep! AND I got to see the birthday girl bust out her 80's dance moves, which is always a treat.


We did our obligatory "chicks always dance with each other in a circle" thing and left.

Even though we spent the night at a semi-classy place that was out of town, our white-trash roots led us back to a local bar for last call, where I ran into a guy who always stops me to chat because he is completely in love with Yvonne. Needless to say, he was a bit drunk.


He went on for a few minutes about how much he wants to go out with her, blah blah blah. I distracted him by pointing out a hot blonde with huge tits and disappeared into the crowd. I had started to sober a bit by this point, and seeing what an ass he was acting like pretty much sobered me up the rest of the way. Tsk tsk, I can't IMAGINE making an ass of myself like that! (snicker)

On the way home, everyone gave me shit for falling out of the Suburban the LAST time we went out, so I was determined not to give a repeat performance. I was carefully putting my foot on the running board to get out when Yvonne's asshole brother decided to hit the gas, sending me flying out the door. Hilarity ensued. I flipped them off and headed inside. I stripped, promptly decided to jump the sleeping husband, and passed out until 2:30 this afternoon.

Once again, I find myself having trouble keeping up with my single friends. How they do this every weekend, I have NO idea...it was a good thing the bathroom was such a good time because otherwise I woulda called the night a bust.