On a beautifully perfect, blindingly sunny Friday morning, our little angel officially got her wings and flew to her final destination. We are at peace and so is she... Fast forward to Friday P.M.... the best friend and I decided to head to Koji to lift- (or drink some anyway)- our spirits, and reminisce in earnest. We became acquainted with a young man and his sister. The four of us laughed, shot the evening breeze, and listened to them vent angrily because their bill didn't reflect the "happy hour" rate for their drinks.

They argued to the irritated (and finally defeated) waitress/manager, that the Lychee martini was in fact a specialty drink and if the Saki-tinis were the only drinks being sold at the happy hour rate, then their advertisement should have reflected as much. "The Lychee Martini is not a specialty drink." The bro and sister duo's annoyed waitress argued. "But on the contrary" I wanted to interject, but didn't. (I didn't want to mess it up for Cat and I, since we frequent that place, and were not the ones with the drink and jacked up bill issues). In all fairness to brother and sister however, any saccharine drink ending in 'tini (and not made with plain vodka, vermouth, and dressed with an olive) is in fact a specialty drink. But like I said, I kept out of it. Regardless, the advertisement in question should have indeed, specified that Saki-tinis were the only drinks being sold at the happy hour rate. Anyway, Brother and sister won their argument, got a revised bill, and a snotty "I just want you to know, your server had to absorb the cost" retort from the manager/waitress before she breezed off. Brother revealed that he had wanted to chat with us earlier that evening, upon seeing us, because he was excited to see two sistahs in the joint and also because our naturals looked hot. He said was afraid we'd be snobby bitches, who'd rebuff him and brag about our "Mercedes being parked right outside" which was why he didn't approach us, earlier. I assured him that while we were complete snobs, we were poor and we didn't own a car, let alone a Mercedes.

Needless to say, we all hit it off without incident. It was a very mellow and laid back evening. One I needed to experience, immensely, to lift my melancholy mood. The four of us decided to move the party over to the Hilton's bar, for more libations. Somehow we ended up at this chill and trendy- (and one of my fave places... think that cafe in Love Jones) - spot called The Russell instead. Much to Cat's and my chagrin, it was packed as usual, we had to pee like two pregnant women, and we were just sort of standing on the outskirts of the action... looking uncomfortable and waiting for someone to vacate a stool or two. Finally- (and reluctantly, because we wanted to stay)- Cat and I told Bro and Sis that we were gonna go ahead and go to the Hilton and that they should catch up with us later if they felt so inclined. We bid them adieu and scooted across the way, to the Hilton... our bladders pushing and pressing... as we held on for dear life, hoping we'd make the ladies room sans accidents. Relieved and feeling comfy and confident, Cat and I noticed that neither of the two Hilton 'hot spots?' were occupied with very many people. They were both dead. We peeked into one of the bars, only to be squinted at by two catty looking women, sitting there. Cat and I looked at one another, shrugged, and at Cat's suggestion..."Now that I've peed, I feel a lot better and don't mind squeezing back into The Russell"... headed back to The Russ. Upon arriving, sis told us her bro went over to the Hilton to meet us. We told her that nothing was going on over there. She called her bro to alert him that he'd just missed us by a mili-second. He decided to stay over there and have a drink. Cat and I finally pushed our way up to the bar at The Russ, lucked out after a few minutes, and found two stools. ***Side Note: Cat was annoyed because she got cussed out by the bartender for asking him if he knew how to make a French Martini. He told her asking a bartender if he knew how to make a French Martini, was like walking into a burger joint and asking if they knew how to make burgers. hahahahaha. bwaaaaahahahahahahaahaha. Sorry Cat. You asked for it. Stay with me on this post. It sorta goes downhill from here. You don't want to miss it. .... We laughed and hyucked it up into the night.

I began to relax even more. Brother returned to The Russ and told us that the two women at the Hilton bar, who squinted at us earlier, turned out to be very nice. They were planning on auditioning for the next season of The Apprentice- (I'm assuming they were having open casting calls at the The Hilton)- and were checking out what they perceived to be, competition. Whatever. We laughed... s'more as we sipped our drinks. Suddenly, I turned my head slightly, and who do I see standing all tight and close behind Cat and I.... *insert Jaws music here* HOP FOOT!!! Want to know who he is? Read here. I damn near fell off my stool. There he was, in all his horrible glory, leering at us like the second coming of Beelzebub... waiting for us to acknowledge his presence. I leaned over to Cat wryly and said, "Um, isn't that hop foot?" She turned slightly, doing a double-take, gave a slight shiver, and said, "Oh no! hahahahaha It is!" It was horrible. No matter how much I tried to ignore him... there he was... hyucking it up obnoxiously, fat head bobbing ridiculously, shoulders hunching up and down... fraternizing with a group of euro-trash... pretending he was cool. I feel as if he exaggerated his laughter, because he wanted us to notice him... pretending to be hot schtuff. I couldn't block him from my peripheral view.

There is nothing... I mean nothing... worse than witnessing someone you loathe... standing two feet away from you... in the same vicinity... engaging in raucous laughter, checking to see if you're aware of their presence. I wanted to walk over to his table, rip off his prosthetic foot, and beat him over the head with it. Horrible... but this is what I wanted to do... This is what my alternate self wanted to do, anyway. *sigh* He finally gave up his ridiculous charade... (but not without much fervid and overdone effort) and left after about an hour 1/2... moments before Cat and I said our goodbyes to bro and sis, exchanged phone numbers, and left for the evening. Right before we headed towards the exit... some vile Nigerian man Cat had brutally rebuffed earlier in the evening, with spots all over his face, a proclamation that his brother was an "ex NBA-player", and slip-slop lips decided to come over and attempt to steal a kiss from her. Every woman within eyeshot was mortified. Cat leaned back... visibly disgusted... as if several, slimey alien tentacles were coming towards her face. NO! she said ... as firmly as J.Lo said in the movie Enough... shaking her head emphatically. "Come on" he prodded her, as if he was entitled. Leaning in for the kill, in all his aggressive leachery. Yuck mouth pursed, lubed, and primed. Again. .."No!" she exclaimed. "DUDE, SHE'S PRACTICALLY ENGAGED!" I lied. He blinked at me, and then had the nerve to say, "To the wrong guy" and stalked off... dejected, drunk and angry. What. an. evening.


  I will spare, any readers, the details of the disgustingly drunk man we saw on the way home, who simply gave up trying to walk and decided to lay down in the middle of the busy street as cars honked all 'round him... his pants coming down... his crack visible for all to see... as I cackled shamelessly... tears streaming down my face. *sigh* Forgive me. I needed that laugh. Thank you sir. What an interesting... interesting evening... Life seems to be back to abnormal. :o)