After my last post about lower-key weekends, I guess I should’ve expected the opposite to follow.  Not just a packed, scene-y place but the whole enchilada.  Yes, drama as well.  What would a weekend in New York be without it?

So I hauled my East Side self over to the West Side, Hell’s Kitchen to be exact, not my favorite area.  My friends and I decided to try the other Azuki for a change, instead of the usual packed with 18 year olds one on Park Avenue South.  Verdict?  You could actually move at this one, food was the same, and the service was way friendlier.  Convenience factor as far as location?  Eh, not great, but I guess it depends on who you talk to and where you’re coming from.

Then it was off to Retreat because my tennis-obsessed friend was dying to see James Blake’s brother, Thomas, and possibly James Blake himself.  What this all meant to me, a seriously sports challenged girl, was about zip.  Honestly, if they aren’t in the tabloids or aren’t a member of the New York Yankees (no I don’t lust after Jeter like the rest of the female population, my family’s been genuine fans for years), then I probably don’t know who they are.  So we went, we got free bottles of Smirnoff Source (enjoyed) and then we departed for another destination.  My friend was happy as we hailed a cab.

However, it was after we squeezed into a cab that some girl, maybe a few years older than me, started screaming something at me through the cab window.  At first I was like “who is this girl talking to and what is she saying?”  But then she pointed DIRECTLY and me and screamed, “YEAH YOU BITCH!”  I’m not really sure what she was saying, but being the potty-mouthed soul that I am, I instructed the cab to stop as I leaned over, much to the chagrin of my friends and rolled the window down.

As I screamed after her “what did you say?” and failed to get her attention, some guy, who I can only assume to be her friend, said “It was nothing, we saw you at the sushi place before.”  Um yeah sure, whatever, that’s why your psycho drunk friend was screaming at me through the cab window.  Whatever gets you off.

We moved onto Park, an old classic, where I pretty much lost everyone that I showed up with, but Park being Park found a bunch of other people I knew.  Bunch being an understatement actually, seems like everyone there just knew each other.  Which of course means, a lot of fake hellos and even a couple of “I see you, we are friends on Facebook, yet we barely know each other so it’d be totally awkward to say hello.”

I got out of there at a decent hour, successfully avoiding that evil entrapping hot dog stand that resides on the sidewalk and often sucks me in after a druken evening.  Happily, I made it home and hot dog free.

Saturday night was less traveling around.  We just went to Tonic in Murray Hill.  Can anyone tell me why they always close the rooftop off at 11:30?  Is it to avoid drunk people falling off?  230 Fifth has a rooftop and I think it works just fine.  Anyway, it was a pretty uneventful night.  Well, with the exception of one of my guy friends projectile vomiting in the middle of the bar.  He managed to only get a little bit on one of my friends, thankfully not me.  I guess that’s what comes of trying to take two “mind erasers” at once.  Smart move.  Can’t say the night was ruined though.  He just went home and changed shirts.  True story.