hot fun in the summertime

Such a good weekend. Oftentimes, days and days will go by in which nothing notable happens, and then people ask what I've been up to and all I have to talk about are burritos and reality television. Well this weekend was the opposite of that--nothing mind-blowing or anything, just good times with good people. Rather than blather on endlessly, I think I'll break this up into little episodes (who needs those pesky transition sentences anyway?) and throw in some purdy pictures.

*The Heights. Ahhh The Heights. This is one of the two college bars in which I spent way more time than class. For happy hour on Friday, I met up with L, who is getting up at 4:30 a.m. six days per week this summer to row, and another L, who just returned from far off lands. The man who mixed me countless Long Island Iced Teas freshman year is still bartending so I felt at home, and thanks to a couple of his margaritas I was wasted by 8 p.m. After a regrettable drunken email or two and a bag of tortilla chips with salsa and cream cheese (it seemed like a good idea at the time) I had to call it a night.

this girl has the best laugh in the world


*Laicale. It took me five years to do so, but I've finally found my hair place. Bumble schmumble, Laicale is so much more sane and favorably located. I also have a weird fascination with my stylist, Brian. I'd never had a guy cut my hair before, but the first time I went there he was wearing the coolest boots ever and I had to have him next. We've hardly spoken because I'm all shy and awkward sometimes and he's all sweet and quiet (also, it just seems weird to chat it up with someone who's got a sharp object near your head,) but I know we could be buddies if we, like, talked or something.

thanks, laicale brian


*Afternoon with Drone. Great minds do, indeed, think alike. With no prior consultation, Drone and I booked appointments at Laicale for the same day, around the same time. We walked around Soho in between appointments and the East Village afterwards. The weather Saturday was simply perfect, and illegal to go margaritas combined with the informal dog show in the park made the day even more perfect. Except for one minor detail...

isn't she lovely?


*El accidente. After the dog show, I was hungry as usual, so Drone and I went to Esperanto for a cuban sandwich and more margaritas. While getting up to use the facilities, I sprained my ankle Susie-style (i.e., tripping over nothing while attempting to walk under the influence of not that much alcohol.) It's not as severe as her sprain was, but I have a sexy limp thing going on. I'm usually quite resposible when it comes to my health, but sometimes I'm like the Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, who, in case you don't recall, shrieked "it's only a flesh wound!" as his limbs were being lopped off. As such, I treated the injured ankle by dancing on it for five hours straight...

dancin' fools


*Misshapes. Like the last time I went to this party, 5 a.m. came upon me with no warning. The night was full of friends making out, friends doing things even I am too prude for, friends running into long-lost friends, and a sleazy Spaniard whose hands kept finding their way up my skirt until said friends thankfully intervened (see if you can find him in the photo below.) Also, I could not hold onto anything. I remember sending four vodka tonics flying, which means there were probably more than that, and I dropped my 5 a.m. hot dog on myself and woke up Sunday morning smelling like a vodka, mustard, and sauerkraut cocktail. Yum.

where's waldo?


*Hungover afternoon with Drone. Miraculously and after much prodding, I managed to drag myself outside on Sunday for a stroll through the West Village. I'm so glad I did, because not only did we witness a hilarious interaction between a group of homeless men and unfortunately-dressed tourists, but I had one of my best celebrity sitings to date. Walking near the Marc Jacobs store with a nondescript B-list actor boy in tow was none other than Nicky Hilton. I gawked for a little too long as she walked past me (had to get a good look) and she glared. She had stringy, jet black hair that was all matted in the back and absurdly tan skin, and, of course, she was way shorter than she looks on TV.

not nicky hilton