Besides having incredably overpriced drinks (try $15 for a cocktail) and being very hard to get into (don't even try to get in if you're a guy and have less than three girls in tow), the bar has incredable views and is a great little lounge type area--if you can afford it.
The VIP Area
So one of Leah's guys--who she admitted was a dousche bag, and was only hanging out with him cause he would pay for us tonight--said that he was getting a table and we could go there. Now before you say, hey I can't believe that bitch would do something like that, he was a complete shit and deserved much worse than Leah sucking it up to hang out with him for a limited time. Sitting up in the VIP area with bottle service, the guy ordered a bottle of Jack Daniel's. What a trashy New Jersey shit. Me and Jack Daniels hang out in my friend's unfinished basement, not in a swanky NY bar where bottle service costs upwards of $250.
On top of that, the table orders a rather large number of mohitos. I must have had 7 or 8 myself. The place was alright, but as soon as the booze finished, Leah's not really guy (who was trashed) was becoming an ever increasing schmuck, so we left, and went across the street (I think) to the Gaslight--a rather much less uptight bar. I had a nice buzz going when we left the Gansevoort, but I was very much put together. Enter the shitshow.
If you know me, you know that one of my maxims is a might with Jager is a night that is not going to end quietly. With tequila, you wake up the next morning and say "What the hell did I do last night?" With Jagermeister, you wake up and think, "Why the hell did I do that last night?" Try it sometime, you'll see my wisdom.
We're inside the Gaslight taking shots of I don't even know what. Jager, SoCo & Lime, god knows what else. I had a couple beers too, just to top it off. This girl that came with us from the Gansevoort started dancing with me and I started dancing back. Well to be more specific, she started grinding up against my peen squad. Like a fucking idiot, and I assume it was the Jager talking, we made out on the dance floor for a while, until I realized that Cami and Leah were outside, and I was probably about to get abused by Cami. So without so much as a goodbye, I walked outside, where I just got the look of what the fuck were you doing. Conveniently I gave back the look of Wow, I'm really drunk.
Leah says shes leaving, and Cami and I catch a cab back uptown. I promptly passed out in the cab, got up, got into the elevator, passed out in the elevator, and managed to comment that we probably werent having sex that night, got back to the room, and passed out again. For the night.
The next morning I woke up to Camille actually being quite sick (not from drinking) but throwing up regardless, and with what was possbily the worst hangover of my life. I couldn't think it hurt so bad. And the first thing that came to my mind: What the hell was I thinking last night?
Overall, a very successful night indeed.
3 comments:
The Gaslight? Like the place where Bob Dylan got his start in 1962? Like my album "Bob Dylan: Live at the Gaslight 1962"? Like one of the major centers of the 60's folk movement? Like the place where Dave von Ronk, a.k.a. The Mayor of McDougal Street would hold court and scout folkie musicians during the aforementioned folk movement? Like the chillest bar in West Village?
I'm green with envy.
That Gaslight indeed.
i'm still green with envy.
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