My Life is Like Woah

I had another "this is my destiny" night. It was Friday.

For those of you who didn't hear the hearsay, my first "this is my destiny" night was two weeks ago when I found myself drinking something called Death Punch out of an Igloo cooler at a dance party at a loft in SoHo surrounded by tubs of gummy bears. Also, I dropped my wallet but someone returned it to me. A risky evening, I dare say.

So, I went out with my bitches who are really nice. We met in Astoria to get drunk and see where the wind took us. We decided to eat first, at a place called "Oasis" or "Trance" or some other nonsensical trendy name that implies remix dance music as ambience. I ordered a dry martini, while they got pina coladas. We're all 20. Our drinks are served, and the waitress asks if we are 18...the legal drinking age. Fresh off the boat for the win. FOB FTW. I offered to show her my high school diploma as proof, but she said that wasn't necessary.

My martini was straight liquor. I used the olives and my antibiotics as chasers. Don't worry Mom & Dad, I'm just mixing drugs and alcohol.

Our massive bowls of mediocre pasta arrived. I ate as much as I possibly could. Due to the sketch warehouse situation, saving the rest for later would have been a death wish. The leftover portion could have easily been reserved to an unsuspecting customer, so they assumed that I didn't like the meal.

Therefore, they gave me everything for free. Easily the best bar in town.

Next we traveled across the street searching for sweets. We found a massive Greek bakery, also serving as a bar. There I drunkenly ordered a chocolate mousse. Shaped like a chocolate mouse.

Then we almost caught the table on fire due to a napkin + candle experiment. Just say no, kids!

We left cash and peaced before the flame was under control.

Destiny then brought us to a gallery opening and wine tasting. Delicious.

Next stop was the World Yacht Club. As I read that sentence aloud in my head, it sounds fake. Lisa, posse member, had to hand out fliers to drunk people here as her "job". I plan to be employed there soon. After passing the most epic bowling alley in America, we hit the subway to head to beds. There, our lives were changed by The Meetles.

The Meetles:

A Beatles tribute band consisting of some old white guys, what appeared to be my old GirlScout troop leader, a man with a hat and a tambourine, and two token Asians (one was hidden in the back).

They were incredible. Seriously, I would hire them for a party in a heartbeat. On-point harmonies brought to you by the ragamuffins of adulthood. Even better, their biggest fan was there. A homeless man. He stood in front of their money basket and rained $1 bills into it. I think he gave them at least $20 in ones, and then recruited others to join in. Hidden Asian helped collect money with an Elmo puppet.

Truly, the only problem with The Meetles was that they didn't spell their name like "meat".

I bring them to you via YouTube.