Life, Liberty & Pursuit Of Your Boyfriend

I’m either too hungover or too tired for a full weekend recap, especially being that it’s already Wednesday, but here’s a little run-down of some of the shit I’ve been up to in Cleveland:

My friend came in from Columbus on Saturday. It was the perfect opportunity to eat at Luxe. I started off with a Dark & Stormy drink, which was awesome, then a Watermelon Mint martini, which wasn’t. For dinner, I ate the pasta carbonara. I loved there was a fried egg on top of my dish. (This is one of my favorite dishes to make at home too, by the way). The dish was fantastic, and I cleaned my plate. For dessert (I’m such a pig with a sweet tooth), I had the almond tea cake. It was served with that same buttermilk-y mousse thing as the Bar Cento dessert I had a couple weeks ago (or something similar); I don’t like it. The tea cake was good though.

Then, we wandered into downtown to the Wonder Bar on East 4th. We had a martini and a bartender-created shot. I couldn’t believe when I pulled up my chair to the bar, the Arrogant Bastard from my white water rafting trip pulled up a chair next to me and persisted in asking for my number… again. What a douche! I seriously told him “no” eight million and one times before (thankfully) his friend showed up with a couple whorebags to take over. Also, my boss texted me. Random.

“Taking it up a notch” is statistically in the cards after a certain number of drinks, so we head over to Corner Alley. But only because we noticed Phelps was about to win another gold. The entire bar area was chanting “USA… USA!” It was completely surreal. Be that as it may, we had to expel some crazy energy.

We started walking toward Public Square, looking for a cab, and picked one up when we got all the way to West 3rd. WTF? I probably could have walked the rest of the way. We enjoyed another martini or two at Fusion, then went downstairs to Ultra to dance some of it off. I hated that there was glass all over the floor and that I ran into eighteen people that I rarely care seeing on an irregular basis. I am now a pompous asshole and sick of and too good for these fucking Warehouse District bars. But my friend wants to dance, and I’m entertaining…

Meanwhile, we hooked up with some Ashtabula peeps at Blind Pig, danced and were bothered by a bunch more douches. Repeated the same at Bar Flyy (ugh). Which, by the way, Bar Flyy, your side door is consistently unlocked. Guess who didn’t have to wait in that annoying line? Fuckers.

And for a first in Mel’s drunken history, Panini’s sucked. We ordered sandwiches for take-home pleasure and grabbed a cab. I barely ate half of my sandwich. In the morning, that tiny bit felt even more gross.

My friend attempted to join me at Waterstreet Grille for breakfast, but had to return to the car. I ate an awesome combo of eggs/bacon/pancakes/potatoes by myself at the bar. She doesn’t apparently handle the liquor as well.

Then, Sunday, I was invited to a cookout on the viaduct, which was really, really awesome. We ate right around/after sunset, where I splooged a big glop of ketchup on my leg in front of a group of people I was meeting for the first time, had some beginner’s luck at the Pit card game… and then slept in the cubby on the floor. This sounds so weird, I know, but I slept very well.

Which leads me to my weekly girls night, aka: Taco Tuesday. I started with a solitary happy hour at the Velvet Tango Room - mmmm, apricot sour — so I wouldn’t have to drive all the way back west and back again downtown. Then joined my girls at August Taco Month at Johnny Mangos (big plate chorizo and potato burrito, hello!). Of course, for dessert, there was a tasty crispy treat sundae waiting for me afterwards at Scoops in Tremont.

All around the city and back again… and I’m done for a brief minute. Well, until Thursday night, when this happens:

See you there!