It may be a new great look, but the taste is NOT still the same!

After a rather calming Friday night with a bottle of Shiraz at home, I tended to my social withdrawals on Saturday with a night on the prowl with the ladies. It was a struggle to be interested in “downtown” again, but I had friends in town from Columbus. All the times I’m only semi-interested in heading DT has it far exceeded my expectations. Yup, I hit up practically every bar in the Warehouse District during regular drinking hours. And when I woke up, there was only $20 charged to my credit card – so must have had a good time (read: lots of alcohol I didn’t pay for or the guys at Velvet Dog are really cheap).

Sunset Lounge. We did a quick walk-thru to check the place out. Swanky lounge-feel crowd that was unfamiliar and very coupled. Definitely a revisit during happy hour when hopefully there are more unpartnered suits-and-ties.

I was at Liquid twice? Moving on… Velvet Dog, Blind Pig — read any other weekend wrap-up for pretty much the same review.

Bar Flyy has apparently become “the-place-to-be” on West Sixth. It was so kick ass inside I didn’t want to leave, if only because it took me close to 8 minutes to figure a way to skip the line. Seriously, who are the door nazis at this bar? So (un)Lucky for me, the penis flasher from back-in-a-not-so-memorable-day saw our peril and directed us to the VIP entrance. Just waiting in line is not so bad… okay, I lied. I don’t “do” bars I have to wait for. But I became one of THOSE girls that I laugh at when I smooch-smooch the bouncers at every other bar on the strip – I played the “do-you-know-who-I-am?” card. Ugh. Seriously. Someone needed to throw me a fucking Pity-Party or someone slipped me some attitude serum as I went frequently into “about me” tirades. I actually muttered words: No one is paying attention to me. Seriously, someone give this girl a hanky and preferably one that’s smeared in “shut-the-fuck-up-already.”

Panini’s, after what seemed to be irritation with all available men on the planet, we muched with a couple married guys… wait, is that Drew Gooden? (hey, what’s up, in passing, like he’s my best friend). Oh, and the married guys offered no advice or any optimism that men ever change.

So, when you say to a cop “You arrested my friend! HAH!” does that also mean “I should be arrested right now for public intox.” Maybe I should have expected what followed by a later comment from another friendly man in uniform remarking how we get out so much.

George, the ESPN guy that creepily followed us to the parking lot with a failed attempt to “get a ride” to the Marriot, but not without some cheeeeeesy-ass pick up line along the lines of “Do you want to work for ESPN?” I’m sure there was some sort of sexual innuendo there to figure out… but like I have time for that. Duh. ALWAYS.

Lost my cell phone. Oh, never mind, I found it.

The weekend concluded with an afternoon text message: hey drunky, remember seeing me last night and saying you do not know me lol
Oh boy… Well, at least I didn’t get any ink from broken bar pens on my hands — oh yeah, that’s because I didn’t GO to Tequila Ranch. Bring back my Killer Burrito and maybe we’ll talk.

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