Thursday Night: When the Fun Used to Happen

Being the “Industry Girl” that I am, I only party Monday thru Wednesday. Occasionally, I head out on a Friday or Saturday for a birthday party or any Keistar event, but those are few and far between. I live for the beginning of the week now (album release parties, liquor promos, new magazine issue celebrations) but there was a time when I lived for Thursday night. Thursday night was for ignorance, debauchery, fun. The music was usually bad, we sweated out weaves and dresses, and we bummed a ride, 6 of us in a Honda Civic, at 3AM. That was the evening for 18 and up, i.e. people who wanted to party, but didn’t have an ID to do so properly If we were lucky then, we could find a 21-year old junior who was still gracious enough to go to Republic Gardens in D.C or one of the many bars down on Route 1 in College Park and buy our drinks. If we were unlucky, we got drunk on cheap liquor (Mad Dog, Lynchburg Lemondade, Bacardi coolers). Either way, we spent all day Friday nursing hangovers and dragging in afternoon classes. It was the best we could do, so we made the best of it. We didn’t know we could do better.

Last Friday, I partied like it was Thursday night in 1997. I went out for a night on the town—well actually an afternoon- looking for fun. Ace is in town on Spring Break (she’s in grad school) and I had the day off, it being Good Friday and all. We woke up around 9AM (she’s an early riser and I went to sleep at 9PM the night before) and finally left the house around 4PM. It’s Spring Break, what do you want? We started our adventure in search of food. A. Bistro, my personal fav wasn’t open for lunch (next month they start), so we headed back toward DeKalb to Chez Oscar for a breakfast of omlettes and French toast. Two strawberry mimosas later and with the sun still in the sky, we were officially tipsy.

After a very grown-up breakfast, we hopped on the train to meet up with friends at Calico Jack’s Cantina, an Eastside watering hole with a Mexican menu that caters to recent grads on a budget and city workers with new promotions. Now this isn’t my usual fare. I prefer chi-chi foo-foo places with dim lighting and celebrity deejays , but a lovely new associate who I met a couple weeks back at Slate and adored immediately extended an invite and I was happy to attend. Turns out $20 at Calico Jack’s gets you all-you-can-drink margaritas, beer, or mid-rail drinks (Jack & Coke.) Ace and I stuck to strong, but tasty frozen strawberry margaritas as strawberry seemed to be the theme of the day.

The deejay started off awful and maybe it was the strength of the margaritas (many) or the jello shots (!) but by the time a waitress in a halter started walking on the bar pouring bottle shots into the eager open mouths of male patrons, I didn’t mind “Whoop There It Is!” I hadn’t heard it in more than a decade. I guess I was feeling nostalgic.

Ania and Daven and many more had joined the fun and our party of 15 scored a table away from the mad fray that the bar had become by 8PM. Everyone inside the venue was joyful and fucked up and well, it was loud. We were giggling over something but nothing and attempting sobriety by consuming amazing guacamole when the deejay dropped the “Electric Slide.” We laughed at the randomness of the music selection while Ania rushed to the dancefloor with the hundred or so other people and dipped lower and kicked higher than a woman a year shy of 30 has a right to (“Pilates,” she explained. “Keep yourself limber. Helps on the dancefloor and other places too.”) She stayed out for “Bunny Hop.” (“Right hop, two times.”) We were so drunk we didn’t realize we were partying to Black wedding music.

From there, 8 of us headed to Pop Burger Midtown for an industry insider’s birthday party. More friends, more drinks, more ignorance! All in all, a great night. By 1AM we were all too done to be fit for public and not embarrass ourselves for weeks to come (we realized this when Ania decided to show how low-low-low she could go to Flo-Rida and T-Pain), so we made a pact to leave in 30 minutes, thus giving everyone time to close all deals for future hook-ups. Outside, us Brooklynites had to get a cab for a way too tipsy Harlemite (college rule: you make sure everyone is safe and the call when you arrive in your home is mandatory.) With our girl on her way safely, three more of us hopped in a cab headed South, and eventually stumbled into our adult dorms to crash.

I woke up Saturday morning with a hangover. (Cheap liquor!) LOL! A perfect Thursday type Friday night.