Showing posts with label Verizon Center. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Verizon Center. Show all posts

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Powder Sugar to Chocolate


Little did we know that tonight we witnessed Coach Jordan's last game. Wizards vs. Rockets good game, between the half hour wasted picking between the fried entree of the night and the luckily heavy pour of drinks we make it back to our box. Tonight I have an unusually large group, I like to travel is small packs ::keeps me under the radar:: We finish watching the game relatively sober, good game, I take that back great game. There were lots of great plays, and despite our record the Wizards weren't half bad. Unfortunately to a un-climatic end the Wizards lost the game.

With flurries floating about all night we pick a close place, after a cold walk we arrive at Zengo. We secure a table on the lower level and order drinks, before our first round arrives we're greeted with new additions to the group, much drunker additions ::the more the merrier:: I turn Baby C onto my drink of choice Zengo's version of a strawberry mojito the Yuza Fresa. We warm up with funny stories of how we all met, way back when. C and I realize we have to move our cars before the garage closes. So coats on we face the cutting wind and head to the garage, finding parking relatively easy we make a pitstop on the way back to the group.

Oya is the destination, trendy restaurant for the Penn Quarter area, the entrance is separated from the bar with a chain link curtain, multiple walls are lined with elegant fire places. The tables are wrapped in white leather then topped with a heavy lacquer to keep with the theme. The dining room is mostly white with clean lines. The bar follows suite wrapped in Red croc, lacquered and paired with Cow hide bar stools. Two lounges are off of the bar, never lacking a show, from guests lap dances to experimenting lesbians or should I say bisexuals. I think I've see it all here, bartenders over serving? Never.

Hugs and kisses exchanged we take a quick shot and we're back into the cold. C and I return to our group with a dramatic story of trying to find parking spaces, and the night continues. Another round more laughs, and a particular character comes to light... Shall I call her the 'twitch and slide' as the night continues she actually inspires a dance move that will be coming to a city near you soon.

Back to the nickname? Well the twitch comes with a nose rub and the slide comes along any smooth surface. I've never needed drugs for anything, definitely not to have a good time. But this was more than a good time, at forty-seven I think her time to stop and think has past with her latest bump and the left over on her cleavage explains that there is no going back. A sad thought for sure, but in this life, as I stand here watching and know I have to pick my battles this one, is not one of mine. Yes, I know buzz kill... It would be if she acted as pitiful as she really is but she doesn't she is a b*tch. So the jokes role in front of her, she'll never catch on after her recent trip to the bathroom. As she wipes her nose and explains her allergies to C, I stand behind to signal it's time to move and break from the group. 'twitch and slide' gives me a nasty look and any politeness I have is blown away with the powder sugar snowflakes outside. Now S has joined me behind and in the same terrible thought a dance move for the night is born... Pointer finger to close one nostril, followed with a slide of the shoulder and head in the same direction. Repeat with opposite hand, side and direction ::terrible I know, but you shouldn't be laughing then::
So the group splits into two and we make our way through the Penn Quarter and find ourselves at the ultimate date destination CoCo Sala, a restaurant and lounge devoted to chocolate. Warning I say the ultimate date, but this is a location for after dinner, do not bring a date here for dinner unless you want to pay $8 for one slider, want a plate of three, you do the math. But for all the guys who might not be a dinner deal closer, this location will give the extra time and booze needed. The menu boast of themed three course dessert selections, ultimate hot chocolate, chocolate cocktails, chocolate beer. The bar is modeled after a confection counter with marble keeping chocolate truffles cool and a glass top to display. The tv's all play too often looped video of chocolate images. The inside is draped with heavy reds, velvet, suede, silks and dark woods all adding to the chocolate ambiance taking over all of your senses. Once inside I'm greeted by a coat check that seems to be deadly confused with the ten dollar bill I've just given her for three coats and her job in general. Now I know why they left her with this job, she can't hurt herself here. C, baby C, and S order Coffee cocktails with what else but chocolate in attempt to warm up after our walk. L and I order real cocktails there are other ways to warm up. A normally chill crowed in the lounge area of Coco Sala was replaced tonight with a fortieth birthday celebration of drunken women in non-age appropriate skirts. Looks are exchange as we take the table next to them, cougars to kittens, they might know a few more tricks but we can learn them. I believe the saying is 'You can't teach and old....cat'

I feel the night winding down, it's been a long day. But the night is not complete until some terrible guys tries to hit on me, enter chubby-thirty something-had one too many-pumped up by a friend who wants to see him crash and burn. Earlier in the night I'm greeted by one of the cocktail waitresses from Oya and a couple of her friends. One in particular I remember, from the creepy look he's giving me ::mind sex:: He came to my birthday celebration last summer, and was later sighted asking friends from my party that he ran into around the city about me. Claiming I gave my number that night while being drunk, but he lost it and needed it again. I keep a tight group so alarms were set off and word got around the next girl he tried to get info about me from, gave him an earful about being a stalker.

Back to the moment, our group is tag-teamed, friend comes around to my side and creepster to the other side of the table by C. She is already laughing because she knows whats about to go down.
A whisper in my ear, 'you're such a gorgeous girl' uh huh 'you would make my friends night if you could just say hi to him' uh huh, who's your friend? 'Damon' hm ok,
hey Damon... your friend here tells me you want to meet me, and that's why you've come over to my table and interrupted my night with my friends. But what your friend doesn't know is that you've done this before, and we've already met.
A shocked look reaches his eyes and now his friend who is rendered speechless, as I hand him back his drink that he has placed much too close to me, I explain to him that his wannabe stalker friend has set him up.

On top of that fact, do I look like a girl who goes out to make some guys night?! No, not this night or this life. Take your drunk friend and get out of my sight before I stop being nice. Being nice is something reserved for a small, small group in my life. They leave and the table erupts into laughter to add to their walk of shame.

That's our cue to end the night and we make our way back to coat check where we find the coat check girl must not have been able to handle it and she has left every ones coats unattended. I climb into the booth retrieve our coats and we're on our way.

Someone once commented that I had a 'nasty' side, and I corrected them, all of my sides are nasty and I'm ok with that, stay on the safe end of the spectrum and you will be too.

-n
Picture of 7th Street in the Penn Quarter