I went from Fly to Nigh in a few days time, from partying with some classy folks at Cielo the other night to crawling through (shielding my face from onlookers), by far, some scanky ass bars in the Bronx this week.
Bar 1: Casbar on Castle Hil avenue.
In search of a good karaoke night (Karaoke Survivor was shut down through a series of unfortunate events) I followed my fellow Karaoke heads to the CasBar. I dressed in a lovely little Mossimo dress and Via Spiga tights, looking oh so fresh, with some lovely black leather slouched ankle boots and found myself neck high in trash. Could it have been the vinyl poster of a beach scene stretched (rather loosly) across the length of the bar, only to be met by a classic Ms PacMan arcade game? Perhaps it was the cluster of bleary eyed, shoulder high men that cast their hungry little eyes upon my friends and me. It might have been the busty bartender with severely malnourished hair fixing the drinks. Or maybe it was just the snarling suspicion that a fight would surely break out between the guys at the pooltable trying desperately to profile their Pool Prowess.
After a few cocktails generously provided to me by my pals who saw the horror scrawled across my face, I loosened up and signed up for a few songs. It was ok, but the vibe was growing more tense and I couldn't have imagined myself in a bar room brawl and tearing my tights or scuffing my boots.
On to Bar Two: Paquita's:
Known for its yummy Pastelillos and cocaine, we headed (my head hanging in shame and my heart heavy from wasting a totally cute outfit) to this place. Let me paint you a picture:
The 'dining area' is painted electric blue. The aroma of yummy fried cholestrol hanging heavy in the air. K-mart posters of 18th century French maidens perched atop swings encased in faux barque guilded frames alongside the remnants of a flung beer bottle. Christmas lights slung on the wall. Matching Candelabra sconces. Cafeteria lighting. Gold glitter smattered across the cieling. Shiffon tassled skirting over bare lightbulbs. Did I mention the raw Spackle? Or the bartender in an Easy Pickins promdress and Flip Flop wedges? All the fixin's of a night in Parkchester.
But the spanish music was pulsing through the horrorshow and through me and I couldn't resist. Another cocktail and I found myself on the makeshift dancefloor, twirling with aplomb. This could have been a most aweful night had it not been for the uplifting spirit of my friends, who laughed at my panic stricken face and plowed me with drink. We laughed as i snagged my dress in my heels while performing a drunken Suzy Q, or when I dropped my enormous hooped earrings in a fantastic spin. We took photographs and laughed til our bellys ached.
There is something so charming about nights like this, to drop your guard for a second, to walk away from the pomp and circumstance of $15 cocktails, coat checks, scanned drivers licenses and aloof bartenders and scank it out with your girls.
I should be scanking it out next weekend too. Maybe even tonight!
Happy New Year Everyone!!!
WEPPPPAAAA!!!!!!!
