This is our reality show:
The true story of nearly a dozen bloggers (give or take a few) who met at a bar and agreed (their presence implied consent) to have their lives blogged…to find out what happens when bloggers stop being polite (as if we ever really were) and start getting real.
Cast members: Ari, C, Fish, Ken, Steve, Jessica, Lisa, PetiteDov, Yaron, Karol, Ivan, the Notorious C.O.D. and others. (See section below for links a-plenty.)
It all started when Ari decided to have a birthday. Now, we told her this would mean aging, but apparently, with a new job and fancy salary on the horizon, girlfriend was up for a party.
I arrived at Mica 385 fashionably late, and spied some lovely ladies at the bar, sipping their cocktails. After wishing the birthday girl many happy returns, I was hugged almost to the point of death by the snappily dressed Ken Wheaton, who, heady with the intoxication of being in the company of beautiful women and one special man named Jack (Daniels) as well as mourning the loss of a beloved four-legged friend, stared deep into my
cleavage eyes and told me how drunk he was how happy he was to see me.
Fish and I talked about
cleavage book deals, her fancy new “This Fish” t-shirts, and what we might have to do to get Ken a glass of water when the waitress vanished for long periods of time, apparently having gone to New Jersey to fetch our drinks.
C and I schmoozed on religion, tho’ not much past the point when I thought I heard her say: “I’m an atheist so I was raised Catholic,” a sentence which made no sense to me until she replaced the "so" with its rightful "and." And then, not unaware of the irony, we danced to Michael Jackson’s (P.Y.T) Pretty Young Thing—and yet were somehow not indicted on child molestation charges.
There was dancing by Karol in a kicky red skirt. And there were couches. And at some point, there was the biggest bag of chocolate covered espresso beans I’ve ever seen in my life, all in tribute to the purportedly-aging-but-still-younger-than-me Ari.
PetiteDov came in from Boston again, and we talked about how much we wanted to talk to each other. But then she got swept up into some sort of Russian social syndicate, and with only a “spaceba” (which autocorrect keeps changing to “spacebar”) and “minya zavut Billy Joel” to my Cyrillic repertoire, I couldn’t break in.
Steve talked about how all of his posts had mysteriously vanished from his blog, but stayed relatively happy, especially when I told him I knew a little Aramaic. Ivan snapped photos for posting on his blog. There was a Smurfette on the bar. There was modelicious posing (I think I've found my calling--see right, with Jessica). And most importantly, there was a concerted attempt to snap Ken to other people.
And all of that was before the Notorious C.O.D. (Crazy Ol’ Dawn) arrived.
If it looks like we had fun, that’s ‘cause we did.
And I think it’s worth pointing out that a year ago, I had never met any of these people. Behold: yet another proof to the power of blog.
Apologies in advance for anyone I left out. Send me a note and I'll add you!