Out and About
Went out last night.
It was me, Pan, Harry, Micky, Jude, Mike, Juice and, for the first and probably last time on this blog (drumroll), Phil and Andrea. First stop: a restaurant named Speakeasy. In case you're interested, speakeasies were places where alcohol was sold during the Prohibition era, i.e. illegally.
Wow. It's amazing how nerdy my inner nerd is.
Anyway, this Speakeasy is basically a tex-mex place with fajitas and lamb chops and guacamole and all that kind of stuff. It also isn't very cheap. OK, litotes. It's overly expensive. (Um, yeah, the credit for that fancy 'litotes' word belongs to Harry, who mentioned it yesterday during a very nerdy conversation.)
We eat, we drink, Mike is annoying, Jude tells us more about his recent break-up with Pocahontas, Micky is her usual bothersome self (we love you, Micky!) and we end up paying 25 Euros each. This is what happens when you let Andrea organize things.
We take ages to decide what to do next. A few people want to go to the cinema. The rest want to go for drinks, but as often happens, the minority is very loud and very annoying, so even if most people clearly want to go for drinks, we end up milling about for ages, unable to decide on a course of action. Well, I was totally firm in my drinks decision, and not because I'm a drunkard but because poor Pan's parents wouldn't let her go to the cinema because she would have been home much too late. Besides, a drunk Pan can yield very interesting results; innocent vintage skirts tend to get caught in the crossfire.
In the end, Mike and Phil leave, the big idiots. Jude had left a few minutes earlier, traumatised by the uber-expensive restaurant bill. The remaining six head out for God knows where. Honestly, I had no idea where I was; I'm not very good with directions. I lied. I'm abysmal at directions. If directions were an IB subject, I'd get a 1.
We let Andrea lead us. Juice and Micky share Juice's cool new iPod nano. It's rather pretty, but I like my iPod more. He's called Bob. He's one of the older iPods, without the annoying clicker wheel that I hate. The earphones are falling apart, the battery life is ridiculously short, but I wouldn't change Bob for the world. OK, maybe for a video iPod.
After traipsing around Milan for half an hour, and it's a good thing the weather's finally turning and it's no longer freezing cold, we reach a lounge bar named Sid (OK, not really, but I'm obsessed with anonymity, so bear with me). We go in, we sit down, the waitress comes and we find out she's a real bitch. There's six of us, right? Five of us order drinks (absurdly expensive drinks, I should add). Harry, who's still on that pesky diet of hers, doesn't order anything. Well, the kind waitress makes a sour face and tells us: 'La consumazione รจ obbligatoria,' meaning that Harry too has to get something. So we tell her that Harry needs a minute to decide, so she leaves, telling us she won't tell the barman our orders until Harry gets something too.
Harry, stubborn as she is, refuses to buy anything. Micky is about to snap at her. I was rather hoping she wouldn't, and she didn't, thank goodness. We call the waitress back and tell her, quote: 'Ma scusi, siamo in sei, e cinque prendono qualcosa da bere. Non mi sembra un problema se qualcuno non vuole niente.'
Translation: 'Excuse me, but there's six of us, and five of us are getting something to drink. It's not that big a deal if one of us doesn't.'
She replies, quote: 'Si, ma mi sembra molto chiaro dal menu che la consumazione sia obbligatoria.'
Translation: 'Yes, but it seems to me that it is very clear from the menu that you must all get something.'
And still we refuse to give in, at which point she leaves looking mighty peeved and takes way too long to bring us our drinks. I'm pretty sure she spat in them, but I'd rather not think of that right now.
The night seems to be winding down when, lo and behold, who should walk past us but Vicky, Mel and Mags, drug addict extraordinaire? We rise and greet them. Mags is exceedingly tipsy. Mel and Vicky are on the right track. It turns out Mel's sister is having her sixteenth birthday party on the second floor of that same Sid we're sitting at! Now Milan is pretty big place and it's quite a huge coincidence for something like this to happen, hence the moderate excitement.
We talk. Evil waitress eyes us suspiciously. Mags goes out for a cigarette (because she's so cool). Pan and I leave Micky and the rest to converse with Mel and Vicky. We follow Mags outside. She's out there smoking with one of Mel's sister's friends. We completely ignore him. Mags offers me a cigarette, which I decline. She then offers one to Pan. An exclusive extract of that little exchange is right here:
Mags: Pan, would you like a cigarette?
Pan: No, thanks.
Mags: Do you smoke?
Pan: [hesitates for a moment] Um, not today.
I'm sorry, Pan, but I shall mock you forever for that little reply. 'Not today'- muaahhahaha!
We go back in. Micky leaves. Eventually, Harry, Pan and I decide to leave as well. A taxi is called. Andrea and I go upstairs to say bye to our decadent, bohemian friends. Mags is reclining on a sofa, laughing at the ceiling. As I say goodbye to her, she whispers in my ear: 'TPF, I have to tell you a secret: Mel's top is torn right under her breasts!' More senseless laughter.
I look at Mel's top. It is indeed torn right under her breasts. I tell Mags to tell her, and Mags replies: 'She knows!' More laughter. (Note: Mel isn't exactly known for her brains.)
Unable to stand anymore of this drunk opulence, I leave. Harry, Pan and I board the taxi. I get dropped home first because my mum tends to get paranoid if I come home alone late. What time did you get home, are you asking? Midnight. Sorry, were you expecting two in the morning or something? You're on the wrong blog, then. I'm a nerd. I don't do those things.
Total spent: 42 Euros: a record.
PS: Being as it is carnival here, I got sprayed with shaving cream on the way to the restaurant. My poor hair was hit, as was my favourite jacket. 'Stronzo!' I yelled after the offender. He just laughed and ran off. What an asshole.
It was me, Pan, Harry, Micky, Jude, Mike, Juice and, for the first and probably last time on this blog (drumroll), Phil and Andrea. First stop: a restaurant named Speakeasy. In case you're interested, speakeasies were places where alcohol was sold during the Prohibition era, i.e. illegally.
Wow. It's amazing how nerdy my inner nerd is.
Anyway, this Speakeasy is basically a tex-mex place with fajitas and lamb chops and guacamole and all that kind of stuff. It also isn't very cheap. OK, litotes. It's overly expensive. (Um, yeah, the credit for that fancy 'litotes' word belongs to Harry, who mentioned it yesterday during a very nerdy conversation.)
We eat, we drink, Mike is annoying, Jude tells us more about his recent break-up with Pocahontas, Micky is her usual bothersome self (we love you, Micky!) and we end up paying 25 Euros each. This is what happens when you let Andrea organize things.
We take ages to decide what to do next. A few people want to go to the cinema. The rest want to go for drinks, but as often happens, the minority is very loud and very annoying, so even if most people clearly want to go for drinks, we end up milling about for ages, unable to decide on a course of action. Well, I was totally firm in my drinks decision, and not because I'm a drunkard but because poor Pan's parents wouldn't let her go to the cinema because she would have been home much too late. Besides, a drunk Pan can yield very interesting results; innocent vintage skirts tend to get caught in the crossfire.
In the end, Mike and Phil leave, the big idiots. Jude had left a few minutes earlier, traumatised by the uber-expensive restaurant bill. The remaining six head out for God knows where. Honestly, I had no idea where I was; I'm not very good with directions. I lied. I'm abysmal at directions. If directions were an IB subject, I'd get a 1.
We let Andrea lead us. Juice and Micky share Juice's cool new iPod nano. It's rather pretty, but I like my iPod more. He's called Bob. He's one of the older iPods, without the annoying clicker wheel that I hate. The earphones are falling apart, the battery life is ridiculously short, but I wouldn't change Bob for the world. OK, maybe for a video iPod.
After traipsing around Milan for half an hour, and it's a good thing the weather's finally turning and it's no longer freezing cold, we reach a lounge bar named Sid (OK, not really, but I'm obsessed with anonymity, so bear with me). We go in, we sit down, the waitress comes and we find out she's a real bitch. There's six of us, right? Five of us order drinks (absurdly expensive drinks, I should add). Harry, who's still on that pesky diet of hers, doesn't order anything. Well, the kind waitress makes a sour face and tells us: 'La consumazione รจ obbligatoria,' meaning that Harry too has to get something. So we tell her that Harry needs a minute to decide, so she leaves, telling us she won't tell the barman our orders until Harry gets something too.
Harry, stubborn as she is, refuses to buy anything. Micky is about to snap at her. I was rather hoping she wouldn't, and she didn't, thank goodness. We call the waitress back and tell her, quote: 'Ma scusi, siamo in sei, e cinque prendono qualcosa da bere. Non mi sembra un problema se qualcuno non vuole niente.'
Translation: 'Excuse me, but there's six of us, and five of us are getting something to drink. It's not that big a deal if one of us doesn't.'
She replies, quote: 'Si, ma mi sembra molto chiaro dal menu che la consumazione sia obbligatoria.'
Translation: 'Yes, but it seems to me that it is very clear from the menu that you must all get something.'
And still we refuse to give in, at which point she leaves looking mighty peeved and takes way too long to bring us our drinks. I'm pretty sure she spat in them, but I'd rather not think of that right now.
The night seems to be winding down when, lo and behold, who should walk past us but Vicky, Mel and Mags, drug addict extraordinaire? We rise and greet them. Mags is exceedingly tipsy. Mel and Vicky are on the right track. It turns out Mel's sister is having her sixteenth birthday party on the second floor of that same Sid we're sitting at! Now Milan is pretty big place and it's quite a huge coincidence for something like this to happen, hence the moderate excitement.
We talk. Evil waitress eyes us suspiciously. Mags goes out for a cigarette (because she's so cool). Pan and I leave Micky and the rest to converse with Mel and Vicky. We follow Mags outside. She's out there smoking with one of Mel's sister's friends. We completely ignore him. Mags offers me a cigarette, which I decline. She then offers one to Pan. An exclusive extract of that little exchange is right here:
Mags: Pan, would you like a cigarette?
Pan: No, thanks.
Mags: Do you smoke?
Pan: [hesitates for a moment] Um, not today.
I'm sorry, Pan, but I shall mock you forever for that little reply. 'Not today'- muaahhahaha!
We go back in. Micky leaves. Eventually, Harry, Pan and I decide to leave as well. A taxi is called. Andrea and I go upstairs to say bye to our decadent, bohemian friends. Mags is reclining on a sofa, laughing at the ceiling. As I say goodbye to her, she whispers in my ear: 'TPF, I have to tell you a secret: Mel's top is torn right under her breasts!' More senseless laughter.
I look at Mel's top. It is indeed torn right under her breasts. I tell Mags to tell her, and Mags replies: 'She knows!' More laughter. (Note: Mel isn't exactly known for her brains.)
Unable to stand anymore of this drunk opulence, I leave. Harry, Pan and I board the taxi. I get dropped home first because my mum tends to get paranoid if I come home alone late. What time did you get home, are you asking? Midnight. Sorry, were you expecting two in the morning or something? You're on the wrong blog, then. I'm a nerd. I don't do those things.
Total spent: 42 Euros: a record.
PS: Being as it is carnival here, I got sprayed with shaving cream on the way to the restaurant. My poor hair was hit, as was my favourite jacket. 'Stronzo!' I yelled after the offender. He just laughed and ran off. What an asshole.
Labels: Outings
posted by The Poodle's Friend at 9:21 AM
11 Comments:
You know what, why don't you rename this blog into 'Lets all make fun of Pan by taking advantage of her in her moments of weakness'? Are you ever going to let the bloody vintage skirt incident go? The whole 'not today' thing seemed funny in my head after the blue drink, it wasn't my fault. Seriously, TPF, you really shouldn't make fun of your ex-best friends on your blog, you are mean enough to them in real life itself.
Your deserved the shaving cream, for being so late. If you had just come earlier, you would have saved us all the trouble, so stop whinging about your hair.
Great imitation of the evil waitress btw, I still don't get what her bloody problem was.
This is the last time I'm going out anywhere when Andrea does the organizing. Thanks to him I'm broke!
Wow! long comment...
Yeah, I was also shocked at how abismally expensive the restaurant was, but that is because the guys got something like two beers each.... and onion rings.... and nachos.....
I dunno... would you say it was a successful night?
Oh- you refrained from mentioning that panacea and I were entirely sprayed (including my beautiful glasses!!) because of YOUR lateness. Of course, I am always on time... *cough*
can somebody pleaaaaaaaaaaase tell me the vintage skirt story!!! imagine the blackmail potential! c'mon, you hate her as much as i do!
mags sounds like insane amounts of fun, lucky you for knowing her.
what does stranzo mean anyway?
and why shaving cream? of all the wonderful things in the world that would leave a stain...
Cookie, stay away from the bloody vintage skirt story! You have enough potential blackmail material about me already. Its was a traumatic experience for both me and the skirt, especially for the skirt I guess, but still...
Mags is an idiot, TPF should know, they were best friends in 10th and 11th grade and used to smoke dope together in the third floor school bathroom.
Of course, because I'm such a bad girl. Honestly, I can barely forge signatures without going on guilt trips, smoking dope in a school bathroom is a little beyond my league. And Pan, you're just jealous because you didn't get to hang out with the cool people like Mags! So there! And it's your own fault for drinking a blue drink. What can I do but mock you? it's not my fault you're so mockable.
Eris, don't worry, if Pan doesn't do a vintage skirt post soon, I will. Yes, Pan, that's a threat.
And Harry, your incessant feuding with you-know-who is getting on my you-know-whats. Oh, and what beautiful glasses?
Frankengirl, I give you leave to insert Pan's inane dialogue into one of your plays =)
I got really nostalgic reading your post.
I miss Europe, but thank god that the prices in South Africa are far cheaper. Italy was my favourite place in Europe, I had my first real kiss in Rome...it was summer and I was on vacation with my parents and my younger sister, didn't know a word of Italian...anyway...Im lost in daydreams of when life was so full of possibility and romance... I was in Italy twice, and both times were centred around passionate romances...Maybe I will come back some day.
Simmi: can you believe I've never been to Rome once? And I've lived in this country for sixteen years... A first kiss in Rome must be so romantic. *sigh*
It was really not as romantic as it sounds, I got a fright when he put his tongue in my mouth! I promtly got up and muttered something like 'i have to go', so I dont think I was that graceful, or sophisticated, but we stayed for an entire month, and yes I got to like being kissed, and spent the rest of my summer kissing a more expirienced kisser than the first boy, his name was Fabricio and he was really romantic. Visit my blog, maybe I will write an insert on my Italian Romance...and spill all the juicy details.
I still have love letters which I recieved from Italy...although I did not understand a word, as they were written in Italian...maybe you could trancelate them for me one day.
Did u leave Turkey when u were 1 years old? or are u borne in Italy?
Like u, I lived in denmark for 16 years. How do u feel having a multicultural background?
In Denmark in the 70's, 80's, and 90's, foreigners often stuck together, so I was brought up with many Turkish friends. Walla...just kidding, but I do
miss them alot
Simmi - This juicy italian romance post sounds very interesting. I would be glad to translate for you, and let me take this opportunity to gush over how romantic it must be to receive love letters in italian, even if you don't understand them.
I left Turkey when I was 2 and I really miss it, though it's a good thing to have a multi-cultural background. At the risk of sounding awfully cliched, it gives you a perspective on things that others don't really have.
I do not think that it is cliched, I do believe it is an advantage to have a multicultural background. But for me it also raises
questions about tollarence, equallity, (be)longing, home and identity, memories, and existing within the memories which ties your experience together, and which only really exists in your memory...but again, it is different for everyone. I would love to hear more. Im posting from Ireland.
as i sit and write it is storming outside. The house (which is huge) overlooks the sea, with huge panorama windows, all there is to create a border is the line of the horizon between the sea and the sky, it is unbelievably beautyfull, even in the most dull weather...sorry, this is completely irrellevant...but it is storming so much that I can feel the house shake.
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