Pam wanted to grab a drink after work so we headed down to 151, a pub on 8th Ave. Very laid back mixed crowd that we seem to enjoy when we want to go some place low key. There's an airplane theme to this place. Other than the full name of the bar (Flight 151) I don't think there's any other noticeable flight theme besides this scary track they play in the bathroom that oddly mimics flight attendant announcements ("if there's an emergency, calmly place your head between your knees and kiss your ass goodbye").
The great thing about NY is that almost every place you go has happy hour every day 5 - 7 (sometimes as late as 9). $2 pints. Sometimes 2 for 1 deals. We were parched so we drank up, headed over to the Rockinghorse Cafe for another drink and decided to just walk and see what we stumbled upon.
At 23rd street we found a bar whose name is escaping me. We walk in and see two chairs next to an older man and we're not in the bar for more than 10 seconds before a very cute, very inebriated latino man is enthusiastically greeting Pam, right up next to her, hugging her. From that point on, Pam had a new best friend. Unfortunately for the old man next to us (a "homosexual" - his word not mine), this new young strapping buck was now focusing all of his alcohol-induced infatuated attention on Pam only. Clearly they'd been having a conversation before we walked in. The young cute guy we learned was Christiano. From Ecuador. With an impossibly amazing body -- he insisted we both feel his biceps. He was just grabbing a drink at the bar before meeting up with his brothers.
We're still not sure if the whole brother meetup was just a line because he stayed the entire time, snuzzling up next to Pam and acting all flirty cute. After two minutes of unsuccessfully trying to convince us he's gay, he admitted that he does, in fact, like the ladies but he has no issue with gay men so therefore we should both immediately touch his bicep again while the Bitter Old Homosexual sat off to the side secretly hating Pam and giving us the laserbeam deathray stare. That could have beem him touching the bicep, but noooooooo, Pam and I had to walk in and ruin everything for him.
At some point I met H & J and we started talking... although the details are a little fuzzy. We were there pretty late. And thanks to the randomness of NYC, we now know where to go when searching nonstop attention from a sauced up gayish straight Ecuadorian man.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment