Posts Tagged ‘brooklyn’

My Clam Chowder And Basketball Phenomenon

Posted by Olive

January 31st 2014

Story originally written and experienced: January 21st 2014

There’s something about clam chowder you probably didn’t know.

 And the story goes like this:

 “Hey. I bought us 2 tickets to unlimited clam chowder and beer. It’s next Tuesday and you’re coming with me. Bring. it. on.” Charlie relayed to me via e-mail on the Thursday night before.

 “Always assume I will say yes to these things.” Replied Olive.

 “I always do.”

 The event was this:

Screen Shot 2014-01-30 at 11.39.27 AM

Soul officially sold.

And when this curious Tuesday finally came about, the temperatures had consequently


To a chill 9 degrees

Inviting a treacherous windshield, a brutal breeze and a slippery tundra to accompany the commute.

Man down.

All for you, clam chowder.

Ensuring that only the survival of the fittest would be eligible and deserving of the steaming bowls of soup that were awaiting just a mere avalanche away.

Challenge accepted.

Challenge accepted.


The winds were relentless. But we were as well. And 8 frozen tears, 2 broken umbrellas and 7 episodes of my life flashing before my eyes later.

 We had arrived.

 We had finally.


The party has arrived.

In case you needed an accurate visual.


We were the very first in line – defrosting and far from defeated. Eagerly waiting to eat a classy portion of this highly acclaimed snack.

We ate 8 bowls.

So maybe we got a little out of clam.

True life: I have no self control


Between the 2 of us.

 Only stopping when the modern day soup nazis suggested we…slow the fuck down…and stop…and enough is very much…enough…and just in general:


Deja vu…


So we made a hard switch to booze.

As did others...

As did others…


And contemplated where to go next.

 “So like…where do you want to go next, Olive?”

 “I don’t know…maybe somewhere new? We’re drunk on a Tuesday and I’m feeling adventurous…”

 “Yeah same here.”

 “Well there’s the Whiskey Brooklyn down the street but…we’ve already been there.”

 “Totally totally. Definitely not there.”

 “Definitely not.”

“Wanna just go to the Whiskey Brooklyn?”

 “No doubt.”

   And alas we meandered >>> into the Whiskey Brooklyn just down the way few blocks away.


We meet again.

And in our 2nd arctic commute.

 I started to feel different.

 I started to feel really…different.

 Something about that clam chowder…

 Made me feel…invincible.


Ditto Leo.

And I would soon find out how.

We approached >>>  the bouncer 2 feet into the entrance way.

 “IDs please.”

 We handed him our IDs as I asked him “So are there a lot of people in the bar?”

 “Just 6.”

 To which we were like




And fRoLiCkEd down the







 passed the sketchy claw machine and eventually caused an absolute scene as we approached the bar.












Off the walls of the vacant establishment.

Alerting the other 6 attendees that we were indeed celebrating something grand. “Olive got a new job,” she continued “And we’d like to have a toast. Potentially post-gamed by the claw machine. Everyone’s welcome!”

 A round of applause ensued.


Mostly pioneered by a barely conscious man named Frank in the corner who eerily resembled Ceelo Green

Much appreciated, Frank.

Much appreciated, Frank.

I drunkenly blushed and gave a bar-wide thank you, also announcing Charlie’s recent promotion that was needed to be celebrated as well.

  The bartender had heard quite enough.

 “Ladies, this evening is entirely too epic to not whip out my finest bottle of champagne. Just for you.”

 He rummaged through his cabinets and alas emerged with this:

A vintage 2014.

A vintage 2014.


The champagne was divine. And also non-existent approximately 10 seconds post the offer. And happy off of chowder, booze and bubbly, Charlie and I suddenly noticed two gentlemen

To our right

John and Patrick.

Been there since 7.

Drinking straight Jameson.


We struck up a relatively friendly conversation.


And eventually ended up challenging them to complete array of vacant games   s  p  r  i  n  k  l  e  d    throughout the bar. And the games were as follows:

 1. Shuffle board

 2. Ski Ball

3. Hoops Fever Basketball

And thus the triathlon of bar games


Shuffle board was sheer domination.

 Charlie and I were fueled off of clam chowder and ready to take on the whole world. Ceelo Green impersonator included.

You're next.

You’re next, Frank.

John and Patrick relayed their sincere congratulations. Told us we did a great job and that they were genuinely impressed with our skills.

 To which we were like:


The next event was ski ball.

My nemesis.

My nemesis.

John and Olive up first. Charlie and Patrick up second. Both races were extremely close.

 But not for long.

 Eventually the 6th bowl of clam chowder was making its power play and suddenly we were not only (theoretically) man-handling John and Patrick’s balls in friendly competition…but also making mini bowling balls fly with incredible force down the champion’s ramp.

 …and 8 well-spent dollars later.

 We had won. We had . We had really, really won.

 John and Patrick once again gave us their sweetest regards and kudos. To which we said


Champagne was a bad choice…

And carried on our way to the 3rd event “Hoop Fever”

Name = hoop fever.

Bystanders beware.


The generous bartender brought us a round of complimentary Jameson shots as fuel.


Cheers J & P.


Charlie and Patrick went first. Charlie lost by mere 2 points. Potentially wavering our perfect score.

 It was all up to me now.


In a purple onesie.

Fresh out of a relationship with Jameson.

And channeling the magic of clam chowder as my unexpected weapon of choice.

 I threw each replenishing basketball with extreme and violent force.

The backboard nearly broke.

I couldn’t see anything.

I couldn’t hear anything.

Except Frank.

What's up.

Linger city.


And 33 seconds later the buzzer sounded. I came back to reality and asked “Did I win?” as I turned around and faced the gang.

All 3 fell silent.

And finally Charlie said”….Olive…you…just tripled the high score of the entire game…”

 Cue in the glory music.

And the support from my friends.

cheering gif

I did one single victory lap around the bar.




A casual drum roll against the claw machine.

And was finally wrangled and leashed by Charlie

cat on leash

To get the fuck out of there. We braved the arctic tundra once more. Jumped on the subway home. Drunkenly brainstormed between the similarities between cat food and tacos #notmany. And finally came home to our bite-sized, New York apartment with a workday that was a cruel….4 hours away.


 And that night I dreamt about clam chowder . And I dreamt about the super-natural talents I attained from such a spontaneous Tuesday night plan. That I hadn’t just spent 24.5 years of my life underrating a week night out.

 But a bowl of soup as well.

 And how taking random chances and drinking a little champagne.

 Could prove to be quite the unexpected phenomenon.

This message is Frank approved.

This message is Frank approved.


Like this story and want to tell me a weird one too? That’s some good shit. Shoot me an e-mail at and let me know what you’d like to see me write about next, or if you just want to say hey!

Booze. Brooklyn. And A Drunk Jesus Imposter.

Posted by Olive

December 18th 2013

Story originally written and experienced: December 14th 2013

The only thing better than booze and Brooklyn –

Is Booze. Brooklyn. And A Drunk Jesus Imposter.


  I’ve never declined a spontaneous adventure.

 Drunkenly locking myself in a public park at 1am

 Getting engaged and sleeping in an orphanage all in one evening and –

 Pretending to pass out to avoid a hook up in attempts to be the world’s greatest wing woman

All included.


  After the last impromptu endeavor Charlie and I took into the unpredicatable jungle of Brooklyn…

 I was a bit interested and slightly intrigued as to where this rogue Saturday afternoon might take us next.

 “Do you want to come with us, Olive? To the party in Brooklyn?” Katie and Charlie asked me on the subway home from brunch.

I looked at them with mild class and said


“Where are we going exactly?” I inquired as I    t o s s e d   off my floral blouse and traded it in for a grungy tee, oversized snow boots and a contemplated ponytail.

Fuck that.

Yeah let’s not.

“We’re meeting friends at a bar called 4th down. Right off of Bedford Ave. It should be fun. They’ve got fooseball…and snacks.”

You had me at snacks.

You had me at snacks.

And so we were in route. >> Hipster attitudes and PBR’s on the mind, battling the relentless snowstorm that proudly landed on the anniversary of the infamous Santacon.

An annual event where mass amounts of rogue santas

Screen Shot 2013-12-18 at 1.48.50 AM

One of these is not like the others…

sTuMbLe around the city, inflicting unexpected presents

Naughty or nice? I just don't know.


While Gingerbread men catch cabs



And off-duty St. Nicks can be found face deep in a Budlight with Geoffrey Beene

Hopefully Rudolph has his shit together #dd

Hopefully Rudolph has his shit together #dd.


After battling the masses in Manhattan, we slyly ducked into the discreet Brooklyn bar to hide away from the festive herd, investing in fantastic company, 6 for $20 PBR tallboys


 A lifesize Jenga.

Brb. Never.

Brb. Never. #mindblown


I played a round. And then I played 8 more.









My pride one slab of wood at a goddamn time #ladylumberjack

 And that’s when I heard it. An Australian accent. And then 8 more.

 “Hey mates! We’ve got heaps of booze ova heh!” One said.

“Hey look! A massive Jenga!” Said another.

 “I’m not sure how we got heh…” said the 4th, 5th, and 6th.

 They were drunk. All of them. Which was quite convenient. As everyone else at the bar was too.

Get on our level.

Get on our level.


One game of community Jenga segued into a bar wide flip cup and ended in conversation about their former whereabouts.

“Like once or twice a ye-ah.” they began to explain “a bunch of our mates get togetha and do what we like to call the ‘Williamsburg shuffle; wheh we just bah crawl around Brooklyn and just drink for no rayson. So. heh we are!”

 And there they were.

 But not for long. Moments later the shuffle was back in session.>>>

 And this time.

We were invited to join.

 To which we were like


And headed on our way.

 But first.

 To officially initiate us into the “Williamsburg Shuffle” they told me

“You can only come if ya moon dance out of this very bah”

 And I did.

 (Footage was too spontaneous to capture. Please see a mediocre re enactment below)

Passable, Mike.

Passable, Mike.


The diverse lot of us frOLIcked in the snow – Whiskey town bound and  ready for an unexpected evening that was soon to take a



 About the equivalent of 8 snowcones to the face later #hailtotheface we had finally arrived at our semi-final destination.

Olive and whisky together at last.

Olive and Whiskey – Together at last.


We were drenched. And remedied our chill with a few pickle back shots and Budlights.


 I looked to my               right.

 And saw an Australian in distress.

An Australian in distress.

This Australian = in distress.


“What happened? What’s wrong?”

 “I just tried to drank that candle. And tha wax fell on mah face.”

Screen Shot 2013-12-18 at 2.19.50 AM

The culprit.

“….And why…would you do…that?”

“Because I’m babay Jaysus. And babay Jaysus can do anything.”

And then everyone was all like:


But what?

His claim was wildly incorrect…but entirely too entertaining to ignore.

So naturally, we shortened his new found name to “Bay Jay” and witnessed as he spent the remainder of the evening drunkenly embracing his new identity (and other innocent bystanders as well)

Not rape.

Not rape.


Whilst he prompted for the “authentic shirtless approach”

Debatably everyone's treat.

Flashback to J’s teenage years.

And whipping out his credit card and screaming


Where he indeed treated his “fellow disciples” (us) to…water that unfortunately never quite turned into wine…

Annyyyy second now Bay Jay.

Annyyyy second now Bay Jay.


The Williamsburg shuffle swiftly changed into a A Christmas Pregame where a spontaneous Q&A ensued with Bay Jay himself.

 “Your birthdays coming up Bay Jay! Any big plans?”

 “Nothin big, just singin some hymns.”

 “Bay Jay! Over here! What’s your dad like?!”

 “Mah dads a great guy. There’s a book about him, ya know. It’s called the bible. Or as I like ta call it: Parts one and two…old and new.”

 “Thanks again for the round, Bay Jay!”

 “What can I say, I like to make sacrifices.” make...sacrifices...noted.

Likes…to make…sacrifices…and still no wine. Check.

Eventually the shuffle was back in action

 Only stopping to pound a slice of “blinking robot cake” we drunkenly admired on the way out

“It’s my boyfriend’s birthday cake!” the sheila in the booth told us

"It's my boyfriend's cake!"

Thanks for the update.


“When he was younger, his mom got him a robot cake but wouldn’t let him eat the silver frosting…which was the entire thing. So. At 25. We ordered him a new one. And here we are.”

 We laughed.

 We cried.

 I ate 4 slices.

And alas the lot of us shuffled over to an establishment called “The Charleston” that offered free pizza with every beer purchase.


The bar was chock full of…Santa Bunnies playing Buck Hunter

The amount of questions I asked = none.

The amount of questions I asked = none.

Taking selfies with temporary strangers

And going into in depth detail with a local as to why oh why he ripped off half the sleeve on his leather jacket.

Meet Glenn and Pat.

What’s up Glenn and Pat.






Answer still pending.

Answer still pending.

And that’s when I saw it.

 Right before my very eyes.

Fellow Australian herd member, Byron became overwhelmed by Bay Jay’s imposterous ways and went forth to claim the title for his very own. To show his true…diaper…and claim his territory with a sharpie marker in hand.

Screen Shot 2013-12-18 at 10.23.41 AM


Dancing happened. A dual between the buck hunting playing Santa bunny and baby jesus happened. Playing ski ball challenge against baby J. Definitely happened.

I won.

I won.

And after a strangely religious, pizza-filled evening splashed with Australian flair and questionable morals – Charlie, Katie and I decided to bid adieu to yet another strange episode in the strange Brooklyn jungle.

And it really wasn’t until we witnessed this sight on the subway commute home.


Tis the season…

And took an impromptu picture with a giant snack in the neighboring station.


Suddenly a little hungry.

 Did we realized that

 This was far from the last time something like this would ever happened again.

 And that we were potentially going to hell #skiballgamble

Happy Holidays Everyone.

 Keep adventuring, Keep loving and Keep living.

 It’s what Bay Jay would do.

10 Reasons Adulthood Left My Birthday Party

Posted by Olive

April 19th 2013

Happy Birthday! me...

…to this crazy asshole ^


Happy – I exist because my rents apparently didn’t wrap it and I feel weird about that but I guess it’s all good because now I’m all alive and shit – Day

Happy – Put cake in my face – Day

Happy – Was once gifted toys and t-shirts, now I’m drunk and I don’t know where I am – Day

Happy – Do something productive? Lololol. – Day

Happy –  I was going to unfriend you because you’re a stranger, but then you wished the shit out of my birthday via Fbook wall…So looks like we’re (tentatively) virtual friends for life  – Day

Happy –  No no really you don’t have get my anything! (I’m a liar) – Day

Happy – Get in a scary white van with a haitian name Genevieve in Brooklyn and somehow still be alive to tell the tale – Day


Let’s talk about this:


 Last weekend I celebrated my 24th year of miraculous survival. And I only say miraculous because of all the bullshit shenanigans I seem to invest myself into i.e.:

Getting trapped in a park completely alone at 1 am.

Getting trapped in a park at 1 a.m.

You’re a fucking disaster, Olive.


No questions asked -accepting a ride from a lunatic on the streets of New York – half dressed like spider man in his homemade buggy.

Very willingly accepting a ride from a lunatic on the streets half dressed like spider man in his homemade buggy.




Starting drama with a gigantic unicorn/human hybrid because apparently those exist.

Starting shit with a gigantic human/unicorn hybrid and expecting that not to be a problem.

I exist because my rents forgot to wrap it. You?


Sliding like a fucking maniac at the local playground.

Sliding like a mania at the local playgrounds.

I’m a goddamn animal.



I’m immortal as shit.

And also an idiot.

…But a very fun idiot


(Remind me to copy and paste that shit into my future online dating profile)

And one should always be a fun idiot on their goddamn day of birth (< Anniversary that shit. You can only be so idiotic when you’re 7 pounds, blind and immobile.)


(Get at me Hallmark)


Here I am. At the ripe age of 24. Expected to take on the world, swirl a mimosa in my hand and say things “These new kitchen towels are ROCKING MY WORLD.”


I’m not.

In fact.

My kitchen towels blow (clearance) and I use them to half dry my plastic cups. And after the absurdity that unraveled this very weekend, I can’t help but think adulthood showed up to my life party just.a.little.too.early. Like, I’m still dancing around in my penguin pajamas and already taste-tested 5 jello shots I made for the shit show that’s about to go down at my crib – but yeah thanks for getting here uncomfortably in advance, adulthood, and bringing your best friend responsibility – kind of early.

Let me explain. And let me to recap. And tell you about my 3-day bash this past weekend. Why I originally invited adulthood and responsibility to my birthday party. Just to be nice. And why they left shortly thereafter. But only because they just couldn’t seem to get along with youth, questionable decisions and a stolen tambourine.

Warning: If you’re looking for pictures of cake, balloons and candid pictures of me laughing at my friend’s faces. This blog post is not for you.


10 Episodes That Made Adulthood Leave My Birthday Party


1. The Unintentioal drug deal

Here’s what happened. It’s 4 a.m. We’re dancing like classy mother fuckers and making hott faces like this:

Sexy as shit.

That’s hot shit.


When suddenly I get a late-night appetite for Lil Wayne. I wander over to the DJ station. Ready to swoon him with my drop dead sexy ways.:

Funky fresh.

Funky fresh.

I put in the request. He tells me to go choke on something and leave him alone. It was a good talk.

But 1/2 a whiskey ginger later I felt like talking again.

And again.

And again.

3 more times after that.

I even brought out the big guns and rallied my friends to ruin his light show like this:

Put us on a LEASH.

Put us on a LEASH.


And eventually he pulled my wasian ass to the side. And told me that I needed to step the fuck off. That “Little Wayne” was NOT going to happen and if I just took this, would I please just go home?

And I shall call you "Mitch Jackson"

Hey hey Mitch Jackson.



…I went home.


2. Doing the worm and losing vision

Shortly before Mitch Jackson and I headed home, my amiga Ali came up to me with tequila eyes and told me that she had a surprise for me. A birthday surprise. A surprise that required me to hold her glasses. A surprise that looked like this:

Man in the back don't give a shit.

Man in the back don’t give a shit.


Man in the back thinking about giving a shit.

Man in the back thinking about giving a shit.


3 Shits given by the man in the back.

Man in the back giving approximately 3 shits.


Also, the answer is yes. Ali did leave her glasses at the bar and somehow managed to get home completely blind. But no worries, it only took 2 hours.


3. Convincing the entire bar to get barefoot and dance the fucking night away – thus gambling with the risk of STDS and/or any other unearthly disease.

Such an obedient crowd.

Such an obedient crowd.


"So Olive, how did get Leprosy?"

“So Olive, how did you get Leprosy again?”

4. Drinking In A Chimney…Again..

Other than Judson’s hand photographing in a terrifying way, this went rather well. Only minor cases of the black lung were reported.

Side effects include distorted hands.



5. Mistaking Celebrities for Cavemen.

I remember this moment precisely. I had just concluded a conversation with a stray labrador that wandered onto premises about feeling a little lost in life but hey also, was it cool if hitched a ride home later? Lolol”


But seriously pick me up at 4.

When suddenly.

I noticed a man out of the corner of my eye. No. Wait it was another animal. No…a man. No! An animal. Idk. Maybe both. I leaned over to my friend Asian Amy for a brief brainstorm.

Hey thanks for the balloon! Also. Check out that caveman/bear hybrid in the corner of the bar.

Hey listen. Thanks for the balloon! Also. Check out that caveman/bear hybrid in the corner of the bar. HAHAHA.


Yeah turns out it was Adrian Grenier.



You know. That trick from entourage.

Things I like: This.

Things I like – This.


And that gem “Drive Me Crazy”


drive me crazy

Hover the fuck off Melissa Joan Hart.


Was he an asshole? Sure was. Can I blame him? Sure can’t. Did I talk to him? Sure didn’t. Scared of cavemen.

6. Getting In A Scary White Van With A Hatian Named Genevieve

Shortly after we bid a mental adieu to Adrian Caveman Grenier, Krissy, Nicole Detamble, And threw our arms but for the nearest cab and noticed a someone’s personal mini van stop directly

in front


of us

Krissy threw open the doors  immediately and requested our next location. He introduced himself as Genevieve. And…of course.. he would be happy to take us wherever our hearts desired.

"Your wish is my command, batshit girls in the back"

…I desire Burger King…


We laughed, we danced, we sang, we even told him it was my goddamn day of birth.

Genevieve wept.

 Told me everyone deserved good things on their birthday and he would be happy to give us a ride FOR FREE.

Olive wept.

And then had a photo shoot with his Hatian ass. (…actually just his face.)





Fucking framable.


"Pose like a white girl!" Genevieve went with "Confused and hungry" - Nice.

“Pose like a white girl!” Genevieve went with “Confused and hungry” – Nice.


Mixed Emotions.

Thanks for the free ride. Shall swiftly launch our joint “Give White Vans A Chance!” Campaign first thing tomorrow morning.



7. Recruiting 2 Strangers For Birthday Lap Dances.

There I was. Double fisting the shit out of some potent margaritas

turkeys nest



When Asian Amy told me to sit the fuck down because she had a surprise for me.

2 surprises actually.

They were lap dances.

And they were going to happen right now..

At the goddamn turkey’s nest.

Nothing sets the mood quite like the Turkey's Nest Tavern...

Nothing sets the mood quite like the Turkey’s Nest Tavern…

And after looking at these pictures, I’d like to take this moment to profusely apologize to anyone I’ve ever made these faces to. Particularly if  flirtation was involved.


This is going well.



What makes you think I don’t want this?


Sexy can I.

…Sexy can’t I.


Working on my sex appeal. I make no promises.

8. Buying $1,300 Worth Of Empanadas

Buying rounds of Cuban food is all fun and games until…

Buying rounds of empandas is all fun and games until...

Mother of empandas.



9. Crash a Karaoke Company Party And Steal Their Instruments

Earlier in the evening we invested in temporary friendships with a lad named Ian. He requested our presence at his company “Karaoke party” later that night but we said we simply didn’t want to intrude.

We were liars.

We intruded. Stole their tambourine.

And walked the fuck out.

But only so we could do this:

That's pretty much all I have to say about that.

Wild animals.


10. Make Homemade mimosas on the go whilst convincing a mariachi band to get on the subway with you and play “La Bamba” Until you’ve reached your final destination.








I’d like to tell you that Ricardo didn’t toppled over with his accordion shortly after this picture was taken only because the of the train’s intense speed and abrupt stop but…he did. No casualties. Just an extended song break.


So yeah. That just about covers it. I shot adulthood and responsibility a mass text the next morning. Thanked them for coming out but said I probably wouldn’t be available to hang for another 8-33 years.

They didn’t text back.

Special shout out to my favorite clowns who celebrated my birthday with me.  I had that the most

Happy – I have no excuses for the shit I do and I probably never will so thanks for hanging out with me does anyone have a Gatorade also where did this tambourine come from-  Day

A wasian girl named Olive could ever ask for.

Cheers to 24 years of miraculous survival.

And filling it with the best damn stories and the best damn people I know.


If you’re in this photo. I probably like you.


Krissy, Harper, Charlie, Nicole Detamble, Meg, Mario, Asian Amy, Kyle, Adam, Ali, Katie, Judson, Ben, Leah, Lindsay, Lexi, Suleymaan, Meredith, Natalie, Brady, Shane, Kate, Joe and Anthony.

Because Even Easter Needs A Pre-Game…

Posted by Olive
March 30th 2013
I’ve never pre-gamed with elephants before.
But I guess there’s a first time for everything.
I can explain:
“Hey, Olive! I’ve got extra tickets. Free tickets. To the circus. Wanna go?”
I relayed a not-so casual


Followed by a warranted dance that looked like this:



And 3 months later…we were on our way.
Fuck yes.

“Ladies and gentleman, just so you know…shit’s about to get really…really weird.”

We ventured to the deep depths of Brooklyn, ready to see leopards a rogue, bunnies a bound and questionably-decorated elephants and humans posing about.
Yah trick yah!

Yah trick yah!

Nah trick....nah.

Nah trick….nah.



These tigers are so fucking obedient.


human cannonball

That’s one fly bitch.


Going for a bike ride, wanna come?

Going for a bike ride. You down? (…Or up? Idk.)


And eventually, after getting our minds blown to Ke$ha glitter, we decided to to make a night of it. To keep this evening of unexpected bedazzlement going.
But where?!
To the windows?
To the walls?
To the sweat drops down my balls?
To the clubs?
Make a call?
To a wine bar filled with Pauls?
We stuck with the animal theme and frolicked to
“Turkey’s Nest Tavern”
My kind of after party.

Hey hott stuff.


What’s the Turkey’s Nest, you ask?

A  fuck-free environment sporting large styrofoam cups filled to the brim with flattened Coors Light and standards that just couldn’t come out to play.
As it goes.

As it goes.

Needless to say, shit got weird.
Real weird.
No sooner that we had sat down with our cups of overfLoWiNg happiness, were we surrounded by an unfortunate medley of unwarranted eye contact and undersized pants.
We spotted a juke box in the far corner of the bar and decided trade in a couple of quarters for some modern-day jamz.
Meg began
through our limited choices with inebriated eyes and eventually she made a classy and executive decision and said:
We felt a heavy breathing from behind our shoulders. A human hovercraft of sorts. A human hovercraft that said this:
“Ay yo maybe you shu change the name of dat song ta HEY HO and meet me on the dance FLO!
“Heyho” (as I immediately dubbed this man) and friends immediately began going ape shit, solidifying their satisfaction of his most recent joke through noises like:
Chest pump
Hand slide
One of these:
Unphased by his spontaneous poetry, Meg pointed at him and said:
"Ew that makes you sound like you have an STD!"

“Ew that makes you sound like you have an STD!”

To which he said

“Wut can I say baby gurl. Imma diiirrrrrttttyyyy boy.”

No one was turned on by this.
And the song was tainted shortly afterwards.
Heyho lingered for a majority of the night, inflicting various episodes like, introducing us to his attire:
“Yo. Check it. DIS BE MY MUSCLE TEE.”
"Yo. Check it. DIS BE MY MUSCLE TEE."

How goes it…muscle tee…

Followed by a distribution of his business card that posed bar-friendly questions like:
“Got Diabetes?”
“Got High Blood Pressure?”
Nope...but uh...thanks for asking...

Nope…but uh…thanks for asking… *puts down sugary margarita*


Followed by an offering of his authentic e-mail address cleverly spelling “life”…”lyfe” with a series of numbers attached to the end of it. You know, just in case we wanted to…keep in touch:
So clever.

Lookin professional Heyho

But wait.
There’s more.
He even threw in a free gift.
A magnet.
A magnet with a collage of meese (my preferred plural of moose)
 with a lingering troll hand drawn in the bottom left hand corner:
Gaggle of meese + a troll. Classic party favor.

Gaggle of meese + a troll named Janet? Let’s get this party started.

Free gifts and muscle supplement opportunities in hand, I very willingly twirled the fuck around and attempted flee the free gifting-t-shirt introduction ways of Heyho.
I was greeted by someone else.
Someone with a hat.
Someone with a hat and a matching sweater.
Cool hat.

Cool combo.

I can’t recall his name.
So we’re going to go with a classic name. Like. Bartholomew.
Barth threw a margarita is someone’s face.
Then moseyed over in our direction. And as it turns out, he was a distant frenemy of Heyho ready to stir up drama at the local Turkey’s Nest. I explained to him that Heyho showered me with free gifts and cotton tee intros, and asked him if he could per chance “Top that shit?”
And so he rapped.
And it really twasn’t until the next morning when I played back the video of his recorded rap on my cellular device, that I witnessed myself dancing like a free-style animal to his homemade lyrics of:
“Ay yo trick ya you looking like a Hatian, but wait – OH SHIT! YOU’S AN ASIAN! I wanna spank ya’ll, from ya ankles, then I wanna eat some biscuits from BOJANGLES.”
So this is Bojangles.

^ Bojangles.

At that time the specifics of his hand-crafted lyrics fell on deaf ears. Very understandable that he would be misled by our interest seeing as we were dancing like the unicyling basketball players we watched at the circus just a few hours before.
Spank me from my ankles, you say? UNICYCLES! ASSEMBLE!

Spank me from my ankles, you say? Can’t. We busy.

Once we struck our final pose of this synchronized routine, we decided to invest in our craving of the local “Fucked up lemonades” served at a bar called “Berry Park” nearby, leaving Heyho and Barth at the mercy of the Turkey’s nest.
Berry Park was a goddamn success.
Lemonade was there, dignity couldn’t make it, but sent many a bearded man in his place. #Brooklyn.
And at some point, in between telling the bartender he had a really sparkly face and making a toilet paper castle in the nearby restroom—sola—I eventually caught the eye of one lad. One lad that stood above the rest.
But only because I knew this fool.
And he knew me too. He was a friend…of a neighbor’s…friend. I had encountered a few times before. We embraced. Took a pic.
This lad.

This lad.

And had a conversation that was as sweet as my diabetic lemonade…until he said:
“Man…I haven’t seen you in forever…wait…I think the last time I saw you, you and a friend broke into my apartment at 3 AM, drank all my blue gatorade, threw almonds around my living room, wrapped yourself in my roommate’s bath towels and then started singing the Borat soundtrack.”
I needed to flee.
And I needed to flee now.
I corralled my friends that were not so nearby and forced them to leave the Berry Park premises.
No explanations necessary.
It was now 3:30 AM and we needed to embark on our Upper East Side endeavor—immediately.


Grandma Barb was due at my doorstep at 9 AM sharp for easter morning toast.
I must get home. I must get home  now. I must be responsible. I MUST CELEBRATE JESUS.
But wait.
 …Great. Oden’s. Raven.
There it was.
With a glowing light.
Calling my strange-ass name.
Comparable scenarios can be linked to Harold and Kumar with White Castle.
Perhaps even William Shatner when he’s discovered a whopping good deal on
But there it was. The beautiful. The perfect.
Meatball Shop.
meatball shop brooklyn

I love you.

I’d like to tell you we went in for a snack.
Perhaps even to split an entree and cheers with a drink.
But in all confession…we ordered $75…worth of meatballs.
(receipt thrown away due to copious amounts of shame)
Pesto balls. Marinara balls. Mushroom balls. Side of mashed potatoes and a request for extra Broccoli cheddar risotto.
We screamed with happiness.

Blame the meatballs.


Get in my mouth.


I even winked at a table of hott men nearby only to realize one glance later that they were all sporting gay pride tees with perfectly manicured hands and haircuts.
As it goes.

As it goes.

And with that we journeyed home.
Knowing full well our appetizer to the sacred holiday of Easter was appropriately pre-gamed with elephants, a rap-off and of course, balls. 
Hope everyone has a fabulous Easter.
Here’s a gif of a couple of bunnies in cups to get the party started:
You're welcome.

You’re welcome.


2 Hipsters And A Guy Named Jeff

Posted by Olive

October 16th, 2012


Here’s what happened.


Just a week a half prior Krissy, Charlie and Olive were frolicking across the Alphabet City premises at approximately 12: 21 a.m.,  when Olive and about 3 shots of Jack Daniel’s screamed something like




What is Jules Jazz Bar, you say? A great question. I’m not so sure myself. However, at the time I attributed my spontaneous outburst to my extreme liking to their exterior decor that looked like this:


…In retrospect, I suppose I’ve seen more enticing presentations.




Charlie was already at the bar with a brew.


Before Olive could continue her monologue complimenting the wonderful choice of font,


The door was swinging.


And Krissy and                                                     Olive followed her




Upon Arrival

They noticed a man on the right side of the bar. On a scale of 1-2…he was a total 2.


They moseyed on over to him ready for impeccable conversation whilst a smooth jazz beat played in the background >>>


Once they had complete their 8 step commute to the latter side of the bar, they noticed


To their right was Man



To their left was…his mom.



Indeed I made the obvious choice.





Her name was Rosemary. Recent divorcee looking for a charming barrio in Queens. She likes gardening, you see, and plans to make her celebratory “mean, green southwest lasagna machine” when her Polish daisies are in full bloom. And it really wasn’t until her venting session about Chester, their pet hamster, that I realized I had spent the last 33 minutes of my Saturday evening romancing a stranger’s mom…





Olive made her way east to check up on Charlie’s opposite conversation particpant>>>>


“And then I said, SCREW HEALTHCARE! Oh hey, Olive!”




The moral of the story is this:


Turns out Man was a musician and Charlie had just so happened to charm the flannel off of him. They exchanged info and within a few days we found ourselves personally invited to his show just one short week later.


Fast forward







Charlie recruited the company of Harper and I to join her on her unplanned Tuesday night adventure. We were tickled to have such an exclusive invite to a “Facebook only event” and dressed to the fours in our most casual attire in attempts to defy the idea that any shits were given on our behalf. Playing it cool, you understand.


The bar was labeled….”Idle Hands” and according to the monstrous bouncer we needed to take about 2 flights






and hang a left.



Immediately upon our arrival we were greeted with a sea of plaids, dreads and bullrings.


Feels like home.




Uncomfy in their new surroundings they attempted to do a casual look around for Music man and heard the following comments whispered/screamed by local hipster #1  along their way, followed ever so charmingly by their collaborative responses.

















After a making few new friends they shuffled >>> over to the bar to grab a brew or 3.

“3 Blue Moons, please”

“Well-drinks or die.”

Good times.




After retrieving our Popov vodka with a minor splash of tap water, they set off on a necessary journey to find the very music man they had come to appease.





“Olive…are you sure?”

“Yes, he looks just like his mom.


Olive decided to play the “crazed fan” route, requesting a picture to make his band feel a little more special.





As it turns out, twas the wrong band….Just a guy and 2 of his friends, actually.


This was a mistake


However, I am ecstatic to report that upon hearing Music man’s performance, he was a smash hit at the live show.


And here’s how that was confirmed:


As Charlie, Harper and Olive were bopping along to Music man’s scandalous cover of a Phil Collins track, they noticed a girl (hipster #2) tearing up directly next to them.


They introduced themselves.

She apparently goes by the name…Mammoth….

They asked her if she was okay.




Oh shit, Daddy issues. – Let’s bounce. 




And bOUnce they did. But not before they were stopped by a man in a track jacket who introduced himself as Jeff. He was in search for his friend Ian (who was later confirmed as Mammoths bf) and was wondering if they, per chance knew where he was?




“Well, I’ll just stay and chat for a while.” And chat he did.


As it turns our Jeff is in the music industry. Could manage bands if he wanted to, but would rather be on the talent scout side, you know? The band that’s playing right now? Ugh, their manager sucks. They’re goin nowhere, nowhere I tell ya, nowhere!




They were entranced by his professional ways and eager to snatch up his this legend’s business card on their way out. But upon reading it as they exited the building, they noticed the card only said this:



 “Seeking full-time employment”

Graduation date: December…2012.


Who in the hell.




Alas, this lengthy episode came to a closing and  in the end I have considered investing in a few more plaid pieces, vintage Berets and indeed dialing the number on Jeff’s “business card”…thoughts?



The Accidental Disappearance Of Nicole DeTamble

Posted by Olive

September 29th 2012


“Olive. There’s a note for you at the door.”


 I was freshly awoken and ready to reminisce with my lot of friends about the ridiculous shenanigans that occurred the evening before until I realized


Nicole was nowhere to be found.


…Where was she?


Well the last time I saw her was…shit…I’m not entirely sure…she never made it home…at least I don’t think…but I’m sure she’s fine.


“Olive. There’s a note for you at the door.”


Harper called me from the front of the apartment. We both looked





and saw this:



I flipped the piece of paper over revealing a $40 taxi ride receipt claiming she had traveled all the way from Brooklyn at approximately 4:56am…what the…we never even…went to Brooklyn…last night…

I sprinted >>>




n the stairs and through                                                                the doors

of the neighborhood coffee shop


In desperate search of my missing friend.


Not in the booth.

Not in the bathroom.

Not outside.


She was gone.


Nicole was wandering barefoot somewhere in NYC…and I had no idea where.


I became frantic. We were currently housing her at our apartment, and she had nowhere else to go. Her scribbled note was the only evidence I had of her survival. I asked the employees. They knew nothing.


I ran to the meet the rest of the group..


“I can’t find her anywhere. I don’t know what to do.”


“Okay Olive, don’t freak out. Let’s just recount what happened and I’m sure we’ll be able to find her. What happened when the 2 of you separated from the group last night?”




I watched as Andrea, Kate, Harper and Krissy faded into the background, no longer in the sight of my inebriated vision. Nicole and I were sKIPing a few blocks behind when we spotted a stationary trolley.




And went inside.




We lounged on the benches, tWIRled on the poles, broke out our most insatiable moves, dropped a few beats,


when suddenly


a man POPPED ufrom the back end of the vehicle and yelled




We screamed. He screamed. We screamed again.


Apparently this trolley was this man’s personal home and our un-welcomed break-out dance session and live karaoke were indeed disturbing his slumber.






“…Okay so she was she kidnapped by the trolley man…or…?”


“Shit…what happened after that…no! No, we left.”


“Alright good! That’s a start! Alright Olive…continue…what happened after that?”


Okay. So. We fled the scene of the hit-and-run trolley dance session and scurried over to a bench to recuperate from the startling incident from a few moments before. We parked ourelves outside of a falafel shop extremely terrified and only slightly hungry.



we heard a voice to our right


A man was standing there with two spoons.

Apparently he was an employee from the falafel shop and had a few extra samples to spare

“I’m sorry…what?”

“I say would you like some a hoomus?”

“You mean…hummus?”


Nicole chimed in

“I hate hummus. But I’ll eat that shit.”

We graciously accepted the two spoonfuls of hoomus not realizing that  our final bite would directly coincide the ending of Saar’s shift.

“My shift is DONE DONE! Would you ladies like to…go out?”


I looked at Nicole


And then she looked at me


And then I looked back at her







“So you guys…went to the clubs…with the hummus guy…and that’s why…you were late to meet us?”


“This is all true information.”


“Alright…just…continue the story”


So we frolic with Saar over to a to bar called the “Grey lady” in the lower east side. He puts his arm around Nicole and then puts his arm around me and then I dropped some sort of line like “Hands off, Hoomus! You’re cramping my style.” And it really wasn’t until 30 minutes later when I snapped out of it and was like “…Christ Olive. You’re in the middle of nowhere with a Falafel employee. This is a terrible idea.” So I grab Nicole’s arm leaving Saar in the dust and jump in a cab to meet up with everyone else.


“Oh wait, yes! I remember you two showed up together! But didn’t you leave with us from there?”


So I walk into Dorian Gray’s and I look over at Andrea who had somehow discovered this accessory on her commute to the bar and looked like this:


I’m just not…going to ask


And suddenly everyone is d i s p e r s e d and before I know it Nicole has hand-selected a man in stripes in the far corner of the bar sporting one of the top 8 creepiest smirks I had ever seen.


About 20 minutes later the gang decided that pizza was indeed an immediate priority and it was time to round up the troops. I very willingly broke up Nicole’s self-inflicted romance and explained to her that we were leaving and although she was reveling in the throws of 3am bar love with the creepy stripes, it was probably in her best interest to go.


She told me she wanted to stay.

I asked her if she was sure.

She said yes.

I told her I would buy her pizza.

She said no thanks.

I cried pizza tears


And said okay but that I highly encouraged her to follow me on her way out. But when I hailed  a cab, jumped in and turned around….she was nowhere to be found.


“Wait…so we left her at the bar with that guy?”


We left her at the bar with that guy.











Andrea, Harper, Kate and I sat at brunch, in the midst of wondering how in the hell we would find a shoeless, abandoned Nicole who left her own personal ransom note in front of our apartment door that very morning when suddenly my phone rang.


Incoming Call:

Nicole DeTamble


“Hello?? Nicole?”


“Where the fuck are you?!”

“I’m in your bed.”

“…What the…how did you get into my apartment?”

“I’m not sure I just got here.”

“No…but seriously there’s like a double bolt lock on my door and you need a key to get into the building. How are you in my apartment right now?”

“I don’t know I just kind of walked in and got in your bed.”

“…Good to know…”






“Yeah so whenever you get back I’ll give you the lo-down on whatever happened last night.”


After a nice round of multi-grain pancakes and an unparalleled glass of chocolate milk. I shuffled home. Kicked down >> the door to my unsecured apartment and asked her what the fuck happened.


Nicole began to explain her accidental disappearance from the night before.



Apparently after we had left, she agreed to jump into a cab to Brooklyn with Creepy stripes…and after one hour and a half of wandering the Brooklyn premises…their conversation went like this:


Creepy stripes: “Hey so…where’s your place at…we’ve been walking around for a while now and uh…I’d love to come over.”

“…I’m not from Brooklyn…I thought you were from Brooklyn…”

“…I was just following you…”

“I was just…following you…”

“So neither of us are from Brooklyn…”

“I’m for sure not.”

“So…we’ve been blindly wandering around here for an hour and a half and…no one lives here.”

“That sounds about right.”






“I need to pee”

“Yeah me too”


After exchanging turns peeing in between two stolen Dodge Chargers on the streets,  while the other was on look-out, they decided it was in their best interest to head back to a place that didn’t have barbed wires shielding every apartment complex and Nicole  hailed down the ever sketchy “Evelyn’s car service” vehicle at 4:56 a.m. leaving Creepy stripes behind…in the 3rd most crime-ridden barrio in New York City.


Nicole demands the taxi driver takes her to Olive’s abode all the way in the upper east side. For a general visual:

Thanks, Evelyn.


One hour, $40 plus tip and tax later,


Nicole had arrived.


“I was drunk. My feet hurt from my hour and a half trek with…wait I don’t even know his name, maybe Liam?…Anyway. I attempted to get into your apartment realizing of course that…I don’t live there to which I naturally asked the neighboring coffee shop employees for help to break into your facility to which they responded “Absolutely not.”


Next thing I know I threw off my shoes in distress, borrowed a pen, wrote you a ransom note, and purchased some hot chocolate. Then, I waltzed back into the very coffee shop to which I had extremely recently requested breaking and entering assistance…barefoot and…proceeded to fall asleep in a chair in the back room of the cafe (which may explain why you weren’t able to find me ) and what was supposed to be a cat-nap turned into a full blown REM. That’s right…that is where I spent the night…in a coffee shop…Olive.I. Spent. The. Night. In. A. Coffee. Shop. And when I woke up at 11:30 a.m.. There was a man sitting directly next to me writing a novel, students flipping through their flashcards, families enjoying light hearted banter during their mid-morning brunch all with a drunk girl spilling over the corner recliner…without shoes, hugging her clutch, passed the fuck out on this chair that was facing the entire restaurant in their view…”


Nicole’s solo camping adventure


“And then you somehow broke into my apartment and…now you’re here?”


“That’s right. Also. You know how I have a terrible habit of giving my number to anyone and everyone?”




“Charged my phone and found these gems”


Creepy Stripes


Wrong name.


No idea when this exchange could have ever possibly happened.


Good god.


“I know. Also, I emptied out my purse and found this”:

Evelyn’s contact info and the hummus spoon, naturally






“I think I’m just going to take the night in tonight…”


“Yeah, I think that’s probably for the best.”

Noodles, Hoes and Armadillo Toes

Posted by Olive

August 1st 2012

Story originally written and experienced: July 26th 2012


Well. There are 3 things you can do in the eye of a storm.


1. Seek Shelter.

2. Tell your loved ones how much they mean to you

3. Frolic in the streets of Brooklyn with a styrofoam cup of PBR in hand, waiting for a faux James Blunt to purchase juice from the neighborhood convenience store.


Indeed they went for the obvious choice, and it was apple juice to be exact.




2 upper east side lassies, Olive and Charlie, decide they want to go on an adventure. An unplanned, unwarranted adventure…to a place where no one would ever even think to look for them…Uruguay? Too easy. Danville, Virginia? Too obvious. Brooklyn? Perfect.


They spent an undisclosed amount of time dressing the part of a Brooklynite. Floral dress? No. Groomed hair? No chance. Giving a fuck? Dream on. And so they were off. In green shorts, black flip flops and a look on their face that said “I’m definitely not from around here” while they completely ignored the gigantic, dark clouds lingering overhead. What are the chances that it would torrentially downpour within the next 10 minutes anyway? Apparently






By the time they reached their first destination, the aftermath was as follows:


1. The devastating loss of one side of a gold shoe (R.IP., Janet. You looked so peaceful as you completely  vanished into the 8 foot puddle on Berry street)


2. 1 Shirt that attained so much water it grew 13 times its original size and in fact, surpassed Olive’s shorts.  And Charlie’s dress that was soaked from the inside out showcasing her Casper the ghost panties for all of Brooklyn to see.






They waltzed through the Radegast Bier Garten doors with their ravishing new looks that brought their  man candy agenda to an abrupt halt II when they realized the stray dog 3 blocks down was in fact, having a better hair day ….1 pint of beer please…actually…make that 3.


As the storm was continuing to kick ass and steal shoes, Olive and Charlie shuffled over to a lone ranger in the corner of the bar, generous pints in hand. They laughed, they joked, they snapped pictures and finally the charming gentleman said “That’s awesome! Hey, also, this is my father’s seat and you’ve been sitting in it for entirely too long. So you should probably bounce.”…So far…so good…


You’re in my Father’s seat…move…


After the friendly encounters at stop #1, it was only appropriate to see what quality characters were awaiting their presence across the street. A two step was performed on the way out the door. Very strongly influenced by the pints of beer. But that’s beside the point.


Charlie waltzed up to the Levees dive bar, signaled for the bartender and coyly said “I want 2 black labels…with free koozies…and a bowl of cheese puffs…”


Wish granted.


Within 54 seconds the goods were delivered…and they ate more cheese puffs in that night, then the last 13 years combined.








Cheese puffs in hand, Olive and Charlie looked to their right. Yet another lone ranger sitting at the bar. Charlie scooted a little closer, offered him a cheese puff and (with half drunk eyes) whispered “Sup.”


Cue in Anthony the blacksmith.


Anthony was a local to the neighborhood. There by his lonesome. Dreaming of Frito Pie. What’s frito pie you might ask? Well. Per Anthony’s description it was “Cheesy goodness, deliciousness, yummy yummy yeah yeah okay.”


Perplexed, yet intrigued by his A. Conversation topic and B. Vague description, they inquired about the more specific ingredients to which he responded, “Cheesy goodness, deliciousness, yummy yummy yeah yeah okay.”


They had no idea they had signed up for such a deep conversation.


Surprisingly, Olive andCharlie still weren’t sold on the pie and as they turned to walk away (cheese puffs still in hand) Anthony swiftly ordered a Frito Pie for the upper east side visitors. Well, if you insist, Anthony.


Frito Pie = Anthony’s treat.


Charlie went first…and last…tearing through the “Cheesy goodness, deliciousness, yummy yummy yeah yeah okay” concoction and with 3 bites left she looked up at Anthony and said “Why am I the only one eating this?” To which he responded “Because…you took my fork.”


And there she was.


Holding the one singular fork that was the only vehicle between Anthony and his beloved Frito Pie. She had no reaction. She looked straight ahead, with absolutely all emotion vacant from her face…fork…still in hand and said “Anthony you wouldn’t know it but I uh…I just orgasmed…” The fork was dropped. And they were out the door. Leaving Anthony frito pie-less.


They stumbled down the drenched streets of Brooklyn until they approached a hairy man outside of the bar and asked him if it was a good place to go. He said “Yes it is they have styrofoam cups of PBR and…” the door was shut. Olive and Charlie…were already inside.


After ordering their mammoth sized PBRS, Olive and Charlie flipped their wet hair back and moseyed over to the hairy man they had confided in before. He was distracted playing online bowling. Minor detail.


They introduced themselves to his surrounding friends. One who possessed a voice that sounded eerily like James Blunt. They’re lower east side boys, in the neighborhood to listen to hairy man play. Rehearsal was in 10 minutes, would we ladies, per chance, like to join?




We only met you like 36 seconds ago?


Let’s do it.


And they were off once again…PBRs…still…in hand, en route to the music rehearsal of hairy man and co. WAIT. James Blunt was thirsty. “I need a fucking apple juice.” Right on James Blunt…right…on.


Refreshed and no longer parched, hairy man, James Blunt, Olive, Charlie and the gang headed over to what they thought was a venue, perhaps even a bar. Potentially a garage.


Dreaming too big.


We have...arrived...

We have…arrived…


The first obstacle was to naturally duck underneath a steel, garage door that led into a gigantic warehouse of trinkets, stuffed pheasants and aged clocks.


The fuck.

The fuck.


Room #2. Unidentified objects covered by white sheets (something to be worried about now that I think about it) and a small man sitting at a desk, with only one glowing lamp acknowledging his presence.




Sven peeked over his glasses and seemed completely unphased by his creepy whereabouts and uttered an “okay.”


And so they continued their journey through antique mysteries and unwelcomed dust bunnies and finally, after yet another room of disturbing décor




They finally arrived into a room carefully decorated with a Spice Girls poster and an Elvis Presley towel pinned to the wall. Olive checked her phone. No service. How ideal.


Hairy and James Blunt rocked out for awhile, taking periodic breaks for apple juice and towards the end Peter, a member of the gang became restless and progressively more drunk. Suddenly, he grabbed the microphone, completely disrupted “rehearsal” and melodiously interjected with his self written love ballad “Noodles, Hoes and Armadillo Toes!” …Where has he been all my life?


Peter, The Unruly.


After Peter’s unwarranted disruption to rehearsal and refusal to sit down, they decided to take his unruly behavior elsewhere. The Brooklyn…”bowl train”…to be exact. Who knew that Thursday’s were Brooklyn…”Soul train”…nights…they certainly, did not.


Within seconds every member of their new found group was free styling with transvestites. Not exactly where they envisioned their Thursday going…but whatever.


Peter’s dance- off  with transvestites, naturally.


Bud lights were flying out of cups. Peter was gyrating. Hairy was ball room dancing…solo. And between all the debauchery and sheer randomness Olive and Charlie made an executive decision to quit while they were “ahead” and bid adieu to their rather successful night in Brooklyn, New York.


They ventured back to the “L” train and made an absolute scene in the terminal. They couldn’t take two damn steps without dancing like Charlie Chaplan.


They befriended two innocent bystanders and struck up a conversation about the Japanese economy, or perhaps that was just Olive…and boarded the timely train. All of a sudden, a man in a plastic, orange cape, rainbow headband (made out of tube socks)…and a saxophone, hopped on the train as well and began to play the shit out of the instrument. People were screaming, clapping, tipping. At one point he put 2 of his feet on the side of the train, held onto the top bar with another, and played the sax with one hand, completely horizontal, as he bounced up and down. This probably wouldn’t be a good time to mention that he wasn’t very good. But a dollar was forfeited regardless.


They departed the train, $2 poorer and collided with a high school friend of Charlie’s. Where there would normally be a hug and with a side of small talk… was a violent slapping match. He said hello. She slapped him across the face.


Game on.


Olive sat there, slightly inebriated, with her left over cheese puffs and watched as the two slapped the shit out of each other and contemplated stepping in. But not really. The puffs were damn good. After their sentimental encounter, they made their final strides back to the upper east.


That night Olive and Charlie kicked down the door of their upper east side apartment and collapsed in bed. Satisfied, drunk and realized that they had a better chance surviving the storm than they would if they had ever tried to relive that night ever again.

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