for a good time, call sarah

Last night, after Gate Night, I ambled down a few blocks to catch the Smith Family gig. I have to confess that the highlight of my experience in Freddy’s Backroom had nothing to do with music. Or drinking. Or hilarious friends in cowboy hats and drag queen appropriate silettos hanging from the ceiling. Not that those weren’t compelling.

But it was finding Sarah’s url scrawled on the bathroom wall that really tickled me. I’m hoping to get the photographic proof when Ben gets in to work goes home tonight.

I fed my unearned hangover the mashed potatoes it demanded and am now feeing nearly normal. I say ‘unearned’ because I drank quite conservatively (a lady-like three glasses of wine all night) and even my bedtime was rather conservative for a Smith Family Night. I’m starting to believe the morning-after coma is just the price of admission. Which I’ll gladly pay. Even wandering around Brooklyn looking for the subway at 1:00 AM (we weren’t lost) is but a small offering to the Gods of mirth.