Little Ms. Popular

About three weeks ago was trying to find the time to write a posting on how I was starting to feel like one of those bad parents that you see in the movies. You know the ones that are always calling up the kid on their birthday (right when they are about to blow out the candles on their cake) and telling them, “Sorry honey. Mommy can’t make it to your birthday party because work/forgetfulness/drug addiction came up.” That was me. Except I was telling friends that I couldn’t make it to their event that they were promoting, their concert, or their poetry reading because I was tied up with something else.

I was always running late! Either I was jetting from one event to another, or being held up by a friend before I could even get out the door. All the while I would be scrambling to make it before the guest list cut off. However, it’s dreadfully tacky at the same time to be furiously texting your host as you stomp down Orange Ave. begging them to make sure you can still get in for free at 11:40p when the list stops at 11:30p. It’s also shameful to tell your host that you can’t make it at all since you missed the cut-off. I try to do both as little as possible.

Events aside, I feel as though I’ve also been the crutch for my friends as well. Maybe something is in the water here, but it seems as though everyone is going through some major issues, and they all seem to want to resolve them downtown. I’m pulled in a million directions via texts and Facebook status updates that I’ve been tagged in. I’ve looked at my notifications to see that apparently I’m slated to be at Independent Bar on a Tuesday night for Grits and Gravy, even though I have work the next morning and Diana Ross makes me want to slit my wrists. As much as I’d like to say no thanks, it’s a little hard to do so when you’ve got five people who have already started posting comments that they can’t wait to see you out… Even though I just saw many of them the night before, and the night before that one, and have already had two conversations via text with them that same day. And then there is my favorite line: “It’s not like you have to drive 45 minutes home anymore. You live downtown now!”

I’ve never been the ‘popular’ girl my entire life. It’s quite flattering to me that someone thinks that my presence will make or break their night out on the town. It’s fun to walk up to a group of people and hear one of them squeal, “Bougie’s here!” But here is the true reason why it’s all irritating me so: Surprise, surprise- I’m going through a lot, too. I’m trying to tackle issues that come with being an adult- bills, work, and attempting something called ‘dating’ but I have long since given up on that. I live in a shell of an apartment that I’ve barely felt connected to since I moved in nearly two months ago, because guess what? I’m never here. When I’m out, I’m not allowed to have feelings either. I’m not allowed to just sit back and take in the scenery with a water in my hand. Someone is always coming up to me shoving a drink to my lips, or asking me why I look melancholy. Yet before I can answer, I’m being told that I’m not allowed to be- not tonight, because Bougie is needed.

All I’ve wanted to do for the last few weeks is go home (wherever that is), throw on my NOFX t-shirt and a pair of boxers, crank the Greeley Estates on my iPod and relax on the couch after I organize more of the things I need to unpack around the apartment. I just want to be Heather.

Tonight I hit up Shari’s sushi happy hour (try saying that one five times fast) in Thornton Park with my good friend Dru. Over $3.75 cocktails and sushi rolls, I described how two weekends ago I lost my iPhone at Back Booth. I’ve broken down into tears over it several times since then, as well as nearly pulling a Naomi Campbell by smashing my previous BlackBerry into a million pieces because it won’t receive text messages or show me calls I’ve missed. Although my perfectionism is numero uno on the list of why I’m so distraught over losing my phone (I’ve never lost a phone- ever- let alone anything worth more than a few dollars) , the second reason I’ve been so torn up is because I feel completely disconnected from the world. When I’m bored at work, I can’t just shoot a text to my friend Lauren and have some of her wit hold me over for a few more hours. I can’t catch up with people via Facebook chat while I’m walking down Central Boulevard. I can’t watch a movie and IMDB it when I have an inquiry.

My friends have treaded lightly around this topic with me, but all have stated clearly that this is a good thing for me. They, as well as any guy that I’ve attempted to have a relationship with in the last 2 years, will say that I was always on my phone. Always. By now I’ve finally gotten over most of the anxiety associated with me losing it, and I’m agreeing and seeing this as one of those funny coincidences that makes you scratch your head and trust that things really do happen for a reason. Its funny how when you're least connected to everyone around you, it makes shutting the world down so much easier. Fancy that.

So here I sit, wearing my Devil Wears Prada t-shirt and A Day to Remember on the iPod, typing away from my favorite spot on the couch. I feel like I have finally come back to my center. Heather finally feels at home.

Oh, and my closet looks fabulous now that it’s not filled with random bags.

Downtown University

I’m still in utter shock that its late May, and I’m able to sit here out on the balcony of my new place and enjoy the sounds of the city and the breeze that I’m sure is coming off of the cars whizzing by on I4. Downtown has been good to me these past 3 weeks I’ve been living here! Not only is it a 5-minute drive to work now, but I can have Pom Poms whenever I’d like! Their grits have finally become a staple in my diet, and not just at 3:30a after Jamesson and I shut down Midnight Mass at Backbooth. I can proudly say that I’ve taken a half a dozen Pom Poms virginities in the past 2 months. And I’d better stop thinking about it because I’m starting to crave a Fu Manchu like its nobody’s business.

The other great thing about living in the downtown area is that, oddly enough, it feels very familiar to me. My friend Elisa asked me the other day if I ever still thought about our times back at Stetson University, and the good ol’ days living in Conrad Hall. How could I not? The new condo reminds me of just that- dorm living. I have some person that lives above me that stomps around at all hours of the day. I see the girls walking out to their cars wearing clothes from the night before and their heels in their hands. We even have the same washers and dryers in the community laundry rooms! But its even more than the walks of shame and the slightly stale air that fills the under-ventilated corridors of the building. There is a pretty strong sense of community here. Not that I was ridiculously cool in college (not that I am ridiculously cool now, just sayin’), but it was pretty hard to go anywhere on campus or in the downtown DeLand area in general without running in to someone that you knew. By the time sophomore year came around, my parents had given up trying to have a conversation with me on my way to class because every 3 seconds in to a new sentence I was being greeted by a fellow co-ed. Even before I moved downtown, I already had a decent network of people in this area. Now when my friends ask me for a place to grab a bite to eat or a drink, I generally start out the reply with, “Well, I know one of the (servers/bartenders/barbacks/owners) of…”

The high rises are the dorms of downtown. You hear someone say that they live in the Paramount, View, Solaire, or Waverly and you instantly know that they must be an upperclassman or a very lucky freshman who’s dad was able to pull a few strings with Housing. You ask your friend if they lofted their bed and put the desk under it, or about the odd smells, when they tell you they live in the St. Regis. I even caught myself responding to my friends with, “I have a single,” when they asked if I had a roommate or not.

And what is the full college experience without the fraternities and sororities? The bars themselves do a pretty damn good job at filling that void. I hear girls walking by on the street saying in their bubble gum voices, “I’m a Bliss!” Wall Street is a random mixture of everyone, because they carpet bid. And, of course, the Animal House of Downtown Orlando: BBQ Bar, for sure, is the equivalent. But picking out which bar you’re going to rush is a pretty big decision- those letters are going to follow you and shape your social habits for the next few years until you move on to the next phase of your life. Choose wisely, and enjoy the next four years here (or however long it takes you to graduate).

Whorelando

I love my good friends to pieces. Sometimes that means that we do things that we ordinarily wouldn’t do. Some would call this peer pressure.

I knew inevitably there would be the day where I would have to trek down Wall Street with Lauren and Rachel in order to keep friendship alive. After all, Lauren went to Independent Bar with me once, which led to a dance floor clothes swap between me and a friend (no, he is not missing teeth- he had something in his mouth... I don't remember what though), driving to find me an IHOP so I could eat pancakes in a drunken stupor but only making it to Steak N Shake, and me leading Lauren to the Winter Park Chamber of Commerce instead of my apartment… Which is by UCF. To this day, if I dare mutter the words, “Just trust me, I’ve got this,” I think Lauren will rip out my vocal chords. There are many more details to this story but that, children, is for another time.

Wall Street can be summed up in the repetitious “Ass and Titties” that I hear blasting over and over on the speakers. With jams like these, how can one not get laid in a place like this? No wonder so many people flock. Its the Orange Blossom Trail of Downtown Orlando. Demographically speaking, I would fit in here with the majority of post-college professionals. But my nights out don’t revolve around reliving Spring Break 2002, so I feel a little out of place as I try to order a drink. I see a bachelorette party scamper past, followed by a smaller group of guys. Its something that I notice here: larger groups of girls, and guys with a few wingmen at their side. After all, when going for a pack of margarita-filled corporate-world women its best to hunt like a lion.

I’m feeling spunky in my fresh threads from Dechoes that I bought earlier: a Ramones t-shirt that I got giddy over because in all of my years of loving punk I had somehow managed to never own a Ramones t-shirt. Pair it up with the skinny jeans and Converses I wore to work, and it’s a fun way to spice things up amongst a crowd of aging frat and sorority members that call Wall St home. My friend Kevin tells me he’s sure that the shirt will get me lots of ass, but I laugh it off. And just when I think I have thwarted the boys from lion-hunting me from my pack of ladies, I feel a hand on my shoulder and see Lauren’s Look of Uh-Oh.

Enter Mucho. Mucho is a boy I had a very brief fling with. He happens to work at Mucho, so for anonymity’s sake we shall call him as such. I try to keep my love life (or lack thereof) out of this site… But since we are talking about bars that will get you laid, it seems only fitting. Of course Mucho and I cover all of the topics: How Have You Been, I Haven’t Seen You Around, and of course Do You Still Have My Number. We talk for a few more minutes after making sure we have a way to contact each other, and he says he’s heading over to Finnhenry’s. He says to call him later, with the cute twinkle in his eye that a few months prior made me desperately want to hand over my panties.

I feel like I get an A+ in Running into an Ex Fling 101, but when I look at my phone I realize that I must have slept through Handling Texts from Unknown Numbers Workshop. I see the number and the little “Hey :-)” that goes along with it… And I have a feeling this is from someone that I used to know and deleted their number for very good reasons. I send the obligatory Sorry-New-Phone-Who-Is-This text and wait for a reply. Its Jason. And since he has no roots here in Orlando, so I have no other way to describe him, he shall remain as such. And his number did get deleted from my phone because when you mix alcohol with feelings stemming from a guy falling off the face of the Earth after you had some great times together, the outcome is generally disappointing. He’s hanging out with friends. I say I am too. He doesn’t disclose where. I do. He says that he doesn’t know how long its been since he’s been there, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Lauren diverts my attention from my text messages and we belly up to the bar for a second round, which takes about 5 tries since we find a bar, can’t get in, find a bar, can’t get served in a timely fashion, etc. Some nice boys make room for us at The Other Bar, and this naturally leads to conversation. But I soon realize that these are wingmen. And they, with help from a wingwoman, are introducing me to the bachelor in question. He likes my Ramones shirt. He looks like an accountant type and says he’s from Winter Park, which means I don’t see him as a threat when he follows the R-A-M-O-N-E-S across my clavicle with his finger. He is fairly tipsy, says he has a crush on me, and asks what bar I’ll be at later. I’m sure I won’t run into him again, and I feel a tinge of sadness as Lauren takes my hand.

Lauren leads me away back to the crowd that we left behind, and as we find Rachel and her 2 friends from Rollins I hear “Shake That Ass” by 2 Live Crew coming from Slingapours. Instantly, memories of Fall Semester 2005 overcome me and I’m hunting for a stage to dance on. Slingapours does not disappoint. And after I tell my story of how I got 2nd place in an ass-shaking competition at Mako’s back in the day, I feel a wave of somber wash over me as I start counting how many years ago that was. Before I get too worked up over how I’m not a co-ed anymore and how I’ve packed on about 30 pounds since then, Rachel saves the day and comes over with several Jager Bombs- the perfect drink, since we’re surrounded by men not too unlike those found in My New Haircut.

We still have an hour or so to kill, so we spend our time dancing to more sex-driven top 40 rap and finding bathrooms. I’m finally to the point where Lauren has since stopped questioning me if I’m having a good time, and I close out my bar tab to keep me from drinking anything else before I have to take the wheel. The texts from Jason have longer and longer pauses between them until they stop coming all together. I send out a friendly ‘How’s Finnhenry’s?’ text to Mucho, but I don’t really care when I don’t hear back from him and I don’t beat myself up over the fact that I shouldn’t have texted him to begin with. As the high of Wall St wears off, I feel sobriety- and myself- come back.

While walking Lauren to the bathroom, I see a woman stumble out, dressed to get laid with her short dress and heels. I see she brought a friend with her from the bathroom- a 3-square trail of toilet paper attached to her additional 4 inches. I smile to myself and let her keep walking.

Pep Talks

I think we all could agree: sometimes your friends come up with the most inventive ways to explain a situation. These Pep Talks only become keener with the addition of alcohol. The lovely Lauren Dz was in town this weekend from Tallahassee. Lauren luckily comes as part of a two-some: her sister Rachel is just as witty and a blast to hang out with. It was Rachel’s birthday, and since Lauren and I like to spend the Saturdays that she’s in town at the more-bang-for-your-buck establishment Big Belly Brewery on Church Street for Power Hour, it seemed like a win-win. Who doesn’t like 3-4-1’s?

Little did we know that Chillers offered 3-4-1’s until 10:30p, which is when Power Hour starts at Big Belly. I can’t get over how much the bar at Chillers smells like a used diaper. If I could, I’d hand a gold medal to each and every bartender that works there for their enduring efforts. But I don’t, so I opt to hand an extra dollar to my bartender when she brings me the round I’m splitting with Lauren and Rachel. I also couldn’t get over what a sausage fest it seemed to be. We felt badly for the guys, but in our favor the majority of the crowd looked good enough for us to at least entertain the thought of hooking up with some of them.

Scanning the pack, we comment on who we find appealing. “That guy is not your type,” Lauren says when I ask about a fellow propped against the opposite end of the bar from us. Rachel concurs on the basis that he’s not bad-ass enough for me. “You like guys that have facial hair and look like they’d beat the shit out of a guy for ordering anything but Gentleman Jack.” I nod. I do tend to go for colored folk (a.k.a boys with tattoos), and attitude problems. “Hey, if they look like might have just been released from the Pen and won’t call after we sleep together, that pretty much puts him in the Keeper category for me!”

I do find one guy who is standing remarkably close to me to be somewhat of a fox. We’re about 3 inches apart, though there is no need for it, and he has his back only slightly turned to me so he can get a good view of the basketball that is on the TV above. He’s with a disproportionate group of guys to girls, so my chances of talking to him are very good. “If its not the Pistons, I don’t care,” Lauren says while I make glances at the TV, the guy, and back to the TV. He’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt, so I can’t see if he’s sporting ink. He looks clean-cut but his build hints at fisticuffs. He looks like a cross between John Cena and a young Brett Favre.

We hear one of the three girls amongst the John Favre group get a birthday shout out, and me being the person who always likes to make situations uncomfortable for others, I get the bright idea to run up to the DJ booth. Obviously, the 2 rounds the girls and I have split by now are kicking in. I’m beaming with delight as I make my way back from upstairs. Oh, sneaky-sneaky… (Not really.)

After numerous attempts to get the cahones to “bump” into him or strike up a conversation about the basketball, I see him chatting with Birthday Girl. I’m reading far too deeply into the body language, and I express my dismay as I interpret that they are getting familiar. Cue the Pep Talk. Rachel kicks things into gear with the standard opener, “You are so much prettier than her!” Lauren, with her unabashed sarcasm, sums up the girl in four words: “She’s hot in Iowa.” Rachel and I nearly spit out our drinks and wait with bated breath for Lauren to elaborate. “I mean, look at her. She’s wearing a jacket that I wore in 8th grade for Christ’s sake! She has Midwest written all over her!” I’m feeling my confidence growing with each and every word and sip from my vodka and tonic. “Besides, they totally are having a conversation about being exes and how it’s not going to be weird for them to hang out with the same group of people at the same bar.”

The MC booms over the Top 40 bar music. “We’ve got another birthday shout out! This one goes out to Lauren, from her two bad ass friends! GIVE IT UP FOR LAUREN!”

I’m excited as the bar erupts with cheers and woos. I have the same look on my face as George Dubya when he heard Saddam was caught. Lauren and Rachel look at me, choking back their laughter. “Heather, did you pregame before we came out,” Rachel giggles. “Seriously, dude, what drugs are you on?!” Realizing what I had done, I scramble for a witty way to twist the situation. “I just got so excited that we were all together! I drew a blank from all of the endorphins!” I didn’t have to wait long before the MC came over and corrected the situation for me. “Free shots for the birthday girl! Which one is it?” Rachel reaches for a shot and explains, “Its mine, but my name is Rachel.”

As my Pep Talk falls flat on its face, the MC pauses with a look of confusion so Lauren can finish up with, “Our friend here told the DJ the wrong name.” I’m turning about at red as the cranberry and vodka in Lauren’s hand and I’m trying to laugh off the situation. Assessing the situation in his head, he then says into the microphone, “Since your friend is a bit of a flake, here’s what we’re gonna do!” He hands me a shot in a test tube, and while still on the mic he instructs me to nestle it down into my cleavage. “Lower. Lower. A little lower. OK! Now Rachel! GO GET THAT SHOT!”

Before I can wipe the look of remorse for not only what I did but also what was about to happen, out of the corner of my eye I see John Favre watch with light amusement as Rachel takes a shot from my cleavage. Lauren snaps a photo, catching my penitence. We head up to Big Belly Brewery, where every round washes down my embarrassment.

What happens in the DJ booth, stays in the DJ booth?

Yet another great weekend down in the books. The Magic beat the Celtics. My high school friends came in to Orlando to hit downtown. My good friend Lauren D. came in a week early from FSU and we hit our one-night tradition Big Belly Brewery for 3-4-1’s. Couldn’t have asked for more fun!

…Except last weekend. See photos below.

Ricky Diamond and I hit up Midnight Mass at Back Booth last weekend to spice things up a bit. We were going to give Sky60 a shot, but we got the good word that friends were elsewhere. Needless to say things got pretty crazy in the DJ booth!

This last Friday night was good. I caught the Magic game at Buffalo Wild Wings with my friend Scott Harris (think 740 The Game), which consisted of me ordering boneless wings with a side of all of Scott’s French fries LOL Luckily he says that he has dined out enough times with girls that he knows that we all eat the French fries of someone else. I-Bar was the typical, but the past 2 or 3 weeks I’ve been seeing more and more ‘suits’ there… What happened? Did all of the kids start switching from flannel to J. Crew? I ended up closing down Friday night at Stardust Lounge- I never knew that they had drinks there for $2.50…

Lauren and I shook things up for me this weekend by her calling me to say she was in town earlier than anticipated. Rather than attempting to get to Sky60 since last weekend it didn’t happen, we opted to climb the stairs and take in the night air at Latitudes. My friend Chris joined us, and we had a grand time debating philosophy (aka me sipping on Sweet Tea vodka while listening to Chris and Lauren talk about the bar being real because we think its real).

Chris has taken a fancy to busting my balls about my blogging. I know he’s only half-serious (he says he’s joking, but I always read into things far more than I should LOL). He asks if I can blog from my phone, and I say yes although I don’t have internet access on it. I say that I still tweet from it via text. I one-upped him in the form of microblogging.

Cross that one off of the to-do list!

The Kids Aren't Alright

A little piece of my hope for humanity died Saturday night: Some indie kid spitting in the face of a Holy Roller last night downtown and calling him a f*cking f*ggot. Hypocrisy, table for 1? I hope you're riding that bike you were on one day, saving the world from pollutants, and you get hit by a gas-guzzling Mack truck.

I just believe in people's rights to peaceful freedom of speech... And if you want someone to respect why you wear skinny jeans that are cutting off the circulation to your nutsack, don't wash the hair that is growing down to your mountain-man beard, and cover yourself in tattoos then you should respect their belief that you're going to hell in a handbasket.

I know that we’re in a recession, but come on people: why the violence? I have nothing against the indie kids in this town- don't get me wrong. I wish I could sport my body art, instead of having to cover it up for Corporate America, and stomach PBRs. I envy the way the girls can wear their high-wasted skirts and tank tops, and I just look like a dumpy sack of potatoes in mine. And damn it, how the hell do they all stay so skinny?! But apparently no one sent me the memo that if you play ‘Kids’ by MGMT backwards you can hear Satan telling you to beat up on people. Is that why there are now shootings at I-Bar, and the ‘free-thinkers’ are throwing fisticuffs?

Either way, College Indie Night at Independent Bar is still my favorite night of the week.

The Etiquette of Free

This past weekend I was at an athletic event where all of the sponsors were giving out free swag. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the fact that I was out partying till 5am the night before… Either way, people were just rubbing me the wrong way.

I was working at my tent where we were giving out a variety of things- leis, candy, and tickets to the UMiami vs. UCF game amongst other things. People were spinning a Wheel of Fortune kind of rig to get the prizes, and everyone was a winner. Pretty straightforward, right?

Its amazing to me how rude people can be. Every time I start to have some faith in the human race, some douche comes along and destroys it.

“Which number wins?” They all do.

“Which number do I want to win?” Whichever one makes you happy.

“Which number wins me a car?” None of them!

“Oh. I already have tickets.” Good for you. Next, please!

“I don’t want this- can I have something else?” I didn’t know that this was a buffet…

“Can I have 2?” I didn’t know that this was an all-you-can-eat buffet…

“But I wanted to get leid!” Go have another beer.

And then the kids… I got to the point where I was tired of the kids (and their drunk parents) invading my personal space. I stood tall and firm, with one foot sticking out and unmoving so that when the kids trampled by they’d trip.

The next time you’re at an event and there is free ANYTHING, please bear in mind that the company who is providing it is doing you a favor. Its not your God-given right to receive anything for free: some nice business out there decided to spend a lot of money (in many cases, thousands of thousands of dollars) to give you and all of your drunk homeboys, mooching girlfriends, and crying children something for nothing.

Here’s some tips so you don’t make a faux pas that makes you look like a stuck up bitch (which is one of the least attractive things out there):

1. TAKE ONE! Don’t ask for ‘one for your girlfriend’s sister’s unborn baby’. One is enough, and if the ‘extra person’ (if they even exist) they can very well come and get it themselves.
2. DON’T ROLL YOUR EYES! Nothing is more rude than getting something for free, then rolling your eyes when its not what you wanted, you think is stupid, or you already have. Would you do it to your grandmother who just gave you a shitty birthday present? No. So why do it to a stranger? After all, it cost money too. And that business wasn’t obligated to give you anything (and they aren’t even expecting the half-assed hug you’d give your grandmother). If the beer is free, drink it!
3. TIP! We all know that the words ‘Free’ and ‘Drinks’ don’t tend to equal ‘Wasted’, and we all know best way to get to get on a bartender’s good side is to do the simple task of tipping a fair amount. It never ceases to amaze me that many people still don’t tip on free drinks. If you’re happy with receiving a miniscule amount of alcohol in your beverage and would rather take home a tummy ache from all of the sugary margarita mixer than a buzz, be my guest. DISCLAIMER: Free drinks aren’t always shit. Anyone who has ever been to Wine Not Wednesdays at Dechoes know about Mike and Kerri’s infamous Dec-hoe Punch!
4. DON’T ASK FOR SOMETHING ELSE! Its probably Numero Uno as far as douchiness goes for free swag. Never under any circumstance as for a different gift. If you do, I think it should be acceptable for the business to turn you away empty handed. If you have the audacity to look down on something that someone is handing you free of charge, then you’re a dick.

Remember Orlando, keep it classy!

Birthdays on a Budget!

I made it to the ripe old age of 24!! No longer can I use the ‘I just graduated from college’ line, and I’m almost to the point where I don’t get carded every time I try to order a dirty martini! So how does a girl celebrate in the midst of a recession and still keep the swagger of a high roller?

Everyone likes to go out for dinner on their birthday! Sadly, my group of friends (most of us in our early 20’s), have all been hit pretty hard by the economy. If you are able to round up a group of your comrades, then you’re already familiar with the typical ordeal of finding a place that will make your friends’ bellies happy, their wallets full, and still be worthy of a celebration. Downtown Orlando is host to a variety of places, ranging from the cheap pizza-by-the-slice place you hit when the bars are closed to the upscale. Ceviche is one of those places that only looks expensive. Located on the corner of Garland and Church Street, Ceviche is a Spanish tapas restaurant that looks like it was plucked out of a fabulously old cathedral in Madrid and placed in sunny Orlando. When you walk in, take a gander at the wonderful architecture- those beams are really from a church, but I think the hostess said it was from France…

Ceviche’s menu is also not all about raw fish marinated in citrus juices, either! Although you really should try the salmon ceviche, the house ceviche is the best bang for your buck ($8.95, to be exact)- each oversized martini glass it is served in comes with oversized scallops, huge prawns, and massive chunks of fish. Like I said, though, their menu is not all about amazing fresh seafood! They have about 100 varied traditional Spanish tapas (not joking on the 100 number). Think of them as little mini-meals that you can order a few of and share with your friends. The prices of them range anywhere from $3.50 to about $9, give or take depending on what you order. The portions aren’t bad for the price, and everyone can find something that they’ll like. The food is built for ordering lots of different flavors, stealing bites off of other people’s plates, and really good conversations. Be prepared to spend about 2 hours there, since the food comes out little by little. You’ll also be taking in the beautiful décor and feeding off of the energy of the place to where you won’t want to leave! If you want to get a good experience of what tapas is all about, try the banderillas mixtas, croquetas, tortilla Española, and the champiñones de Sevilla. Bring a friend- you will leave with leftovers and still spend less than $25!

Ever spend tons of money on a birthday cake and it goes half-eaten because you bought too much and you had to throw it out after a week? I personally hate throwing out food, and throwing away dessert is one of the biggest sins one could commit in my home. But I’m also a big fan of desserts (my booty is proof!), so when I do have a birthday I like to have a really yummy slice of something special to seal the deal. The best place in Orlando I’ve found for that is The Dessert Lady! Located downtown on Church Street (and another location on Kirkman), The Dessert Lady is a chic little lounge in the beautiful Church Street Station building. It is lusciously decorated with rich reds and golds- almost as decadent as the desserts they serve up! I’m not going to lie- prices are a little steep at $10 a dessert, however (BIG emphasis on the ‘however’!) a slice of cake could easily serve 2-4 people! This is one place where I highly suggest the Buddy System!

Desserts are what they focus the most on- There are usually a few little things on the savory side if you’re looking for something of substance to go with your sugar high. They also have a good selection of wine and beer in case you’re not in the mood for ice cold milk or coffee. The service was great- the woman running the place was very knowledgeable and just as sweet as the desserts she was cutting in to. A few other couples came in while I was there splitting my zuccotto with Paul- some were there just to grab a late afternoon ‘snack’ (like myself), and one couple came in to look at potential wedding cakes. The space is also available to use for private parties, like bridal showers or birthday receptions.

Hopefully this helps gives you an idea of how to celebrate your birthday, or even just a fun night out! I know mine was a blast, and I was really glad I was able to do something where everyone was able to join in. After all, what’s a celebration without your friends?

XOXO

Cheap Nights and Cheap Trick

Eric and I finally stumbled into this billiards place across the street from our apartment Saturday night. Oh, it seems like yesterday that our relationship was blooming over games of pool and under thick clouds streaming off of other people’s cigarettes. Though we’ve traded our little hideaway in Holly Hill known as Brown’s, Clicks seems to win in this match up.

Not only did they serve decent priced liquor (I got 2 mixed drinks, a shot, and the tip for just under $17), but they didn’t charge a ton to play. But it wasn’t the fact that even though I haven’t played a good game of pool in a while and STILL managed to match Eric 4-4 that was the highlight of the night. As I perused the drink menu- though I tend to simply live on a bar diet of cosmos and dirty martinis- I came across this little gem: the Gingerbread Man. Or something like it. Anyways, its just Goldschlager, Baily’s, and butterscotch schnapps. Or, in my Bougie on a Budget case, Hot Damn cinnamon schnapps, Cream & Cask, and another generic brand of butterscotch schnapps. I would definitely recommend this as your drink of choice if you’re hosting a holiday party of sorts.

Sunday was pretty typical: Reading a good book in bed (I’m currently in the middle of The Memory Keeper’s Daughter), grocery shopping, and cleaning. Due to my humble position at a pretty well-known business here in O-Town, I was able to get some free VIP seats at the Cheap Trick show that was put on by WMMO. There was a party at a downtown watering hole called Ember, which I had been reading about lately in the latest edition of DRINK Magazine put out by Orlando Weekly. The bartender was really nice, and though the drinks were on the house she still managed to pour with a heavy hand. I grabbed a menu to look at while Eric and I hung out, and though nothing really screamed at me to try, I must say that the prices were pretty darn decent. Most of the fare was salads, flatbreads, and any other ‘food trends’ that are popular as well today. No deserts- I think this place is gearing mostly to those who are looking to have a few drinks and nibble on something. Either way, prices were generally between $7 and $12 bucks- not too shabby for a nice looking place downtown.

I ordered the calamari since Eric and I showed up about an hour early to the VIP party and we grabbed a table. I used to wait tables, so I know how frustrating it is to check up on someone over and over, they only order a water, and don’t bother leaving a dollar for your footwork. It wasn’t the best calamari I’ve had, but it definitely didn’t disappoint. The service made up for it- the waitress brought me an extra cranberry and vodka since someone changed their mind and she knew I was drinking them.

Once Eric and I meandered down to the concert, I got my kicks from the crowd around. The band that played some covers before Cheap Trick was Iced Down. They did a good job at getting the 40 year old women rocking out. I watched them waiving their hands around to the likes of The Rolling Stones and wondered to myself if in 20 years I’d be at a free show featuring Bullet for My Valentine. I’d be wearing my ankle-length denim skirt and sneakers, shouting, “Woo-hoo” when ‘Scream Aim Fire’ starts to play.

The best part was after Cheap Trick took the stage. Once they got to playing ‘Heaven Tonight’, all of the women started gyrating, like that was the jam to lose your virginity to back in the day. I also saw a woman who looked like she must have snuck in a few hours beforehand and saw the checkered flag motif that was the backdrop for the band- then found some tights that matched to put under her inappropriate-for-her-age-and-thighs denim skirt. Funny, she looked identical to the woman who lives below me with the little dog that never stops barking…