This Is Where We Used To Live

At the end of an episode of Girls, Hanna is dancing on her own in her room when roommate Marnie comes home, finds her, and a roommate/BFF dance party immediately commences.  Which is clearly what would happen in real life.

I loved living alone, and of course, I love living with my family.  But when I think about some of the most fun, most hilarious & most memorable moments of my life, so many of them took place in grungy old apartments shared with some of my best girls.  As roommates, we became almost like sisters, closer & more honest.  When you live in as close of quarters as we did, there isn't a lot of room for anything less.  C'mon, let's go behind the scenes of when girls are roommates!

You will turn up the music really, really loud so you can't hear her fighting with her boyfriend. Even at 1am.  You will come home after work to find that an impromptu keg party has commenced, and they need a fourth for Euchre.  You will share everything:  shampoo, cigarettes, Doritos, secrets, money, toothbrushes, intimate details about your booty calls, clothes, modes of transportation.  If your boyfriend dumps you, she will come home with beer, wine, and ice cream - just because she wanted you to have options.  You will get pissed when she eats all of your leftovers that you were saving specifically for dinner that night.  But you'll forgive her when she pulls out some pot she scored that day.  You will have inside jokes that are so old & so complex, you won't be able to remember how they even got started.  But they will still be hilarious anyway. You will have no qualms about walking around naked in front of each other. You will laugh more than you ever thought possible.  You will make up a choreographed dance at 11pm on a Tuesday just because.  You will hear her having incredibly loud sex on a regular basis. And it won't faze you.  You will be there for each other during the big things, the scary things, the life-changing things. A good Monday night will be watching Lifetime Television for Women together while drinking White Zin and eating tuna noodle casserole. You will refer to you & your roommate as "we" and "us" more than often than you do with your boyfriend.  You will actually be more of a "we" and an "us" than you are with your boyfriend. You will agree on everything.  You will fight about everything.  You will feel sadness when you move out of that dirty little apartment because you'll know that it's the end of something.  But you'll also know that you're more than just friends now.  You're so much more than that.  

One Time At A Party...

Introducing a new weekly feature on Baby In A Bar, it's....

One Time At A Party....

Yes, folks, each week I will regale you with a hilarious, weird, heart-warming, wild, or just plain sloppy story that occurred - you guessed it - one time at a party!  Some names may be changed to protect the guilty.  (But you'll probably know who they are anyway.)  And, by all means, if you've got a great memory of us one time at a party, email me about it!  Some of those party scenes are a bit, ahem, blurry.

Let's start with an oldie, but an oh-so-goodie, shall we?  I believe the statute of limitations has run out on this one, so I'm naming names.

It was our Freshman year of college.  Katie & Christine went to UM in Ann Arbor, I was at Albion, and Rene was at UM Dearborn.  Although we'd only been away from each other for a few weeks, after that Summer of '94, it felt kind of like the umbilical cord had been cut.  The girls picked me up, and we headed west to Kalamazoo to hit up a party at Katie's ex's house at Western.

We were 18 years old, and there was beer.  In kegs.  Unlimited beer in kegs.  One time at a party, we were 4 best friends, and we were 18 years old, and there was beer in kegs.

After enjoying a bit of that keg beer, Katie went looking for her ex, James.* Where was James?  No one knew.  Obviously, she employed me to help her look for him.  We ended up outside, and still, he was nowhere to be found.

"I know where he is," says Katie with a wild look in her eye.  "He's in his room, hooking up with another girl!"

She sounds almost triumphant about it.

"C'mon!" she yells.  She leads me to the garage over which James' bedroom is conveniently located.  She hops up on the stairs, then the banister, and she stomachs her way onto the roof of the garage, ready to catch him mid-hook-up.

I am waiting safely on the ground, red Solo cup in hand.

She's completely on the roof now, and she stomps her way over the window.  She peers in, ready to...ready to....

"Oh", she says, turning around.  "He's not in there. Hmm."

Nope, he wasn't in there.  However, Katie is still, in fact, on the roof.  She walks to the edge, gets back down on her stomach and shimmies to the end trying to reach the banister with her foot.  It doesn't reach.

"It's okay!" I yell.  "Don't worry!  Just jump!  I'm going to catch you!  Don't worry!"

I don't even put my red Solo cup down.  Possibly, it's time to worry.

I stand on the stairs, reaching out, (beer in hand), waiting for Katie to fall gracefully backwards into my arms.  Yes, Gentle Reader, Katie did fall.  But not into my arms.  She fell on the banister.  Then she fell on to the top stair.  Then she fell down each stair individually.  Then she fell on to the ground.

I look down at her from the top stair where I stand and say, "You missed."

One time at a party, my best friend, Katie, missed.

*Yes, I've changed his name.  I don't know why.  It seems like the thing to do.  I'm calling him James cause he was the first person to introduce me to the band James.  I still really like them too.

Wanderlust

We are leaving for Hawaii on Friday, and while I'm unbelievably excited & grateful to be taking this trip with Tim & Boo, I can't help feeling a little nostalgic for the old days of travel.  The days where the goal of visiting all 7 continents before age 40 was actually within reach.  We haven't left the country, in, what, 5 years?  (Oh my god, can that really be true?)  No wonder I'm becoming all numb and ethnocentric and "U-S-A!" like. 

Yes, I am still a travel snob at heart.

I need culture.  I need menus that aren't in English.  I need walking all around a new city, miles and miles, just because it's fun or I'm lost.  I need mispronouncing words to the locals and being laughed at by food truck workers.  I need beaches and mountains and smoggy cities.  I need dogs running around in places they most certainly should not be running.  I need museums and monuments and all of the wonders of the world.  I need hanging on so tight to my purse so a guy on a moto doesn't snatch it off me.  I need rickshaw drivers taking me to shady sex shows that I (probably) did not request. I need color and vibrance.  I need sketchy, but oh-so-delicious street food and questionable "burgers".  I need boarding passes and carry-ons.  I need sleep deprivation and jet lag.  I need dirty hair and dirty clothes and a make-up-free face.  I need drinking local beer and eating lobster with my hands on the beach.  I need dancing and hiking and bungy-jumping and cliff-diving and tandem-biking and glacier-walking and zip-lining and thrill-seeking and adreneline-running.  I need to be that person I am when I travel all of the time.

I need to go away. Now.

NO Minors Tonight!

Sometimes you just can't bring your baby to the bar.  I mean, you love your baby and all, and of course, you want to spend every single second of every day just snuggling him nonstop until you both want to scream.  But you can't. 

No.

And so, to keep from losing your new-parent-mind, you MUST recruit a good friend or two to look after your child for a few hours - he will be fine - and get yourself out a good old American No Minors Bar.  Seriously, do it now.

After realizing that we, in fact, were quite close to refering to each other exclusively as "Mommy and Daddy" even when talking to each other, we knew that we had to get out of this house STAT.  I slapped on some lip gloss and heels(!), dropped off the little Bean with some friends, and headed to South Lake Union to one of Tom Douglas' newest creations, Brave Horse Tavern.

Tom pretty much owns Seattle at this point.  Every experience we've had at his places has been amazing, and Brave Horse was no different.  The atmosphere was exactly what I was looking for - raucous and loud.  It's a huge bar with communal tables, TVs everywhere, and a big fat bar.  The brick walls definitely add to the noisy-ness.  If you are looking for an intimate date night, skip this joint. 

Tim and me, not looking for romance, but just a place to get our drink on, cozied up to the bar.  Bartender was super friendly and changed the nearest TV to the Tigers game for us.  Their beer selection was great (not Naked City fabulous, but great), and we both ordered pint that were served in super cold frosty 20oz pint glasses.  We both loved the menu, and although the sandwiches sounded great, we decided to share some apps so we could try more stuff.  Especially because the first thing we saw on the menu was...

Fried Cheese Curds!

Um, yes please!  And holy shit (see, you can swear when you don't bring your baby to the bar), they were amazing.  Hot and gooey, deep-fried and greasy.  Amazing.  And you get a ton of them too.  We followed these up with a hot pretzel and the "cannibal" crostini.  Okay, so yes, the pretzel is something that Brave Horse is known for, and it was totally good.  They serve it with 3 types of mustard, and they also have several choices of dipping sauces you can add.  We (stupidly) did not order any dipping sauces, and we would not make that mistake again.  I think it woudl have elevated the pretzel to the next level.  The cannibal crostini was topped with beef tartare, pickled onions and some sort of amazing sauce.  Beef tartare was a new experience for both of us, and one we are definitely inclined to repeat.  This dish was incredible. 

Tom Douglas, once again, you did not let us down.  Thank you for a bar that does not allow our baby.

P.S.  In other news, if you think you're going to hit up Dante's Inferno Dogs at 10pm on a Saturday night because that's the time you have to head home from the bar because you have a baby at home, think again.

The Naked Truth

Apparently, my child, like Tobias Funke, is a Never Nude. 

After losing his mind when being forced to change out of his PJs and put on a clean diaper, we decided it was time to leave the house for a while.  A walk for Will, beer for Mommy & Daddy - it's a win/win. 

In keeping with the spirit of nudity, we decide to hit up Naked City Brewery, a great little alehouse in Greenwood.  Naked City is actually Will's favorite bar as he has been there several times since birth including at age 6 days.  It's kind of his local.  We love this place because we can walk to it, they have 20+ interesting micro-brews plus cider on tap, the bartenders are amzing, and, suprisingly, they are super baby-friendly.  There is a clear separation between the bar and the restaurant, but you don't feel like you are being exiled.  And if you are baby-free, you can totally sit at the bar without feeling like you are at Gymboree.  They also serve a mean hot pretzel. 

Unfortunately for us, Will did not forgot about the trauma of the earlier clothes-changing incident, and he was not super cooperative.  After a bit of fussing, Tim took him around the block to calm him down which prompted our favorite bartender, Karina, to thank us for being such amazing parents.  Yes, I sighed as I sipped my beer in peace for the 7 minutes they were gone, we are amazing parents. 

Note:  Naked City is open at 4pm during the week, but they open up at noon on weekends.  All day happy hour on Sunday.