A Special Place of my own.

When in the company of friends, you can expect several things from me. I will entertain you with my stories full of WTF moments, I'll refuse to share dessert (get your own), high-quality but good natured gossip, and the guarantee that I won't get drunk.

I really didn't start drinking socially until I moved to the East Village when I was 26. I didn't care for the taste. And as my friends know, I'm terribly quirky and "out there" without adding inebriation to the mix. On the off chance I do drink, I'm a cheap date. Two glasses of Merlot and I'm done. Same goes from Jack & Coke.

And since I'm not really a social drinker, I typically prefer to hang out with my friends at restaurants, shows/concerts, and especially at home. I love playing hostess! But there's always been a part of me that wanted a hang out of my own, a bar where everyone knows my name. A bartender I can spill my problems to, that won't cost me $150/hr. A jukebox filled with music from the 70's.

My friend in Astoria talks about a wonderful little dive she and her boyfriend frequent. She convinced me to make the above-ground subway trek one evening, and it was a splendid affair. The bartender and the patrons knew them, they drank for free - they were boss. I was a little envious of this little dive bar.

Smoothly transitioning into the reason for this blog entry, my roommate convinced me to got out last night. I really am an old lady. I viewed some stand-up in midtown, and rode the A home, eager to catch up with my DVR and my nightgown. While applying her makeup, my roommate suggested we just check out some of the local bars. Looking terribly cute earlier in the evening, I flung on my Mizrahi tea dress, and off we went. This was my attempt in finding our special place.

Harlem has really changed since your parents told you to stay away. I mean, there are crappy parts, but there are crappy parts in Murray Hill. Yuck, Murray Hill. So with these changes, comes super sweet, stylized lounges.

Our first stop was MOCA, the most popular lounge in the area. It was packed with the fabulous people, and the bouncer searched our purses. I later learned of a fella getting pat down. Drama. We pressed on, in a search of this unmarked lounge, 17 Below.

This is the place NY Magazine wrote about, emphasizing the many noise complaints after 3am. If you didn't know it was there, you would've walked right past. My first roommate once took me to an unmarked bar in the East Village - it was so dark inside, I thought at any moment a woman would shriek "Oh, my pearls!" The staff at 17 Below was very welcoming, and escorted us into this teeny lounge decorated in black and white leather and studs. When I close my eyes, this is what my living room will look like one day. It was amazingly sexy, and I suddenly felt the need to make out with someone. You know what that's like. Unfortunately, the bass on the Kanye West was off the chain - remember I'm an old lady - so we peaced out. We did decide, however, that this would be a lovly spot for "Girls Night".

Our final destination was Cub Mojo. Terrible name, I'm aware. It was pretty empty, aside from these gorgeous women from Throgs Neck. The decor was Mid-Eastern, full of romantic reds and purples. Again, the need to make out, arose. Our bartender, Jason was wonderful. He mixed these strange drinks for us, made of rye and ginger. Mmmmmmmmmmmm.

Jason was concerned about my problems. The manager, Chris made sure we were comfortable. And I was excited to learn, the chef would be willing to teach me to fry pasta nests! Finally! A special place. We didn't leave until 4am, our wonderful conversations with Jason lasting all evening. He even offered to lend me his air pump, for our baby pool. That seals the deal in this being Our Special Place!

So my advice to you, is to take the A train to Harlem, and grab a drink with me! Not to many though - you wouldn't want me to accidentally make out with.