This chair was jammed into a cubby by the nightstand where no one that had legs could sit. Paul suggested that that was where people did their coke.
View out the window...no screens...perfect for jumping from. That is an empty package of vanilla flavored incense. The whole room smelled enough like tea tree oil to gag you.
Deciding where to eat is always an issue for us. In the city, there are so many freaking options, its a thousand times worse. While waiting downstairs for the valet to make sure our car didn't get towed or stolen, I noticed that there was a Moroccan restaurant right next door. I love couscous, Paul hates it. Eventually, proximity won and we got to eat there. The food was awesome...we had 2 "magic drinks" each which consisted of 3 kinds of alcohol and 3 kind of juice, and in my opinion, a whole lot of evil. There was a belly dancer that I thought was way to skinny. She left her business cards in the restroom and I was so amused to find out that they were from Vistaprint. I guess everyone goes there.
After dinner we caught a cab to the Filmore to see the show. I had a scotch and soda. Everyone was very stoned and so old that we looked like young scene kids in comparison (nice).
When the show was over, we went out searching for a taxi. After wandering around for about 20 minutes we decided to walk back to the hotel. Only of course it was farther away then we had thought (because we were drunk) and I was wearing non-sensible shoes. 20 blocks later we finally made it and decided to go drink some more. Once in our room, we could hear loud techno/middle eastern music and Paul insisted that the Moroccan place downstairs was still open and that we should continue drinking "magic drinks".
When we got there, we found out not only was it still open, but it was a hookah bar as well.
I know nothing about hookah, but I freakin love to smoke! We ordered an orange blossom one and some more magic drinks. The bar side had a distinct feel of an opium den, with lots of Japanese kids all looking spent and languishing on the low sofas.
I of course, underestimated the power of the hookah/magic drinks/scotch and soda
took a bunch of drunk bathroom pictures
When I got back from the bathroom...one of the waiters was breakdancing
According to Paul, I totally hate Belinda Carlisle when I'm really drunk. I have no idea why.
So the next morning of course, I'm too hung over to do any of the fun and exciting shopping things that the city has to offer. But I did manage to not puke in the car on the way home.
Friday I got to go to the Dr for what turned out to be pink eye! A delightful way to end my vacation as I am totally freaked out by eyeball stuff and have never used eye drops before. So I've been hiding inside my house since then, with one eye all droopy and swollen looking. I've been telling everyone that Paul did it because I just wouldn't listen. He hates that.