The Jane Hotel and Wildcat
Last Saturday, the ladies and I got all dolled up for a night on the town. D and I, coming from Brooklyn had to hop the L to 8th avenue and walk over to The Jane Hotel. This means I wore flip-flops and carried my heels so my feet wouldn’t hurt before I even got to the bar. I stopped around the corner to slip into them before we got to the front door. I keeps it classy, kids.
It was right around 11pm so we just strolled up and showed our IDs to the doorman who let us right through the heavy drapes into the dark den of booze and debauchery I hoped the evening would bring. The bar had just the right amount of patrons. There was a perfect corner to slip in to get the bartender’s attention, who promptly delivered two vodka sodas. My dress was already tight so beer was not going to happen. The drinks were tall and pretty strong. I hate short drinks unless they're shots because they go down quicker that a virgin at prom...heyoo! So bravo, barkeep.
After our other 2 friends arrived, we decided to go check out the other room, which was swamped with people and blasting loud Top 40. I could really be happy not hearing Ke$ha for the rest of my life. Suddenly, out of the mist/fog/blur of my drunk eyes came an unshaven guy in black blazer, black v-neck that was slightly too low, revealing a tuft of minimal chest hair and skinny jeans. He attacked D. By attacked, I mean he came out of nowhere and suddenly he’s right up in her face. Good thing he was cute enough to violate the personal space code.
They flirted for a bit before she introduced me. He was French and had a table at Pink Elephant if we wanted to join in a little bit. Again, out of nowhere, I swear, swooped in a 2nd Frenchman, wearing the same uniform of black blazer, v-neck and stubble. He was less cute and thus attacked my personal space. He attempted to get my number by mentioning the table at Pink Elephant to which I responded that his friend already contacted D and so we would be able to reach them should we decide to join. I was not interested in Frenchie. It was definitely time for another cocktail.
The French guys wandered off into the darkness and we headed upstairs to some VIP section. No one gave us any hassle so I guess it wasn’t too VIP. That’s where I felt my heels crunch onto broken glass, before a small guy swooped in with broom and dustpan to clear the floor. I desperately wanted to be sitting in a relaxing bar, not dodging French guys, Ke$ha, and broken glass. I informed the crew of my decision to leave and D joined me.
The tab was around $70 for 8 drinks, split two ways. Not sure how that works out but maybe they were $10 apiece, buy 7 get one free? I was fine with that. They were tall and strong and I was drunk because I hadn’t eaten. Yay.
As we were heading out the front doors, I almost ran into a blonde guy with curious crooked nose and shaggy hair. He was very familiar and then I pictured him talking about rappelling down Mount Vesuvius after having an orgy with Ben Stiller, Christine Taylor and a midget. Yup, Owen Wilson. (Zoolander reference. One of the most well-crafted movies, of course).
D stopped to chat to him about how she loves his Wes Anderson movie Bottle Rocket and how it was her first indie movie. He thanked her and chatted a moment while I stood there grinning like a dolt, thinking only of his other Wes Anderson flick, The Royal Tenenbaums and most likely resembling him in the interview scene: “Wildcat…wildcat. Pwow... This interview is over”.
I just nodded at him in what I hope was a breezy, cool fashion (Oh, I'm just around celebrities ALL the time) and we waved our goodbyes heading out the door. Then we made our way to a random quiet bar where I could wear my flip flops and drink beer. Ahhhh
The Gotham Guide Rating: 4 out of 5 stars