WHAT IT'S LIKE TO DATE ME-STARVING WING BITCH

Bonnie's Grill-Park Slope, Brooklyn

Last night E and I craved burgers and wings. Our neighborhood has a number of fantastic restaurants but is not really a burgers kinda place. E searched Chowhound and found the most delicious place Bonnie’s Grill in Park Slope, Brooklyn. There was only one problem-THE SEASON FINALE OF THE APPRENTICE and the fact that it was freezing cold out and it was a 15-minute walk and my clogs were hurting me. So E yells at me (in a nice way) to change my frickin' shoes and put on extra layers because we are going for some frickin' burgers and proceeds to bend over to plug in the dusty VCR we never use to tape the 6 hr finale of The Apprentice all the while exposing plumber’s butt and saying, ‘Crack kills honey. Crack kills.’

FYI-I am not addicted to The Apprentice. I love bad reality shows but I work in television and feel as if I am committing a corporate crime if I don't commit myself to at least one horrible mind-numbing TV show.

On the way there I challenged E to a game-who can sing the lamest song (Example: Ballerina Girl-Lionel Richie). I started the game because when you date for so long you have nothing more to talk about (just kidding) but mostly to keep my mind off the cold and the fact that I was SO STARVING that I might eat a dog on the way to the restaurant.

Fast forward- Bonnie’s Grill:
K: (to waiter) ‘I’d like a large hot wings please.’
E: ‘Large…as in 20 wings???’
Waiter looking nervous.
K: (pissed) ‘Ok. Fine. Small.’
Waiter scurries away.

I pout in silence until my food comes and when I am done with my small wings (3 still left over) and am STUFFED I am able to finally have the clarity to tell E he was right. He is often right. And thank goodness he is because today as I write this I could have been 20 wings heavier.

STALKY MCSTALKSTER

DJ AK-47

Last night I stalked E. Yes, I will admit it. He called and left a message on my phone telling me where he was but didn't say, 'Meet me!' but yet shamefully I tracked him down. (Yes I am a sixteen-year-old trapped in a grown woman's body) Stalking is really not my style. I don't like to stalk. I have too much pride. But in his message he left the cross streets of where he was and he never leaves the cross streets unless he wants to meet so I took it a A SIGN. A GREEN LIGHT for STALKING. (everything seems much more important in caps)

70% of my stalking I blame on still being drunk from my office Christmas party. At the party I was required to stand on stage-drunk-assisting my co-worker the MC on three rounds of BINGO. That would be me-yes me-drunk and on stage in front of 150 co-workers turning a cage full of wooden balls. G24? G24? Anyone?

Fast forward-after me-Stalky McStalkster arrived and was in fact accepted by her loving future husband I enjoyed the party which was DJ'd by none other than DJ AK-47 the hottest DJ in town. If you haven't heard of him-YOU WILL. I also enjoyed as usual talking to my pal Lock however we forgot to discuss Pedro going to Shea. Two words-David Wells? What the fuck.

The end of the night was a blur. A man holding up a giant sausage to give away. A long talk with Simon about Turgenev. Me taking a photo of a man with two rolls of TP in one hand and Cheese Whiz in the other. And finally tall promises that I would send Manhattan Transfer a postcard drawing of Farrah Fawcett.

I’d say it was time to call it a night.