Mikey, Bikeshorts and I went to meet Berkeleyist and crew at 111 Minna. None of us had ever been there before and as apparently, “everyone goes there,” we thought we should try it.
After getting instructions from my soon to be cousin in law, Hunter, crossing the street in front of us and not really knowing who I was, we made it to this gallery/bar/chess club hangout and paid to get in.
After a couple of drinks, we ditched Lo and headed to a fabulous looking bar we passed, right by our fantastic parking space.
How the hell did I not know about Flytrap. This, let me tell you, is my new favorite place.
First of all, I think I’m getting old. I would much rather sit at a swanky bar sipping incredible wine with my wonderful and well-dressed friends.
And my wonderful and well-dressed friends have fabulous taste in food. Jason started with the Caprese. And Mikey?
He had brain.
I actually tried it, as did Bikeshorts, and we agreed that perhaps knowing what it was hindered our enjoyment. Mikey sat beside me over his empty plate. "I think I'm getting smarter."
Dinner was wonderful. We're all going to Flytrap.
Until the end of time.
Get a couple of drinks in Bikeshorts and he starts calling chicks. It's actually entertaining to listen to, as he suddenly becomes this overly-flirty, mildly desperate yet ultimately disappointed player who holds his phone up and lets me announce to girlfriend number 657 how he'll never really care about her.
We hit up Bloom after, for cocktails and mocking my jukebox tastes, but it paled in comparisson. Actually, everywhere pales in comparisson.
Where my wings at? I just got trapped...