Not terribly complex plans, right?
After the movie, which was 2 and a half hours by the way, we strolled over to Dosa, where a sign on the door instructed us to touch the handle, then let go.
"Um, I'm confused by the fact that a door has instructions, much less the instructions themselves."
The door slowly swung open and the admittedly stunning and hip space was packed. "Jesus, have you been here before?"
"No, have you?"
"No. Well, I've been to the one on Valencia, back when it was small and filled with people Gavin Newsom hasn't slept with."
That's the best way to describe the crowd last night at Dosa on Fillmore, by the way. Gavin has definitely biblically known 3 or 4 of those bitches and their neck veins and statement accessories. Told it'd be a 40 minute wait, we agreed to use their ladies room and split. We had to push our way past the overflowing bar to the bathroom, and as we entered the tiny space, a woman was delicately washing her hands. Tara and I waited for a free stall as the hand washer pushed the hand dryer button.
I thought the world was ending. It sounded like a jet was taking off. No joke. We were both thrown against the wall.
The hand dryer pretended to be unfazed by the tornado she'd created and she didn't have to pretend long. Another Gavin-type squeezed her way in the bathroom and (OMG!) they knew each other.
When I see a friend unexpectedly in public, I'm just as guilty as these two. I simply reserve the right to judge when other people gasp and hug and emphasize the "are" in the "How are you?"
Tara and I eventually made it into stalls.
"This is really weird!"
The door, the hand dryer, the crowd...I think we just thought we'd have some curry across the street from the movie theater and suddenly, we were thrust into a wacky episode of Sex and the City.
We liked the vibe of Dosa, for sure. We just needed some Manolos and Melissa to really get into it. Tara and I decided instead to brave the front door upon exit and head up the block to SPQR. We were seated immediately and ordered a bunch of small plates, including this amazing corn fritter thing covered in honey. If I may throw you a hot tip, SPQR is one of those joints that's good for a date and good for taking your folks. It's right up my mother's alley.
Anyway, Tara and I dove into our food and our conversation. Jobs and friends and men later, we were winding down when Tara looked across me and whispered, "You listening to this?"
A woman at the table next to us was sending back her wine because she apparently didn't mean to order it. She'd already had 5 drinks elsewhere, you see, and there must be some kind of horrible, angry confusion because she did not want this wine and she did not want to pay for it."
Her date was in the men's room, and according to Tara, he was most certainly throwing up all over the place.
Drunk lady was really laying into the server, a perfectly lovely supermodel who brought me a fancy Diet Coke made out of green tea, and constantly calling someone over to discuss the non-issue of the wine. This is a small restaurant and while we're nosey people to begin with, it was impossible for us not to hear every word.
"This is all so odd!"
We paid our bill and walked back to our cars. It was nearly midnight by the time I got home, chuckling to myself and texting Tara about touching and then letting go. I parked a block away from my flat and making my way down my block, spotted the following 3 doors down: