Red Velvet Review

I know you all have been waiting with bated breath all weekend to see how Queenie's night out on the town went, and since I wouldn't want to disappoint you dear readers, I do have a few things to say.

First of all, we had a FABULOUS time! All the girls gathered at Red Velvet's place for a few pre-game cocktails and of course a slice of delicious red velvet cake. **(Note how pretty both my Red Velvet's look above) While it remains an inferior cake on my list, when covered in cream cheese icing and homemade praline crumbles, you'd be surprised how tasty anything can be. Red Velvet was of course showered with gifts and hugs and all those warm and fuzzies that she most definitely deserves, being the fabulous Red Velvet that she is. Then we gathered our scantily-clad selves up and over to New Jersey. I mean, we didn't really go to New Jersey, that would have been a travesty of gigantic proportions, but we did make it all the way to 11th Avenue, which is close enough for me.

It was truly an educational experience for me, being in the "club district" and all. I mean you're basically waiting in line (for those unfortunate folks who actually have to wait in lines) with a prostitute on your left and a party girl on your right. The only discernible difference between the two is that one gets paid in cash, the other in cocktails- otherwise they both just look cheap.

Now, I realize I don't go out that often, but did I miss the memo about club attire? It seems that the dress code for guys is the fitted untucked Oxford shirt, which on anyone other than Nick Lachey just looks like they bought their shirt 2 sizes too small. The women all appear to be in obscene mini skirts and halter tops that leave little to the imagination and everything to the plastic surgeon. Whatever makes you feel good honey, but I can promise you that in a sober state you'd be pulling on a pair of tights faster than you can say cell-u-lite.

My girls and I looked amazing as you can see, so we just sailed right on in the club and were dancing our asses off before the trashy folks in line could even make a move. We met up with Red Velvet's new baby, who was just precious, and wearing a blazer which only proves he has some sense. You know Sweetpotato wouldn't think of leavin' the house without a jacket, but of course Sweetpotato would rather die than step foot in a club in the first place...probably why I love him so much;-)

It turns out that in dimly-lit place where all the inhabitants are at least 3 cocktails down, my arms don't seem quite so fat..of course I was a few cocktails down myself so it's hard to say. Oh, and of course you don't know which one I am anyway, and I'm not tellin'! I will say though, when the music's good and the company's even better, little things like flabby triceps don't seem to matter so much. Who knows, I may need to start going out on a more regular basis, like say, twice a year or so. Oh and I think I rediscovered my affection for vodka too, cause you know Mimosa's are great and all, but for the Manhattan nightlife scene, it's be drunk or be bothered and y'all know (say it with me now)I just can't be bothered;-)