The Pimple, the Rat, & the House White Blend
Friday night is for the girls
Last night me and three of my friends, Lani, Aicha, and Rominna, went out to D.C. to try and get into a now Christmas themed café-slash-bar called Urban Roast. The Tik Tok that Lani got this hot recommendation from promised campy Christmas decor and roasting s’mores over outdoor fire pit tables. This would shape up to be a perfect holiday girls’ night out (probably the last of 2021). Except one thing was not perfect, not at all:
The huge pimple on my cheek.
Plus-one
I know when my period is about to start. One telltale sign is the rash on my right boob. But it’s also a few large pimples, which isn’t as strange as the boob rash (seriously, why is it only on my right…never mind).
I don’t even have that much makeup to cover it up, just some useless drugstore concealer I bought a year ago. Not sure for what now since it sure as hell can’t cover anything to save its life, much less a period pimple.
I did my best (and smudged some dark eyeshadow over my lids, a signature) and accepted that Miss Thing was tagging along with the four of us tonight. At that point, all I could hope for was that my friends wouldn’t visibly recoil at the sight of my zit — and also that it would be too dark in the bar to even see it.
Into the city we go
On the drive into the city (courtesy of Lani, our brave soldier) we cackled at Aicha’s dramatic retelling of her cringey date, which was framed as data collection to ease her nerves since she’s no serial dater by any means. The main takeaway from the story was that men can be real weirdos when it comes to dating women. Maybe don’t call someone your “pre-wife” less than 24 hours after meeting them? Just an idea, I don’t know.
Anyway, after going through twists and turns in the darkest stretch of road I’ve ever seen, and missing a few exits to begin with (thanks, Rominna), we finally made it to D.C., the city of lights!
We stepped out into the fresh (polluted) air, which was uncharacteristically warm — for this time of year — to everyone but Lani, our Cali gworl, who was freezing in the 50-something degree breeze. We also stepped out into the street thinking we could get away with jaywalking like real city dwellers, but the sudden sweep of oncoming traffic helped hurry us across the street pretty well, I’d say. It was a good laugh.
What wasn’t funny was the city rat that accosted us while we were on our way to find another bar to sit in as we waited for Urban Roast to have a free table.
“Not the rat!!” Rominna cried, and we all jumped back in horror. Well, not Aicha. She wanted to see it. But it was too late, for it had already slunk under the opening of an alley gate and went home to tell the tale of how it nearly escaped the pointed-toe boot of a small human girl. Not that Rominna would ever kick a rat — she loves animals!
We got some drinks and free sandwiches (Aicha’s lactose intolerance was misconstrued to be an allergy, and the chef himself delivered a complementary extra, cheeseless sandwich platter so as not to get caught up in a liability situation) at a Cuban restaurant, which was transforming into a club for the night. Then Rominna and I went back to Urban Roast to see if a table was free for us. We had to pass the rat’s lair again, and this time they verbally harassed us by squeaking from the shadows. But it was all worth it because it turned out that there was one more table for four available, just one hour before closing.
Good fortune comes to those who don’t kick rodents.
Pinot grigio, you just get me
I ordered Urban Roast’s house white blend and not even four sips in, I started to feel that lovely warm, woozy embrace that only wine can give me. Listen, I can enjoy a cocktail here and there, but wine is my rock, my first love, my provider. She always gets the job done and she gets it done well.
I don’t know what was up with that pinot grigio but it had me in another dimension. I had no idea what my friends were saying but I was definitely laughing. Lani taste tested her flight of seasonal hot chocolates with much delight and I watched, the alcohol subjecting me to a vertigo-esque state. I wondered if anyone could tell that I was completely out of my mind because it truly felt like my head was about to roll off — but in a good way.
At one point, I swayed into the bathroom and stood before the mirrors, mesmerized by the soap and water, my own drowsy reflection (the pimple was also tipsy), and a light-up Christmas display thingy that featured a small Santa Claus singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
By the time we left, I asked to link arms with Aicha for physical support and announced that I was drunk off of a single magical glass of white wine. The good thing about being a lightweight is that I don’t have to blow all my money to get drunk. All it takes is one good glass, no frills, no funny stuff. The bad thing about being a lightweight is…you know what, there isn’t a bad thing. Single glass of House White Blend, you’re all I need to get by. <3
Saturday
The buzz has worn off and the shares of the tab have been Venmo’d to the right people. I had a fun night with my good friends and I’ll always be grateful for moments like that. Especially since I never did anything remotely fun in college. Saturn in the 5th house things~! Late bloomer behavior~! Thank you, girls, for being the reason I get out of the house.
What will I do today? I’ll eat this leftover pizza for lunch, watch Blue Period on Netflix, and…whatever else I feel like doing. That’s what the holiday season is all about, right?
Until next time, my little city rats.
