La Barca: Instigator of Stream of Consciousness Writing

An emphatic and slightly deranged journey into the mind of one Ms. Connie Shao.

Location: 2414 S Vermont Ave in L.A.

SO. We went to la barca, on Vermont - if you didn't look for it while you were driving by you would miss it admist all of its mexicano surroundings, hella local, hella part of the community. It has a huge sign on the outside that says "La Barca," two small windows with bars over it. the moment i stepped inside it was CHAOS. Super loud on the inside, people shouting, laughing, fillllllllllllled with hooomans. and families. and hella people being rowdy drunks.

We met up with two of Traci's friends, who had already begun drinking, alas it was happy hour, and then of course we got drinks for the whole table. Hella margaritas. strawberry, peach, and peach banana. and pina coladas. $2.95 per drink, all quite strong.

Tons of choices on the menu - I decided on the coloso burrito, which had everything you could want in a burrito - guac, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, rice, beans, EVERYTHING. A much more well-rounded burrito compared to the other burritos, which is why I decided upon it. Evan and I both got it. And when it came, it was big enough to feed a small family. I would guesstimate that it was at least 3 or 4 pounds, and there was melted cheese and sauce on the top. huge tortillas, my thoughts. I ate a little less than a third of it. and then I ate it for 2 meals after. I went out to dinner the next night so I didn't get to eat it then, but the next day I had it for brunch, lunch, and dinner. It was great.umm.. That's all. Really long story. The point of the story. This whole burrito cost me $8.95, and it was huge. The size of my head.
[this is the work you get from me when i am not in a funny-woman mood. remember, low expectations, the key to success!!!]

UM OK SORRY THIS WAS LONG. JUST SUMMARIZE IT AND PUT IT ONLINE. OR NOT. NO HARD FEELINGS. CAPITAL LETTERS. NOW I'M JUST RAMBLING. AND IT'S GREAT TO TYPE IN CAPITAL LETTERS.HUGE BURRITOS. HELLA BURRITOS. oh. also there were chips. and salsa.

Summary: huge burrito. family friendly environment. great deals on drinks. strong margaritas. hella good environment, positive vibes. fun times!!!!!!
i would go back. :)

Plug Uglies/Boar's Head: I've Made a Terrible Realization

Location: Three street stretch on 3rd Ave. between 20th and 23rd.

It's summer time in New York! I finally have an ID! And no expendable cash, but whatever! Why not explore the bars in the neighborhood where I will have spent three years of my life? And so I did...

A couple of weeks ago, Val invited me and Erin to come out to a bar where she was hanging out. How convenient, I thought, this bar is only two blocks away. We get there--first of all, there is a SEVEN dollar cover. Fortunately for them, I was so excited that my ID worked that I decided to proceed. Also it was the beginning of the month, and I am short-sighted as fuck, so I just decided to whimsically spend, dance like nobody's watching etc...

Anyway, I can't really tell you how much drinks cost there since I didn't have to pay because of Val's very gracious friends, but I'm assuming that if I had seen the bill, my reaction would have been similar to the following:

(870): This bar receipt from last night makes no sense
(573): You were wasted and got mad that it was too high so you subtracted 50 bucks in the tip line from the total
(870): I wish that would've worked

Regardless, Erin and I stuck out--as Erin said, we did not have shoulder length hair, Ann Taylor-like shift dresses, sparkly clutches, hella lipgloss, and a generally pervasive nostalgic desire to return to college. (That said, later that night, Erin claimed that a really big blanket with butterflies on it was "for the baby who has everything.")

A couple of nights later, Kelly was in town with her friends, and as always, IDs were an issues. Still! we were saved by Plug Uglies, a neighborhood and underage-friendly bar. Also apparently deaf-friendly because the music there was unbelievably loud. Music should only be this loud if Journey or Queen or Britney or NSYNC is playing. Otherwise, it just doesn't make any sense. What also didn't make any sense was the fact that a group of drunken bros with salaries that were hanging out at the bar cut the pant legs off of their friend's pair of Dockers, thereby turning them into peddle pushers. (For the yuppie who has everything.) At some point, a group of people came in dancing what looked like a traditional Greek dance. By that time, we had made up biographies for all the bar's visitors, and decided to leave.

Conclusion: Avoid, unless you don't like interacting with the people you hang out with.

Every Cuban Place in this City is called Cafe Habana or Some Variation Thereof

Location: Elizabeth and Prince St.

I have some preconceptions about what summer in New York is supposed to be like. It should be open to the randomest strings of events that will together compose something resembling a movie montage about New York, from which people get the idea that New York is constantly vibrant, and, despite the fact that it has a reputation for being cynical, somehow romantic. The weather should be borderline Vietnam-like, there should be outdoor cafes all over the place, free events. and going out on random nights of the week to find the streets are filled with people, all figuring out where to go, and winding up at a small, crowded restaurant, where you feel like you have done something to deserve the break that a beer with your dinner affords. Such is Habana.

This place is literally on the corner. We had to wait around 20 minutes to get in, but the wait flew by in the company of (wait for the links. also you're the only people who read this) Valerie, Jim, and Amanda. Soon we were seated, but now before witnessing what looked like the beginning of a fight. Of course, I started a chant, and suddenly a crowd of high schoolers were teeming around me, joining me in my cause. By Jove, I was a leader! Sadly, this was when the hostess called our name, so...I made them disperse.

The place is really cozy, and almost all available floor space is dedicated to tables. Of course, the French windows really opened up the place. The waitress was really friendly: she called us "honey," unlike the owner of this bar we went to for Jim's birthday, who, upon seeing Amanda's full shot glass, said, "Good job," upon seeing Jim's empty one, called him a stud, and upon seeing Mone's empty one, called him a "person." Things really went downhill for him. Anyway, this waitress joked around, and basically was the waitress I could never hope to be. Needless to say, I began planning my revenge immediately. Actually the ordering process began really awkwardly because it was really loud and we kept having the following interaction:

Waitress: Are you guys ready...
Valerie: For drinks?
Awkward silence
Everyone: Uh....
Waitress: So?
Me: I think we're ready to order
Waitress: I'll just come back then.

Anyway, finally, we got our order in. (Also they didn't card. Also, ever since I've gotten an ID, this has become less and less of a concern because now that I have that safety net, I don't get that deer in headlights look every time a waiter asks if we want something to drink.) The waitress recommended some sort of corn thing that everyone was getting, and we are not ones to protest, so we got it. It was corn on the cob with butter galore and some shredded cheese. It was delicious. As we waited, we watched a customer grope one of the waitresses as she sat on his ass. I'm sure the interaction was designed to give us a window into Cuban restaurant culture. Habana's waitresses double as cultural ambassadors.

The food was delicious, and not too filling. The prices were in the 10-20 dollar range. The music was AWESOME. I almost felt like I was in "Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights," arguably the best dance movie ever made, and most likely the best movie ever made. I'm no professional but I know what I like.

They didn't rush the bill, so I could practice my European dinner length regimen. By the end of summer, it will hopefully reach three hours. A girl can dream...