Boo-Urns

Despite my sensible decision to stay in last night, watch Murderball and clean my kitchen, I succumbed to temptation when Pablo called and beckoned me to Manhattan. I can't really think of anyone in my life who can call me, say, "hey, all my friends ditched me tonight, you want to hang out?" and I will respond, "Oh, sure."

Anyway, Pabs tempted me a with a promise of trying out a place for Kate's bachelorette party - you may recall that I mentioned the MetroCafe last weekend, which was disappointing and therefore nixed for the party. We did, however, receive Kate's consent to have dinner at Benihana, so we opted to try that out last night.

Problem: Paul called at the appointed meeting time (for once I was the semi-late one): there was no Benihana at the address we had looked up. I picked Paul up and we decided to head down to Reade Street to a hibachi place we had found online. Long story short - we walked the length of Reade - no hibachi. Meltdown ensued.

"Goddamn it! Why can't we find a freakin' restaurant for this thing? Do you know how many restaurants are in this fucking city? Millions! Why can't we find one damn restaurant?" Also, it was very cold outside and cold makes me cranky.

"Well, fuck it. Let's take her to Dunkin' Donuts for her party," Paul suggested.

We temporarily gave up on the hibachi quest and grabbed dinner at the Reade Street Pub. I had a blue cheese bacon burger and we split some "loaded fries." The fries give the cheese fries at ESPN Zone a run for their money. Also, it's fun to draw on the paper table clothes.

For those of you keeping score - this is the third outing I have been on to find a restaurant for Kate's bachelorette party. This party, much like the doll in Tree House of Horror number whatever, is cursed.