Follow-up

Well kids, Cinderella is back to sweeping the floors after an evening of fine dining. My cab turned into a pumpkin at the stroke of 1:30, and man am I paying for it now! But it was well-worth the hangover and the bill, to get to play grown-up for an evening. I'll be damned though, they didn't even have tartare! I was fired before I was hired over a dish they don't even serve anymore!

Whatever. It's not like Queenie was ever really cut out to wait on others, I got pissy anytime someone ordered more than one beverage. Irrational, yes. Controllable, no.

So afterward, we popped into a piano bar to see one of my musical theater friends for his birthday. Sweetpotato was the only straight man in the place and can you believe, he's the one that wanted to stay longer! Piano bars are a strange New York phenomenon, wherein, every gay man or theater hopeful (basically one in the same) gathers late at night to sing showtunes as loudly as they possibly can, in an effort to prove their talent to the other hopefuls. There's often a great deal of alcohol involved, which is certainly why 'Tater was so enamored. It's almost like living in a musical- everyone bursts into song, the same song, in perfect 4-part harmony with the occasional dance step thrown in for good measure. And I mean these folks know EVERY song, from EVERY musical...EVER. Sadly, most won't ever stand on a Broadway stage, but after midnight in a Manhattan piano bar, you'd never know.

They are not for the faint of heart, so I suggest you steel yourself with vodka before entering, lest you run screaming from the bar with the chorus of Oklahoma! repeating in your head.

All in all, it was one of those great New York nights- pay more for one dinner than your electric bill in July and spend the evening in a parallel universe where everybody sings along!