I almost had to get on a plane to Vegas for a nightcap last night.

Seriously.

A friend and I were leaving a downtown birthday party ($25 for all night open bar! imaginative DJ! tons of food! adorable well-dressed boys) and decided we wanted a night cap. It was 3 a.m. and so many places were closed. The bars at The Millennium Hotel and the Soho Grand. Lucky Strike. Diva.

The one bar that was open was Remix which was hosting a lesbian party. Lots of beautiful girls dancing and a Thug’s Passion so potent, my voice has lowered an octave.

Remix was lovely but what is going on when New York City offers so little choice in terms of post-midnight libation? WTF.

Another reason for drinking at home.

One more note on last night. I hate going to clubs and hearing music that I can hear on the radio. What’s the purpose of being a DJ if the best you can do is replicate the restricted playlists of most radio conglomerates? How can you call yourself a DJ when you play a song twice in one night? Vomit!

The DJ last night gets the Tallulah Seal of Approval because he played a song that’s not a current hit but it has an irresistible hook that my ass (and many others) could not resist:

Damn that felt good.