she wakes to the sound of a pounding drum

Last night was one of those evenings that has all intentions of ending early, but actually results in raucous behaviour, and memory loss in the early a.m. The festivities commenced with homemade cupcakes, and champagne before heading to my preferred Chelsea hangout, Barts. This discreet bar is located within an apartment block, and has one of the most unique entrances imaginable. The minuscule venue possesses quirky antique furnishings, a family of friendly bar staff, and shots are served in ladies who lunch teacups. Once their lethal teacup shooters take effect, each patron is encouraged to sway to the music, and utilize their weird, but wonderful costume selection. By midnight, the boy was wearing a frizzy blonde wig, our friend had grown severely attached to his full body penquin suit, the table permeated the smell of tequila and sambucca, and a Kate Middleton sighting had occurred. Our reckless, alcohol infused minds then decided the time had come for real dancing. I am not entirely sure when the night ended, or how I found my bed, but our hundred drunken photos tell the story of a good night out.