Last night, I met Missy at Von for a few beers. And then we went to Bontanica and had a few more beers. There, we were joined by Toby and a coworker of his as well as my brother, Ryan. We also ran into an old friend, Jimmy but he left right away because he had a hot date. Good times were had by all—maybe too good of times were had by all. It was nine o’clock and I realized I still hadn’t had anything to eat besides the 1.5 deep fried cheese stick(s) Ryan graciously gave me after I begged for it.

At around 10, Ryan left to drink more beer with fellow NYU Master Graduates (He graduated on Tuesday. YAY RYAN!) and the four of us took off on the F Train heading towards a section of Brooklyn that I hadn’t been before. Once out at Bergen Street, Missy headed home and Toby, Keith and I headed towards the water. And I may have gotten a bit grumpy and for that I am sorry. Our goal was to dine at Alma. We’ve been told that not only does it have some of the best food in Brooklyn, but it sports the most amazing view of Manhattan as well. (It kind of reminded me of Loreal Plaza in D.C.) Unfortunately, I was unable to rate the goods because by the time we got there, the idea of Alma serving anyone food was a mere memory for them. So we had a few more beers instead. It was a liquid dinner, indeed. Which reminded me of the old post September 11th Michele—the girl who drank her nightly meals and fell into bed every night wondering if there’d even be another day. Only the current Michele is a lot happier and a lot less fearful of every passing minute.

(Derailment, sorry.)

By midnight, we were so exhausted and I was pouring Jelly Bellies down my face as if they were peanuts. Toby and I headed home in a taxi and I fell into bed, dead.

That is how we roll in our Hobo gear. That is what we did last night, it is.

It’s morning now. I’m at work. And I’m still hungry.