And by chat I mean mostly post pictures. Sorry! I’m in a car on the way home from Philly & I have blog-posting compulsion but typing too much will make me puke in Henry’s lap, maybe.
We had time to kill before The Sound of Animals Fighting show last night, so we roamed around Chinatown long enough to eat dinner and for Henry to tell me NO!! a million times in the Sanrio store. I hate him. But they didn’t have green tea Kit Kats there and that was really all I wanted anyway.
I wanted to find somewhere creepy to eat, preferably someplace located in an alley & possibly underground, but Henry was like, “No. We’re eating at Penang because I just saw five people walk in, so…” I walked in predetermined to hate it since Henry picked it, so I bitched about the menu like the cry baby that I am because I recently decided to go back to being a strict ovo-lacto vegetarian (sayonara, seafood) and it seemed like even the vegetable portion of the menu had some sort of animal in it. I eventually ordered some noodle thing sans shrimp that was ok. Fine, it was good.
But you know what was fucking awesome? The lychee water I ordered, which cost almost as much as my dinner but it was worth it. (Henry was all, “YOU BETTER DRINK THAT” like I’m some picky child; OK, because I AM some picky child.) Those lychees were like giant bloated eyeballs and now I can’t imagine having to drink water without my glass clogged with those sons of bitches. If lychees actually were eyeballs, I’d have to put myself on my next serial killer greeting card, because I have a feeling me and my melon baller will be hitting the town on the regular.
After dinner, I wanted something sweet in the worst way and Chinatown was peppered with all kinds of Asian bakeries, but Henry was all, “When will you learn your lesson?! You don’t like Asian ‘desserts’!” God Henry, let me make my own poor choices every now and then, would ya?
There was some inviting Chinese emporium type place and I was desperate to get Chooch a souvenir.
“Why? We’re not actually in China, Erin. We can buy him this shit in our own city,” Henry sighed.
So we continued walking around and I was so busy craning my neck to ogle a bakery across the street that I straight tripped really hard, doing a modified swan dive through the air, while Henry shook his head and kept walking. YOU CAN’T TAKE THE FAT GIRL ANYWHERE.
Then I misheard Henry to say “That looks like a place where KD Lang would eat” and it was finally time to get in line outside of the Trocadero and for Henry’s night to start its slow decline.