Carbs make the world a better place. Especially when you spent a Sunday night drinking a lot of alcohol. Hey, I don’t judge you (okay, maybe I do).

This was written yesterday, posted today, so just pretend you are reading this on a Monday, okay?

Last night my uncle (who I live with) took me out in Boston to celebrate finishing my master’s (which technically won’t be finished-finished till December, but whatever) and also my moving out of his house, something I suspect he is both looking forward to and dreading. We started our evening at a restaurant called Rocca, where we were supposed to have dinner, but because apparently the main dining area is closed on Sunday we decided to have a drink there and relocate for dinner.

(I realized I should have been taking pictures, but I am notorious for bringing my camera out with me, and then never taking a single picture. Oh well. As a result, we are going to play the “Let’s Google Image Search things I would have taken a picture of had I remembered to” game.)

So, anyway, we ended up having the best drink I’ve ever had at Rocca. It’s called a Strada 6A, and if you are ever in Boston and find yourself looking for a cool place in the South End to have a drink GO HERE AND ORDER THIS ONE. It was super tasty.


After the tasty drink, we went to Masa for dinner. Masa is like an upscale Mexican restaurant, which at first I was really excited about, but after reading the menu, finding most EVERYTHING in Spanish, so I wasn’t 100% sure what I was ordering, and not seeing a taco or burrito in sight (yes, I know this isn’t authentic Mexican, but it’s what I’m used to), I was a little wary. In an effort to be daring, and knock another thing of my list, I decided to try mahi-mahi, mostly because my mother once said I would like it, and I usually trust my mother.

It should be said I don’t particularly care for fish. I hate the way it smells; I hate the way (most) tastes. Unless it is deep fried, I usually stay away from it. But, I didn’t want to be lame and order the chicken.

Well, my dinner came, I hesitantly took a bite, and to my chagrin, I really liked it. It tasted nothing like fish, and, I really hate this saying because it’s so cliché, but it tasted like chicken.

This was not my dinner, but it kind of looked like it:


I just Google imaged searched mahi mahi, because I realized I’ve never seen one, and now I feel really bad, because it’s actually a really pretty fish! I’m sorry, little mahi mahi! Just in case you have never seen one either:


Anyway, pallet = expanding. I consider this a small personal victory, because when it comes to food, I am really picky. Mostly I just don't like the way a food sounds or looks, or I didn't like one type of a food cooked a certain way (as it was with fish), so I avoid it all together. I've been meaning to work on this. There is something very...young about saying, "I don't like _____, it tastes/feels/looks weird." So, good for me, I guess?

After dinner, we went on a tour of Boston gay clubs, starting at Club Cafe, where it was apparently piano bar night, where I had the following run in:

Attractive gay man carrying 2 drinks: Excuse me.
Me: Sure.
Attractive gay man, who has now bumped into me in the chest area: Oh! Sorry about that. Nice boobs though.
Me: Thanks.

This is why I love gay bars. Because you can have instances like this one and it's not all awkward and creepy, and it's funny and light and self-esteem boosting. Every girl should have a few gay friends for exactly this!

We then went on to Fritz, where I was literally the only female in the bar, and then closed the evening at the Eagle. And now it is the day after, and I am paying for my evening of fun dearly. Apparently I just can't bounce back as quickly as I used to, which is sad and unfortunate.

P.S. I am moving back to Louisiana in 3 days! And I get to see John in 2! This has nothing to do with anything, but I am really excited about it :). We've been doing the long distance relationship thing for a year now, and let's just say I was ready to be done with it a year ago.