Namaste blog tribe
Most of our loyal cult affiliates are aware that my birthday never goes for only one day. It usually ebbs and flows for a week-ish and I spend the month of September shouting out the whole being born concept. I’ve always just felt if there’s one thing to celebrate, it’s your birthday.
Meanwhile, I’ve developed this affinity for bottle popping. You see, if you’re a feisty female ready to go out whenever, New York City club promoters take notice. That said, I’ve recently surrounded myself with a handful of Manhattan’s finest hailing from Italy to Brooklyn and a few spots in between.
There’s something enthralling about your phone sporadically igniting seven days a week with messages like, “Le Souk tonight? 11pm walk in. Bottles all night.” Such messages are often accompanied by a secret password
you tell the doorman to skip the line and walk right inside.
It’s a bit pimped, really.
Last night, I hopped in a cab around 11 and zoomed 10 blocks south to Liberty Theatre, wearing my shortest, tightest dress and highest black boots. Inside amongst free drinks and fine men, the DJ rocked my world playing some of my most recent track obsessions like THIS and THIS and THIS. And while my legs still burned a bit from Kung Fu as I popped and shimmied in very high heels… fuck did I enjoy myself.
You can imagine my complete glory when Remy Ma came on. Particularly when you consider the jovial islander I was playing with on the dancefloor.
The life I have built for myself, single-handedly, is surreal. I don’t remember what time I left the club, but I was definitely smiling when I did.
I cabbed it home and dreamt of the south.