The Best Pasta I Never Had

15 Aug

Try as I might, I continue to find myself in mystifying situations.  Like on a rooftop at 2 am with someone named “Lil Tony.”

Every time I go to No Name Bar things get wacky.  The first time I went there (last year), I made out with Tiny Tim in a dark corner and one of us may or may not have peed in a bucket in the supply closet.  Another time, there was a group of people tripping on some form of hallucinogenic drug, dancing in slow motion with a hundred balloons.  I was there with a friend, and at one point we looked over to find that everybody had left except for one lone girl, who was simultaneously humping a cluster of balloons and playing them like a saxophone.

Two nights ago, a large group of people went to No Name to celebrate my friend’s birthday.  Things were going smoothly until someone clogged the toilet in the bathroom (next to the bar) and it overflowed, spilling out into the bar area.  Several cans of silly string materialized, and found their way into a few naughty hands.  Soon, there was silly string floating atop the toilet water and hanging from the rafters.  A tall, floppy man who looked like a cute baby dinosaur grabbed a can of silly string and sprayed his disgruntled bald friend with it until he had a foamy toupee.  He lost aim and a clump whizzed past the DJ and stuck to the wall in his booth.  The DJ slowly turned his apathetic head to look at the glob, then turned to us and mumbled “Not by the records, man.”  Later on, I encountered the floppy guy again when he danced past my booth like a wet noodle to a Joy Division song.  I informed him he looked like a fusilli noodle, and he sat down and told me he wanted me to close my eyes and think about the best pasta I’ve ever had– then join him for a dance.  Now that’s a pick up line.  It turned out he was a chef, and he showed me a bunch of photos of his gourmet dishes.  Then he showed me a picture of a penis sculpture he had made out of beets.

Around this point in the evening, one of my friends had taken most of his clothes off and was dancing like a maniac in the middle of several horrified strangers whilst comparing his body to “rotting tripe” (he is also on OKCupid, ladies).  Another friend I was there with had finally struck up the nerve to talk to a boy she had been eyeing, whom the rest of the group collectively agreed was a babe.  As the party began to dissipate, Noodle Man suggested that I bring my female friend and the guy she had picked up (whose name turned out to be Lil Tony) over to his place to check out his rooftop.  I had to work in the morning, but it was only a few blocks away.  The view of the Manhattan skyline was impressive, and Lil Tony shared a bunch of fun facts about the Empire State Building, including various blimp-landings.  Lil Tony loved blimps.  When the clock struck two, I declared it time for me to call for a car to take me home.  Noodle Man walked me out while Lil Tony attempted to seal the deal with my friend on the couch.  Sitting outside on the stoop, Noodle Man wasted no time enveloping me in a floppy embrace.  I was sleepy and he smelled like pickles, but I let him kiss me because he was funny and danced like a noodle.  I got home covered in dirt from the roof, but pleased that I had handled my exit with grace and ease.

I am not the kind of girl who likes to go dancing in da clubs.  In fact, I strongly dislike it.   And guys who are good dancers make me think about “Glee,” which has to be one of the least sexy things ever.  For me, it’s not how well you move, but what you move like– Noodle Man was apparently a pro at both making food AND moving like food.  He gets an A+ in my book.


One Response to “The Best Pasta I Never Had”


  1. Just Your Average Thursday « What's in the Box? - August 18, 2012

    […] where a friend was DJing, and later I stopped at No Name on the way to the train to see if Noodle Man was there.  Sadly he wasn’t, but an Asian girl with slurred speech and a flowing cape bought me […]

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