(BUH: photo taken by great waitress/horrible photog)
Despite the violent headline, it was all love at Burton's Grille at the Derby Street Shoppes last night. As usual, Suppah Club started out quite mellow and lady-like with white napkins folded in the shape of isosceles triangles on our laps. We swapped harrowing work stories over a nosh of gazpacho and sesame encrusted tuna before degenerating into the typical shenans that accompany these monthly suppahs: We discussed the possibility of growing some khat in ceramic planters on my back porch and we made plans to make like 1991 and invade Jessica's parents house in Marshfield for a wee pool party (complete with Body Bombs) on Saturday.
Paige had an early flight to California the next morning so we walked her out to her fly new automobile -- all luxe and plush, like Paige as a car. Even non-car people like us could not resist the urge to wrap it up in a pink blanket and take it home. Thus, a friendly carjacking, born out of genuine fondness, occurred. Some shameless scenes:
Jess -- a latter day Tawny Kitaen in business casual attire -- strikes a pose on Paige's (car's) trunk.
"HEY! Shut up and drive muthafucka," says Pete, after bumrushing the backseat.
"We ride donkey's in Ireland, for fuck sake," says Nic. "I'm not getting out of the bloody car. Back off! I'm going to Foxwoods." (note: Peeping Jess)
Annie's got the keys!
Sorry, Paige. Don't know what came over us.