the she loves ny advanced guide to dating and the like
BUNGALOW 8

west chelsea/north of meat packing.
w 27th street.
west of tenth avenue on the north side.

on the first day, amy sacco said, "let there be lot 61"; and there was lot 61. and she saw that this was good. and the people tried to get in. instantly the door began to resemble studio 54, circa 1976. there was a pleading, groveling, exorbitantly exorbitant tipping,
fashion show of a scene outside. the curious, but tragically unaffiliated, had to make dinner reservations for "5:30 or 10" and endure the high priced and mediocre food. if you made a good impression on your waiter - no, matty, the waiters were not there hoping to impress you - he might let you linger into the night. there, in a late evening carefully manufactured page six junkie nirvana, you might catch a glimpse of a bold-face name from a remote undesirable, made-especially-for-the-5:30-reservation, table
behold, my good friend, the classic struggle between man and her scene.

and then, on the second day, amy said, "let there be a pool side bungalow in the middle of manhattan with many sofas on which gorgeous people can bask in their own greatness, such that it may separate these people from the much uglier masses." and she made this place and called it, bungalow 8. and it was so. and, again, the people tried to get in.

so, let's say for the sake of argument that you and vanessa are granted access to this, the inner sanctum, where you're still likely to find a battery of lounging, mostly esoteric, celebrities - on an off night. perhaps you've decided to spare no expense and reserve a table; perhaps you've managed to pass for a european banker; perhaps alexis is really the near-supermodel that you claim she is. whatever the reason, congratulations, matty, you've reached the promised land. enjoy, or at least appreciate, the significantly affected, definitely contrived, tropical bungalow setting. if you are among the lucky few to whom a menu is ceremoniously presented, be sure to pamper your darling with the ultimate trifecta: the '93 dom (although nicole usually goes with the kristal), a grilled cheese and, of course, a nice shiatsu. after a minute or two in the downstairs contest to recognize or be recognized, you'll be ready for little oasis they call a balcony. walk towards the bar, first passing the tables of people who are either wearing or eating your salary, and, after getting a drink (something with a watermelon wedge for her), take a left followed by a quick right up the stairs. yes, my friend, i know, that's much better.

upstairs, make eye contact with the rather deft dj and delicately kiss vanessa on the cheek. settle into to a bench and enjoy being fabulous, from a short and elevated distance. and please, matty, if brian mcfadden needs a seat, be gracious and scoot over a few inches.

additional fifth dates
babbo
nobu

(c) 2003 She Loves NY