Fat Black Pussycat

130 W 3rd St
New York, NY 10012
(212) 533-4790

No, I am not discouraged by the fact that Rachael Ray called this place out as being "cool." No, I wasn't accosted by an a-hole bouncer. No, I had no dealings with obnoxious frat boys.

Maybe I was there on urban brown people night? I dunno. What I do know is that I had a great time. How? I was there with my beautiful cousin (native Harlemite/Harlemess?). Her beauty rubbed off on me and Tyra Banks asked me if I wanted to be on top (always). There was no line and the Barry White-looking bouncer breezed us in with a smile. We squeezed past the crowded main room and settled in on the back room. She lounged on a ratty looking chaise and I took my rightful place on a velvety king's throne. The music was pretty chill (Brand Nubians). All this was nice enough...but here's what made me happy (in three parts):

1.) The attractive, Kimoraesque Afro-Asian waitress (yes, please);

2.) Goblet after goblet of the Fat Black Pussycatini or whatever it was. All I remember was that it was a big azz drAnk (not, "drink") that tasted and looked like Grape Kool-Aid. Grape Kool-Aid!! And, you know this...man!! Hmm. Maybe I _was_ here on urban brown people night; and

3.) 31 flavors of two-scoop booty populated the back room. Whether I looked up, down or round and round, I was surrounded by beauteous booty. Ahh, what a wonderful sight. It didn't matter that I couldn't manage so much as a "Hey...baby." I am sure my spilled drink, bloodshot eyes and alcohol breath kept all the lovelies looking my way. Y'see, I'm a catch.

Recap: I sat in a comfy chair, listened to good music, drank kool-aid and re-enacted chase scenes from Benny Hill. It was Central Park with a bar tab.