Sweet land of Liberty (hotel), of thee I sing

It's already been some time since last weekend, but it deserves to be immortalized in some fashion, albeit in a cursory one.

My friend SLR came up from the Kingdom of Jersey to celebrate her birthday weekend with a spa day on Saturday. I, for one, wanted to get my Jungle Boogie going at KF's party on Friday, so I brought her along. Clad in my most impressive animal print attire--next to the leopard-print leggings I wore to some a cappella performances back in the day--and armed with a glass of Casillero del Diablo, I felt like a regular devilish zebra (perhaps no more devilish or zebra-ish than usual, though). Was I a little confrontational that evening? No more than usual. Did I have a good time? Absolutely.

Saturday was off to a fairly tame beginning in all respects except for the weather. The spa was a solid refuge from the temperamental storming outside. The highlight of the day prior to 5PM was while waiting for my friend to finish up her final spa treatment, I grabbed a snack and learned that the Creperie on Newbury is generating a gluten-free crepe recipe. It might not be long before I can actually enjoy some of their namesake specialties instead of being relegated to a Waldorf Salad. The highlight of the day post-5PM was everything about my first time at the Liberty Hotel.

For those of you unfamiliar with the place, the Liberty Hotel, right off Charles/MGH T stop, is the former Charles Street Jail that has been transformed into one of the coolest yet not too pretentious hotels I've ever seen. Whether you're looking to impress a date or pick one up, hit any of the three (or was it four?) stories of bars with artistic drinks that will empty your wallet at their $15 price tag (that said, I'd drink a 'repose' at any day, at any time. Fresh blueberries in a cocktail or elsewhere are always welcome). If you're looking for food, well, if Scampo is good enough for Larry David of 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' (spotted: approximately 9:30PM on Saturday, Sept. 8), it's probably good enough for those of you who read this blog. And if you're ever looking to take me out, color me happy--they have gluten-free pasta. But the hilarity really ensued when SLR and I were approached by two 40-year olds, four members of the Chechnyan (mob, I suspect), and a large man named Cyrus who looked vaguely like a shaven Rick Ross. Only at the Liberty will you find a crowd including me, a thirty-something yoga teacher carrying her dog in a stroller, a sixty-year-old cradle-robber, and a twenty-something Qatari protege hoping to inherit his father's business by enrolling in the International Business program at BU.

And just when I thought that Sunday could never live up to the entertainment of the weekend, I was proven wrong in the invitation to a concert at Somerville's The Precinct for a concert by Johnny Blazes and the Pretty Boys. Half-drag queen singing all my favorite soul and jazz songs? Check. Joined by equally colorful company? Check. Sleeping too little and consequently rocking jeans in the workplace the following day? Check, and check.

And that, my friends, is how you have a good weekend.