Karaoke juice

Oh, the things one finds in Chinatown: most recently, liquid green crack in a cup. We stopped into a tea room looking for a pre-karaoke pick-me-up, and ordered what we (or I, at least) thought was going to be regular black, herbal and green teas. Sarah's was the sweetest-tasting, and purplish-grey in hue. Rebecca's was the exact color and taste of an apple Jolly Rancher. I ordered a matcha green tea and it arrived milky green with tiny gelatin cubes at the bottom. I wish I'd thought to take a picture of it, but here's an approximation:



We each ordered jumbo pots because hey, we had over an hour to kill. Sip and talk, sip and talk. Within a quarter-hour, we were all wide-eyed and jittery, tapping our feet and yammering loudly about our cats.

Even though the sweet taste made our teeth hurt, it was the perfect prelude to a night out. I didn't even fall asleep and drool in the cab on the way home. But I did toss and turn all night (very rare for me), and at one point had a dream that all my female friends were having a writers' retreat in an old Victorian home, and I awoke at 4:30AM with a brilliant idea for a novel, which I really wish I could recall right now. I do know that it was about Sarah, but I was going to disguise that fact by calling her character "Allison." Clever! Four and a half hours later, I lay in bed with eyes wide open thinking, "I should use all this energy to go to the gym. I could just get up and go to the gym right now. Wait, is the gym even open this early?!"

I mean, this is TEA. This is why I don't party Lohan-style.