what is the word

Life turns into a goddamn mess sometimes. & then it goes back to the way it was, more or less.
Last nite for Cinco de Mayo fun we stopped momentarily, tho excrutiatingly, in the lounge of Tacu Tacu to see what was up. They do karaoke down there sometimes & they have a wavy ceiling with multicolored lights in it & it's all dark & it's like a little vacation from hipster sinister Williamsburg. Last nite the karaoke-ers were awful so instead I reminisced about the last time I was there, when some of the people who sang blew me away they were so good. There was a Japanese girl who covered I Wanna Be Sedated like she was an insane cheerleader who had just discovered punk rock. She was frankly awesome. Then there was a muscley shaved-head guido type who looked like a bouncer from Long Island & he sang George Michael's saddest song & he sang it, you could tell, without a shred of awareness of what it was really about. & he sang it beautifully. We applauded him with passion.
Last nite, none of that. Even tho we were fairly drunk we were wincing at the cacophony coming from the microphone. Can I make a citizen's arrest? I asked Leyla.
Eh, let's just go to Zablozki's, she said.
So off to Z's for more drinks at the bar. I stayed out till 1ish? Maybe 1:30? Which was great for me because I've been holed up at home like a little old lady recently, drinking a glass or 2 of Le Pas de la Beaume, padding around the place a bit in my slippers before going to bed super early.
I can't stop thinking about Rome. Rome! I want to meet Margo in Rome in August when it's swelteringly hot & no one in their right mind would make it a point to visit Rome, but anyway there Margo & I would be, sitting in a piazza drinking Camparis or those orange fizzy aperitifs the Italians drink. Aperol I think? Mmm, that stuff.