The manfriend and I celebrated our one-year anniversary last night. (A record for the manfriend as ladies tend to leave him within months of courtship for they are unable to assimilate to his manic work schedule.) We had dinner at Bacar, a neighborhood restaurant-wine salon which I've been dying to try since moving to the area. The place has got great ambience. Soft-lighting in a loft-setting. And what makes the place most appealing is the fact that you are just as likely to find folks in jeans and a sweatshirt dining there as you are likely to find a dude in a tux dining there. So what did I wear? Jeans. Though I should point out that I paired my denim with some fierce footwear. Glossy black Louboutins!
Despite the numerous choices on the menu, I ended up ordering a pizza. I couldn't resist. They're of the brick-oven variety...
Pictured: Pammy trying to "up" her flare. Me in shock. (Despite my fascination with flaring nostrils, I'm actually kind of scared of them.)
No comments:
Post a Comment