For once in my Manhattan-centered life, I began to regret that I don’t live in Brooklyn. I ambled down the spookily uninhabited streets of Park Slope a few Saturdays ago, hoping to catch a glimpse of Heath, Michelle and baby Matilda. Instead, I found myself three times charmed at my new favorite outer-borough bar Loki Lounge.

Pronounced “low key,” the spacious spot does the work of three bars in one. Upon entering Loki’s door on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Second Street, night crawlers first find a pub with polished red oak bar and friendly bartenders serving several drafts on tap, including wheaty-delicious Hoegaarden. A bit farther back, playful partiers find a pool table and dart board that derive meaning from Loki’s namesake, the Norse god of mischief.
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Tuesday night I went out to meet up with some friends at a low key bar in Union Square called Galaxy. When I got there it was the usual mischievous loud and annoying shenanigans that seem to surround me where ever I go (poor me) and considering there was only one other group of people at the bar, I didn’t feel too bad for being my usual loud and obnoxious self. After a holla at my friends, they laughingly informed me that they just met Usher - pointing towards the other group of people who were big black men in suits. Assuming my friends were kidding, I laughed out loud and yelled “UUSSHHUUURRR!!” and did a dance which could only be described as my best impression of Usher.

One of my mottos as a full-fledged Glamourite girl is “If you’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go, follow the free booze.” That’s exactly what I did last Thursday and to my surprise I found myself at an invite only Coors Light event.

I’m starting to learn the ways of New Jerseyans. They flock to shore houses. They grow good corn. And they love—as in worship and adore—Bon Jovi. But as one of my born-and-bred Jersey friends pointed out recently, “Nothing brings out Dirty Jersey like a Bon Jovi concert.” Dirty Jersey. I’m new to the phenomenon, but after a recent Bon Jovi show at Giants Stadium I realized that she’s right.

This past weekend nothing too crazy was going down so I pulled in some reinforcements. Scott Maldonado throws hot parties practically every night in Manhattan. On this particular night the place to be was AER. Though AER has had black and white mixed reviews I decided to go - considering most of my past experiences there were pleasant. When I arrived in the Meat Packing District there were more people out than I’ve seen all summer. Apparently everyone was looking for somewhere to go. AER had a mob outside, a fairly normal looking crowd - not an overwhelming amount of greasy Staten Island men or 16 year old girls.

Tromping through the wilds of Madison, WI, these past few weeks, I have learned that, aside from cheese, polka, and “Don’t ya know,” Middle America is a hotbed of stellar draft beers. While savoring Maddy’s local suds with names like Fat Squirrel and Spotted Cow, I can’t help but miss the frothy goodness of my own bar-away-from-home’s original brew, The Gaf in NYC. The Irish Amber at the same-named Gaelic go-to is a sure bet for casual locals or adventurous newcomers.