Flamingos take Manhattan by storm

This Thursday, the Flamingos arrive. I can't wait.

The Flamingos are a group of girls I met at summer camp a lifetime ago. Not one summer has gone by without seeing them. For years, we saw each other at Mrs. F's summer house in the Adirondacks. Then we ventured to Dirty Holly's in Burlington, Abs' wedding in Syracuse and last year, Abs' house in Baltimore. This year, it's the Big Apple and next year, Erika's in Colorado.

The name Flamingos originated at camp. (We're so Ya-Ya Sisterhood.) All of the boy cabins had woodsy animal names, like Fox and Beaver (he he, beaver). The girl cabins had bird names, like Robin and Cardinal. We had the pleasure of (defacing) being in a brand new cabin one year. It had not yet been named. We decided we were too exotic to be named after a woodsy bird. We needed to be Flamingos. We were 14. Shut up.

The Campaign to be Flamingos was mostly a failure. The cabin was later named Owl. Our obnoxious refusal to be referred to as anything but "The Flamingos" for that week, however, lived on. I have a fierce adoration for those girls.

The agenda is as follows:

Thursday: The Flamingos arrive! After collecting them at various midtown locations, we will check into the HoJo on Houston, eat at El Maguey y La Tuna and watch some ladies get naked at Starshine Burlesque.

Friday: Brighton Beach, baby. The we will have a delicious dinner cooked by the Cavefish (menu TBD) followed by karaoke at the place I went to with my former coworkers that I do not know the name of.

Saturday: Siren Festival and various Coney Island activities including but not limited to riding the Cyclone. Dinner at Grimaldi's.

Sunday: Lower East Side Tenement tour followed by shopping in Williamsburg, the majority of which will be done at Beacon's Closet. Assscat at the UCB Theater.

Not on the agenda: hanging with any of the Cavefish's friends. Mrs. F put the kibosh on that, saying "We get together once a year. I want to hang out with you guys, not spend the weekend playing getting-to-know-you." And well, she has a point. A note to all of my stalkers: You can follow me around this weekend, but please don't approach me. Mrs. F will get angry. Thanks.