I have got to stop reading Gawker
The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. I went back to Boston for my birthday on the 27th and spent a lot of time in bed with beedancebee and booapeboo watching Dynasty and generally being awesome. April’s art show was SO GOOD. Todd and I had too few coffee and cigarette dates, and now that he’s off to Italy I’m sure our next reunion won’t be soon enough. Work was bloody murder when I returned, and though I was trying to stay focused and keep a low profile, I kind of remembered what it’s like to rage on weeknights. Umm…
In case you weren’t one of the 50-some people I texted on Thursday, you will be happy to know that my day began with walking into work, turning around for about 30 seconds, and suddenly being face to face with this man.
No, not Bill Murray (unfortunately), but MOTHERFUCKING RZA! Assuming my day could not possibly get any better, I was shocked when around 3am I found myself in the midst of a rousing game of ‘dare vs dare’ with Sean. This was another one of those evening when I go out for “a couple of beers” and end up on an undisclosed rooftop in Queens making out with blurs instead. While I never need much prompting to do splendid things while intoxicated, like dance on a table or in a booth, attempt to sneak into a private party on Orchard St, or throw a couple of beers on well deserving annoyances, I may or may not have burned a bouncer(?), convinced a British guy I was 13, and made a drunk girl believe an innocent bystander was slapping her ass. I also went to the gayest gay bar EVER. Like, gayer than ‘the Hole.’ I watched men dance in g-strings on bar tops and teabag old dudes for a while, then escaped when I couldn’t find a women’s restroom. Cause, duh, there wasn’t one.
I guess I’m a little worried for this summer, when I’ll most likely be juggling another job and either an internship or volunteer work. The last thing I want is to completely lose it and end up like this bitch. Doggie molestation? I think I’m in love.
In case you weren’t one of the 50-some people I texted on Thursday, you will be happy to know that my day began with walking into work, turning around for about 30 seconds, and suddenly being face to face with this man.
No, not Bill Murray (unfortunately), but MOTHERFUCKING RZA! Assuming my day could not possibly get any better, I was shocked when around 3am I found myself in the midst of a rousing game of ‘dare vs dare’ with Sean. This was another one of those evening when I go out for “a couple of beers” and end up on an undisclosed rooftop in Queens making out with blurs instead. While I never need much prompting to do splendid things while intoxicated, like dance on a table or in a booth, attempt to sneak into a private party on Orchard St, or throw a couple of beers on well deserving annoyances, I may or may not have burned a bouncer(?), convinced a British guy I was 13, and made a drunk girl believe an innocent bystander was slapping her ass. I also went to the gayest gay bar EVER. Like, gayer than ‘the Hole.’ I watched men dance in g-strings on bar tops and teabag old dudes for a while, then escaped when I couldn’t find a women’s restroom. Cause, duh, there wasn’t one.
I guess I’m a little worried for this summer, when I’ll most likely be juggling another job and either an internship or volunteer work. The last thing I want is to completely lose it and end up like this bitch. Doggie molestation? I think I’m in love.