Looks Like Someone's Got a Case of the Tuesdays

Good morning loyal followers and such. So todays blog is going to encapsulate a few things ranging from my Friday night in NYC with a confederate, a few fairfield floozies, one cart food man who had me tempted to pick meat up off of the sidewalk and shovel it in, a near death nascar turn, a sick new sport i invented, a three course meal, and an analysis of generation y. It will be broken down into two, possibly three parts. I would suggest setting aside at least ten minutes to read this one, and then maybe a good three or four hours to comprehend the information actually stated.

7.30 - Part I
Bo mal arrives at my house approximately seven o clock, attempts to return dirty sweatpants he stole, puts on his farmer shirt, and away we go. First stop train station bar. An out of character and most likely disoriented bo mal actually pays for the more expensive shot while i sloothly pick up the tab for the two beers. Just to put this in prospective, you have a better chance at getting a 20% tip from an Anne Frank descendant than you do at Bo mal flashin the green at the bar. But thats neither here nor there.

While the much talked about but never fully understood "OB" group was underrepresented in NYC (individuals going down the shore, Grover resorting to communion money, Tieds continuing to live on fantasy island and Neville doing what ever it is that they do behind the cloaks and large beards) flashes of greatness occurred. Team buckets was spotted with a substantial group of JPurbs (JP Morgan Hurbs**) at the Frying Pan, and accompanied bo and I down to the meat packing district. (The gay joke here is below me.. but fuck you anyway Spadawitz. Im gonna bank on you not even seeing this because your too simple.) After a few rounds, some nice surprise faces inside the bars, and some all natural American spirit ciggarettes my mind had reached the point of no return. I couldnt keep up with the constant stream of Fairfield faces, and made the executive decision to catch the 1:35 train, pulling bo away from a potential lay that he had as much of a chance at closing as I do being a fucking foot model.

Too make a long story short, got the cart food which attracted little one like a nat at a barbeque, dropped most of it, and missed the train at penn by about 5 minutes. Proceeded to get in a cab and drive up and down I-95 like we were filming an Indian, Southern, and CrACkdenish version of the Sopranos. This made me very upset. I voiced my displeasure with my cab driver but was able to avoid any racial slurs that could have led to a phone call to Nevill's cousin that would have had us both face down in the meadowlands. This wouldnt have happened had we been able to get a ride in a limo with a benicio del toro look alike. Forgot who told me that story but dont worry girl who im refering to.. female classiness and standards are a think of the past right?

To be continued...