Sunday, March 13, 2005

Current TV Choice reflects life

Well bitches, my weekends over, and boy did I exhaust those 48 hours. I am currently watching a "Documentary" about hookers in Atlantic City. I have heard the phrase, "Trick done turned out bitches everyday" about 20 times to many. I don't know about you but this one phrase definitely sums up my weekend AND HOW!! To recap, Thursday night I was the trick I guess, I was butt ass naked in the lobby of a 5 star hotel, and last night I was the bitch. I say this because I hung out with my best friend Aja. We've known each other FOREVER. Her family is my family and vice versa. She brought her new man, who is successful, cute, well connected, funny, perfect for her ect out to Adams Morgan for some boozing and bruising. I tried to be a bitch, I mean I really did.

I was out of control, making inappropriate comments, gesturing with my wiener schnitzle and running my mouth to try to break this kid. I am protective of my girl and tried to scare him off. He wouldn't budge, bitch ate my shit up. He was sooo nice I had no choice but to fuck him while Aja went to the bathroom J/K I don't fuck breeders. After my Stoli fueled game of 20 questions, we ended the night at this place called Dan's Cafe (my new favorite bar).

They serve drinks by giving you a fifth of whatever liquor you want and a can of soda to mix it with. My bottle of tonic was never opened. This bar smelled like a fairground and it looked like the shortbus from Rockville, Gaithersburg, other crappy suburb dumped it's riders inside. We watched in awe (shock really) as an Eddie Bauer clad fratboy headbanged to Fiona Apple's "The First Taste". I mean come on, I lost my virginity to that song and now this tool was attempting to dislocate his grey matter to my swerve music. NOT COOL BILLY JO. A gallon of vodka later I forgot all that shit. I ended this lovely weekend by bowing out to the spins and passed out on Aja's couch and ended up getting to second base with her dog Cletus.

On a not-whatsoever-related-note, my doorman thinks I am a male escort. Apparently all of my nights of stumbling in half dressed and wholly drunk with money clutched in hand (really change from cab fare I haven't put back in my wallet) has given him some ideas. How much would you bitches pay for a slice of Cornelius Pie? I will be accepting PayPal.

Night bitches


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