Ladies … And for the male followers who will wish to remain anonymous… MY GIRLFRIEND HAD THE MOST FUCKED UP WEEKEND!!!!!
No more surprises!! I am now accustomed to the stories I hear from my girlfriends, “NYESPN” (New York Entertaining Sexy Perverted Never-to-be-told) highlights of the weekend.
The story went down like this…
My MicePack – “MP” (which is my abbreviation for the female rat pack, not to be mistaken for the abbreviation for the Meatpacking District) – and I were out last night to watch a little football in the West Village.
So we the MP, mid-life crisis hot mamacitas, cruised into the Windsor Bar (full of pre-pubescent little big men, pounding on their hairless chests rooting for their schools they attended… last year) and we quickly realized that we are not Cougars, not MILF’s, just “WWWTGF.”
Can anyone figure that out?
Please comment on this post with your answer. If so, you win nothing (not enough followers to afford any electronic gifts to you at the moment), but will be rewarded verbally!
We gals bolted from the frat house disguised as a bar and went to our favorite oyster spot and played the “Drink Mimosa’s at 5pm on a Sunday and spill your sex beans” game.
I know…. We’re alcoholics. Stylish alcoholics though…
All my friends are up on the latest trends. One of my girlfriends politely insulted me at our “Oyster Binge” and made me aware that my handbag from Canal Street was not Gucci or Coach, it was “Cuuchi.”
I know, don’t judge me!!! I guess the “G” for Gucci and the “C” for Coach were morphed into a “GC” combo.
Yes, I bought, and still buy, knock off handbags, hoping to pass for a cool hipster chic or a sandal-slaving “Tori Bitch” with Mercedes medallions on my flats. (Yes, Century 21 still sells them.)
Anyway, enough about classy me…
My friend, “Ms. Cucumber” went out on a date with last Friday night with Mr. Pat Sajack meets Town and Country Magazine. You know the guys that are quirky, eccentric and can be as weird as they want because they are FUCKING LOADED?????
Yeah. This one was as flavorless as microwaved tofu.
I’ll cut right to the cucumber…
He — I’ll call him JR — took my gal out to a very nice dinner at L’Artusi in the “West Vill.” This is a classy Italian restaurant, which would make any woman feel wanted, desired and classy if someone asked you to dinner there.
She — I’ll call her Tammy — was fucking more excited then my aunt Jackie before a Botox injection. She thought she hit the New York Lottery. Yet, dating in NYC is hard. If you’re online or not, it’s work. She was hopeful, but JR was strange.
JR asked her back to his pad on the Upper East Side, which she was willing to overlook because anything above 14th street is so laymo… full of Mr. Pink shirts that needed to be laundered about a year ago.
I know, we women are such dogs!!! Not cats, guys, we really are dogs. Our Equinox locker room banter regarding “what’s his penis size?” is brutal.
JR asked Tammy,” Do you ‘Party Party,’ Tammy?”
“What?” She played dumb. ” I don’t what you mean.”
I have no idea how “Party Party” became the Urban Dictionary definition for the question, “Do you do coke?”
Some unknown porn star started channeling through her body, making her respond to his perverted questions quickly and without consequence. Tammy sheepishly whispered, “Yeah, baby, I do.”
JR ran up stairs and left her downstairs for 30 min. Tammy thought that was weird and went on a millionaire hunt in his 5-story penthouse.
She found JR on the 4th floor sitting at his desk, whacking his very small “pee pee” to RedTube.com.
“What the fuck, JR??? Seriously?? Is this really what’s happening???”
JR looked at her vacantly and said, “Don’t you think this is hot, Tammy?”
“No, I fucking don’t??? JR, I’m not going to watch you whack off. I’m headed to bed.”
Tammy went to bed with his Chihuahua, a little “Paris Hilton” dog, and let JR go to town on himself.
Tammy laid down at 2:35am she claims…
She was awakened by JR’s strung-out voice calling a Deli for a delivery.
JR: “Hi, I’d like to make an order for a delivery…
(It was 6:21am.)
JR: “Um, yeah, um yeah…. hahahaha. I’d like 6 Coors lights, a pack of cigarettes, large tub of Vaseline (what’s a tub?) and 3 medium Cucumbers….”
Once Tammy heard this disgusting request, even though being a vegan, she decided the best course of action besides juicing the cucumbers was aborting the mission immediately.
What did she learn from this experience? Fans, I ask you? Tammy is still on an Oyster Binge, ordering cucumber mojitos with a serious case of chapped lips. She needs our help.