babble
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
You say it's your birthday:
Colin Farrell keeps giving me shit for not having any photos of him on my site, seeing as how we're like best friends and stuff. So I told him that I was waiting till the best day of the year (aka my birthday) to put up his photo, but really it's so that he'll stop pestering me. I mean, he is dreamy and everything, but a girl can only take so much begging.
This weekend in New York was fan-fucking-tastic. I do feel kind of like I got flattened out by a steamroller and then reinflated like a cartoon character, and my liver is threatening mutiny, but other than that I had a good time. I will now proceed to give you a detailed account of the weekend's activities, but keep in mind that several details may be missing due to the fact that I consumed at least double my weight in single malt scotch in a three-day period. But, remember, what doesn't kill your brain cells makes them stronger. Or something.
The flight on Friday was uneventful, though I did get to sit in the section formerly known as business class, and so I was able to sleep and relax and put my feet up because they have bitchen footrests in business class. I was picked up by my good friend Adam in his swanky Mercedes, and we promptly drove to the city and had drinks, but not enough drinks to alert my liver to the impending doom that was about to befall it. (I'm sorry, liver.)
On Saturday, after blissfully sleeping in late in air-conditioned comfort, I headed down to the easssside to visit my home skillet Tony and my sista-girl Kerry and the two wayward lesbians that Tony had chillin' in his crib. (I sooo can't pull off sentences like that. But I keep trying, and that's pure comedy gold.) We spent the day eating, shopping, and schvitzing like R. Kelly in a schoolyard because it was so humid. We then had dinner with the sugar daddy and I got to play the role of sugar momma. Then we got our drink on, and my liver shouted obscenities at me all night.
I awoke on Sunday feeling like I'd been kicked in the nads, and since I don't actually have nads, you can imagine how shitty I felt. Kerry and I spent some time walking around and sweating like a priest in a boys' school, and after we said our tearful goodbyes I headed back to the hotel to meet up with Rahim. Against my liver's better judgement, we spent most of the evening drinking scotch, until I was somewhat incoherent. I awoke the next morning feeling like I'd had my ass kicked a couple of dozen times, while my liver screamed bloody murder and threatened to jump ship.
Somehow I managed to recover from the Ultimate Hangover and squeeze in a visit to my old office, where I was greeted with mild enthusiasm and shocked surprise, and had lunch with my homepiece Jake. Adam took me back to the airport, where I proceeded to get through security in record time only to have to wait to take off for two extra freakin' hours. After what seemed like an eternity on the plane, I finally got home to my cavernous, empty apartment just in time for my the clock to strike midnight, indicating the official start of my birthday.
So, in conclusion, I had a really great mini-vacation in NYC, though my liver would probably beg to differ. I think it was a great end to my 28th year. Now make with the presents and help me kick off the 29th year properly.
babbled by Kat @ 11:31:00 AM |
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