Lazy Mofo

Wow- it's been a few days... Clearly I've been doing such fabulous things, that I haven't had time to blog. Or I'm just being lazy. Here's a recap:

Wednesday- I decide to join a friend at the gym for a class called "urban rebounding." I think that because the class is named something awesome that I should participate even though its been months since I've stepped foot in a gym. This class entails a small trampoline and a guy with a headset who is on speed. After about 70 around the world karate squats, and nearly blacking out several times, I'm feeling great! Until...

Thursday- Holy shit, my legs feel like they've been trapped in a vice for a week. I hobble to the train at 8:30 am and realize... how the hell am i going to get down the stairs!? I literally have to turn sideways, back against the wall, and ease myself down one step at a time while some old lady nearly pushes me over. However, my liver decides that it is still a great idea to go to a party for Askmen.com at a club in meatpacking district. Liver, I just don't think this relationship is working out anymore. Cut to my gimp ass legs in heels waiting in line for free alcohol at an underground nightclub while burlesque dancers slap each other's butts behind me. Way to go Askmen. There were a plethora of men at this place, all heavily participating in the open bar and generally acting like douchebags. I think that I do not see any men here who I would like to "ask" anything except, "could you move so I can get to the bar?"

Friday- I am the dumbest human alive. If anyone is wondering what it's like to have 6 vodkas when you're so sore that you can't dance, it's kinda like being hit by a bus. Tiwce. At work, I basically sit at my desk for 7 hours being paranoid that my boss will see the black "urge" stamp on my wrist from the gay bar I ended up at the night before. Miserable. I know that I should go home, hide in my bed, and spend the weekend recovering. My liver, however, has other plans. I don't know why my liver wants to torture itself, but I make a mental note to get it a Prozac prescription. 12am, still putting on outfits and then immediately taking them off and throwing them on the ground. 2 am, do you know how much a fucking drink costs at The Randolph?? Why the hell would anyone come here when you can get 5 shots for $10 at the dive on 3rd Ave? 3 am, me and vodka are dancing by ourselves at Le Royale...

Saturday- I watch my SC Gamecocks get KILLED by the Gators. Luckily, my liver is now so depressed that it no longer wants to go out. Finally, some rest!