Monday, 17 January 2011
Sorry, I dropped it when I was pretending it was my penis. ROBOT PENIS.
Last week I was a business woman in town on business in New York (concrete jungle where dreams are made of). (Seriously, Jay-Z, what the fuck does that even mean?) It was the kind of business woman in town on business business that is life-changing no matter which angle you approach it from, ‘cause I must decide, I must decide, even though I made them up I must decide. (Sometimes you sit down to write a post and it's just Friends, Friends, Friends.) What I mean is mama’s got some decisions to make about her future.
SO. When I was not a business woman in town on business, I was a blinkered woman in town on booze. There was a helluva a lot of delicious Belgian beer. There was some Speakeasy Prohibition Ale.
It was not good.
Then there was a can of British Lilt from a British diner called Tea and Sympathy.
The can followed us around the city. It made its way into some gin.
It insisted on posing for a photo with my watch at some random diner at 5 a.m.
And then it got into my pocket and we rode on home.
Fun, right? The business part of my trip was pretty successful too. Only, I had to give myself a full-blown Retreat To Move Forward pep-talk every time I put on a suit and left my hotel room. Sadly it wasn’t the Jack Donaghey variety (“It's winning time, you magnificent son of a bitch!”); I’m Liz Lemon-ier than even Liz Lemon (“Stop sweating, you idiot! What is wrong with you, you stupid bitch?”).
Posted by Heather Anne Hogan at 10:08 am