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?”).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
7 comments:
Is that song from when Phoebe was singing in code to Ross about Julie and Rachel? It's been so long.
Yes!
Or will it be the one who we'll call... Loolie?
Really, could you BE any cuter?!
Also, re: the concrete jungle, my only response is, "There's nothing you can't do." And when it comes to you, I mean it.
From now on, all your pep talks should be Jack Donaghy pep talks, because you deserve them. :)
You need, like, a pep-talker to follow you around. And pep-talk you. HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE?
DUDE! Having a personal pep-talk-talker sounds even better than a helper monkey. Unless the helper monkey was the pep-talk-talker?
OK, all we need to do is genetically engineer a helper monkey so it can talk, and then it can be a helper monkey pep-talker.
Post a Comment