So last Saturday, Marie, Francesca and I went to a club - China Club - thinking that it would be an all-over good time. In the six hours we were out SO MUCH HAPPENED. There's this whole side-story that Marie has in her blog about me losing my purse, fate and affirmations. And it's creepy and still gives me chills thinking about it. So, in an effort to keep it all special and lovely in my head, I'm not going to try to explain anything about it. But if you ask me, I'll tell the story, but I just can't type it out and give it justice.
Which brings me to side-point number one: you jerkstores who IM me and tell me that "you love my blog" and think that this somehow recuses you from calling me and catching up. NO NO NO. There are at least six of you out there who I haven't heard from in two weeks (outside of aforementioned IM) and READING ABOUT MY FAKE LIFE ON MY IMAGINARY BLOG does not a friendship maintain. So, do lonely-anna-overwhelmed-in-a-city-all-alone a favor and give me a call and make me feel like I actually have friends who love me. Becuase I know you love me. That clearly goes without saying :)
Back to Saturday. So, Francesca left early (which, looking back, may have been the way to go). Marie & I danced like ROCKSTARS and, clearly, rockstar dancing attracts plenty of big, sweaty men. Men who do not know how to dance. Or, think that dancing is little more than sticking your hairy palm down my pants. WHICH DOESN'T COUNT. By midnight, Marie & I were seperated and surrounded by at least four guys who acted as if they had never seen fine booty like ours. It was around this time where I lost my purse, had a baby panic attack, ate a street vendor pretzel and went back to the club with renewed spirit (barebones recount of purse drama. which, as previously stated, doesn't even begin to describe the awesomeness of that experience). Of course, renewed spririt was promptly squashed with Eurotrash boob-grabbing.
Here's the irony
Remember the "Night at the Roxbury" sketch on SNL with the two awkward dudes humping unsuspecting females? You want to know where that sketch was set? That's right.
China Club.
Which brings me to side-point number one: you jerkstores who IM me and tell me that "you love my blog" and think that this somehow recuses you from calling me and catching up. NO NO NO. There are at least six of you out there who I haven't heard from in two weeks (outside of aforementioned IM) and READING ABOUT MY FAKE LIFE ON MY IMAGINARY BLOG does not a friendship maintain. So, do lonely-anna-overwhelmed-in-a-city-all-alone a favor and give me a call and make me feel like I actually have friends who love me. Becuase I know you love me. That clearly goes without saying :)
Back to Saturday. So, Francesca left early (which, looking back, may have been the way to go). Marie & I danced like ROCKSTARS and, clearly, rockstar dancing attracts plenty of big, sweaty men. Men who do not know how to dance. Or, think that dancing is little more than sticking your hairy palm down my pants. WHICH DOESN'T COUNT. By midnight, Marie & I were seperated and surrounded by at least four guys who acted as if they had never seen fine booty like ours. It was around this time where I lost my purse, had a baby panic attack, ate a street vendor pretzel and went back to the club with renewed spirit (barebones recount of purse drama. which, as previously stated, doesn't even begin to describe the awesomeness of that experience). Of course, renewed spririt was promptly squashed with Eurotrash boob-grabbing.
Here's the irony
Remember the "Night at the Roxbury" sketch on SNL with the two awkward dudes humping unsuspecting females? You want to know where that sketch was set? That's right.
China Club.
posted by Anna @ 1:32 AM
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