Happy Tuesday, everybody! What did everyone get into this weekend? Cookouts? Sparklers? Did you take your real doll to the beach and dress her in a red, white and blue bikini? Fun! As we all know, this past weekend was the Fourth O’ July, the holiday we celebrate our independence from England and our dependence of foreign oil. BOOM! I’m sure Tony Hayward was all, “check mate, America”, this weekend whilst yachting, but that’s just a guess. Speaking of the BP oil spill, this subject is now 100% off-limits after my first glass of wine. I get too riled up and want to punch people in the face. (Seriously). On Friday I almost roundhouse kicked a poor British chap. Granted, I made out with him later (you’re welcome) to make up for it, but still. Totally unacceptable.
The rest of my weekend was much more low-key. Saturday night was cocktails at Balliceaux where I had the best drink ever. Holler if you see me at that club because I will thoroughly be enjoying my new favorite drink and will more than likely be nice to you, unless you bring up BP, and then I’ll smash.
I was feeling antisocial on Sunday and took a knee on the Fourth. Instead of going out carousing and boozing, I decided to get lit like a firecracker from the comfort of my own sofa! One of my favorite things to do when I’m stony maroni is watching movies that make me lol hard. Hot Tub Time Machine was not that movie. A side effect when I’m in an Empire State of Mind is that I: 1- get the hearing of a kitty cat and 2- overanalyze shit. For example, how come the fat kid’s mom stayed 18 years old at the end of the movie? Everyone else aged, but not her. That means the fat kid’s mom is like his age in present day? Gross. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since Sunday.
After laughing none at Hot Tub Time Machine, I decided to kick it old school and watch There’s Something About Mary, a movie that I remember being funny, but then again it came out in 1998 and we were all a lot more innocent back then (pre 9-11, never forget). Anywhoos, here’s my problem with this one: why does he hire a private investigator instead of using…oh I don’t know…THE INTERNET? Granted, I realize it was 1998 and we were still using hotmail and shit, but seriously? A private investigator? All of the trouble could have been avoided by hopping on AOL and doing a quick search. I mean!
So there you have it folks, my weekend in a nutshell. I hope you all had a great time celebrating America’s birthday. Pelican’s look sexier black, anyways! Pip, pip, poppets!