Thursday is here again. Ahhhh Thursday. The new black. Certainly the new Friday. Or the old one. I’ve been partying on a Thursday for as long as I can remember, and it appears that with each new city I visit, Thursday seems to always come out fighting. I love going out on weeknights, not as many people as a Friday and Saturday, room to be served at the bar, space on the dance floor. As a student I used to love Mondays, with the M.N.C hitting the town to do some damage and roll in reeking of booze to rehearsals the following morning. I got in some amount of trouble for that.
I’ve got into a little routine with my evenings out that I quite like. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays. Everything else is for chillaxing, recovering and doing things. Like writing a blog. It is now Monday night, so this theory is all working according to plan.
The current girl of my dreams has decided to come out with us. Oh how wonderful for me. As is my want this could all go either extremely badly, or distinctly average. The highlight of the entire evening was when she sat on my knee for all of ten seconds before going home. Somewhere in between we’ve been refused entry to a club thanks to a bald headed nonce, I’ve been told by a bunch of black guys to “leave us wit’ the girls nigga” and I’ve played chess in a park with my friend Jen, at four o’clock in the morning, completely hammered and talking utter mince. That’s just the way I roll.
I casually ask one of the aforementioned black guys how good his Spanish was. His reply has me somewhat vexed to this day:
This was followed by hilarious hysterical laughter and excessive movements of his shoulders. Perhaps I need one of ‘these’ (grabs crotch) if I’m going to find that anywhere near as funny as he did. Maybe I need to be a little more gangsta wrapping paper. There’s only so far you can go with a Huge Grant impression.
Rollin’ wi ma homies…I think
Thursday is here again. Ahhhh Thursday. The new black. Certainly the new Friday. Or the old one. I’ve been partying on a Thursday for as long as I can remember, and it appears that with each new city I visit, Thursday seems to always come out fighting. I love going out on weeknights, not as many people as a Friday and Saturday, room to be served at the bar, space on the dance floor. As a student I used to love Mondays, with the M.N.C hitting the town to do some damage and roll in reeking of booze to rehearsals the following morning. I got in some amount of trouble for that.
I’ve got into a little routine with my evenings out that I quite like. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays. Everything else is for chillaxing, recovering and doing things. Like writing a blog. It is now Monday night, so this theory is all working according to plan.
The current girl of my dreams has decided to come out with us. Oh how wonderful for me. As is my want this could all go either extremely badly, or distinctly average. The highlight of the entire evening was when she sat on my knee for all of ten seconds before going home. Somewhere in between we’ve been refused entry to a club thanks to a bald headed nonce, I’ve been told by a bunch of black guys to “leave us wit’ the girls nigga” and I’ve played chess in a park with my friend Jen, at four o’clock in the morning, completely hammered and talking utter mince. That’s just the way I roll.
I casually ask one of the aforementioned black guys how good his Spanish was. His reply has me somewhat vexed to this day:
“Awwwwshiitdawgaighdon’tneednospanishwhenI’vegotthis(grabs crotch)niggaknowhatamsayin..?!”
This was followed by hilarious hysterical laughter and excessive movements of his shoulders. Perhaps I need one of ‘these’ (grabs crotch) if I’m going to find that anywhere near as funny as he did. Maybe I need to be a little more gangsta wrapping paper. There’s only so far you can go with a Huge Grant impression.