Maneater #002: Casual Mondays

My roommate and I woke up to a delayed homemade brunch, in which we invited over an old college girlfriend.  Mouth's gaping with organic berries and lox to her story, she recounted the 10 crack commandments of her once college drug dealer days (when we knew her), now reformed drug abuse and the abortion recovery journey from the past 7 months apart.  Not the lightest fare to swallow down in the AM, but I had choked down more.  Roomie and I proceeded to pull a Rosie the Riveter episode, working on the apartment all day we cemented walls and installed cable wiring like bad as phuck butch lesbians... and this was all minutes before we would head out to paint the town.

A text invitation from a DC bachelor I once met in Miami, we whisked ourselves away to a Chelsea loft where we encounter hordes of drunken men. We stood out as the two hottest and mature girls as they lusted and drooled and throw themselves at us. Her and I whip out the yay-ger and have at it with a serious heart to heart; next, we casually get weed delivered where we are confronted face to face with the reality of poor decisions that occurred senior week, AKA past male-leeches "TD" and a plumped "H baby".

Back massages? Music? Making out with a 46-year-old going on 15 sugar daddy? Oh lala.

Casually OFF to AVENUE nightcluv where I talk to that cunt-sack Audrina Petrdige from The Hills? Really? And run into virtually all the black male Meatpacking community I know far to well.
Don't ask. Wuddup Busta Rhymes?

We conclude with another long discussion about love, men and the realizations of life. At 6 am. Sleepover time. Even though we live in the same apartment. No big thang. Drilling and jack hammering come 8 am the next morning.

Oh #mondays...oh #casualmondays.