This month is going to be exciting on Bexxxtacy because I'm going to be telling tales of Ireland! These stories are wild and unforgiving, not unlike Queen Bexxx herself.
It will certainly be more exciting than Saturday night when I got a flat tire on my bike 2/3rd of the way to my destination in Brooklyn and tried to get help from some guys smoking pot outside a barbershop. The stoners were useless. Boyfriend and I then walked our bikes the remaining mile to the bar where we were meeting Slaw, passing Brooklyn Bowl where we could faintly hear Gene Ween (of the band Ween) performing, making us realize we had missed the opportunity to see him perform in an awesome venue.
After enjoying a few drinks with Slaw, her sister Lil' Easy, and a couple of Boyfriend's law school broheims, we realized we still faced the problem of getting home. Boyfriend was vehemently against bringing our bikes on the train because 1) Only Douchebags (or as the Auto-correct on my phone suggests: Spicebushes) do this and 2)Our train is horrendous on the weekends because of construction and best avoided at all costs.
Outside, the night was clear and windless, with a temperature in the high 40s. It was basically the best night you could ever hope for in New York in December so we decided to walk our bikes home. Three miles of pushing bikes and chugging some tall boys in paper bags because I can't push a bike 3 miles in boots without something to both entertain me and dull my weary legs. The next day we pushed a couple more miles so we could get the damn thing fixed and I was in an extra furious mood. Lots of "Fuck yous" and "FUCK THIS SWEATSHIRT! I HATE THIS SWEATSHIRT! IT IS MY LEAST FAVORITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING!"
So, I guess I wasn't totally surprised when he told me he doesn't want to throw me a surprise party because he doesn't want to have a "Lucille-esque" event happen (Arrested Development reference: You know there is a surprise party but no one shows up).