Wait. WTF does that even mean? What else would you do with a dead dog? Make him dance? Put him on parade? I am seeing this quite graphically and it is getting barftastic. Quick, think hilarious thoughts.
God I love how gimages can read my mind.
Anyway, what I meant to say was that this blog was getting a bit dead dogesque. But will I let it lie? No my friends, I certainly will not. Because I'm still a girl, I still live in NYC, and I still have things to say.
Except not today. I think I've said enough for today. I won't tell you about the crazy man on the train who was eating the bag of Doritos upside-down and screaming at strangers (but actually, I thought the part about eating the bag of chips from the bottom was the weirdest. Who does that?), and I won't tell you how many people called me mamacita on my way home (only two. I'm losing it), and I definitely will save my intoxicated weekend stories for later (especially meeting the way older St. Lucian "party planner" on the train who invited me back to St. Lucia with him). For those, you will have to wait and see.
I'm back.
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