Few things ruin my lighting like some dumb-ass bar manager at the W turning on every single fluorescent overhead at 1:45am. Jesus Christ. A subtly phrased, “All right, foxes. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here” would have done the trick. That being said, I don’t think my new friend, Juilio cared much.
I love my roommate. And I encourage his mingling with the ladies whenever possible, provided they don’t extinguish their chewing gum on our dining room table. So when I found myself being drooled over by a Eurotrash, 5-foot tall, 50 year old with more money than God, who incidentally, has great taste in dimples, I didn’t need the hilarious yet biting commentary from the peanut gallery.
“Why was that man touching you? And what color would you call his blazer? Would you classify that as ‘salmon’ or ‘coral’? Cuz I want to get one…”