So where did we leave off? Oh, that's right ~ JillyD looking for her next meal. I'm always looking for my next damn meal. I plan my days with my meals in mind. I have a serious food problem. So you can imagine my dismay when my choice of lunch cuisine was crispy pork intestines, minced duck tongue or this...
What the fuck? I'm ready to eat my effin' feet and I'm offered the opportunity to eat the chicken's feet? Who eats this shit? I'd be anorexic if I lived in Chinatown, just sayin'. We opted for some type of noodle dish with chicken ~ sans the toes. And fried rice. Because you can't really fuck up fried rice, now can you? Unless you throw a chicken dick or something equally vomit inducing in there. But I specifically requested no genitalia in our entrees, thanks very much. I also requested tea to drink. And somehow I ended up with this...
Does anyone else see the shit floating in my cup? What the hell is that? The tea looked like a urine sample gone totally wrong. Like you've got a major infection if you're passing globs of shit through your urethra. That shit is in need of some serious antibiotics. Needless to say, I didn't drink the urine sample with the floaties.
I did, however, make some new friends...
Circle who doesn't belong. These happy pants were celebrating their "seventy five one" reunion. We never figured out what the shit that meant. Is seventy five one actually seventy six? And were they seventy five one years old or did they graduate in seventy five one? We never did figure it out but they all loved JillyD - just sayin'. See old boy leaning in on the right side of the picture? He kind of got bumped so that I could snuggle up with his buddies and he was having no part of that. He was getting into the picture, dammit. The rest of those seventy five one bastards weren't going to squeeze him out again. I'm sure he was the scapegoat in school and he wasn't taking it anymore, dammit. So he nearly jumped into JillyD's back pocket in order to have his moment with me. I'm very popular among the seventy five one crowd. Who knew? No one, that's who.
So after gorging ourselves on seaweed and chicken nuts, we hit Canal Street. Home of the knock offs. Not be be confused with the home of the knocked up. Although I'm sure there's some knocking up taking place in the back alleys. Luckily, we saw no knocking up take place. We did, however see this. I think Yo and I had one too many pork intestines...
After we fled from the car we broke, we ended up shopping for purses. And when I see "we," I mean Jenni & JZ. This is how Canal Street works. You walk an inch and someone says, "handbag." Then you walk another inch and someone - generally of Asian descent - says, "Gucci, Prada, Coach." Then you walk another inch and a different someone says, "handbag." And every now and again, Chow Ming might throw in "movie" instead of handbag. Then you're totally fuckin' confused and you actually consider buying the freakin' movie just because it's not a handbag.
So Jenni & JZ are in the handbag orgasm capitol of the Universe. We're walking down the street and out of nowwhere, Ching Ling says, "handbag." And instead of ignoring her, Jenni says, "Coach?" And old girl crooks her finger and the next thing I know, all four of us are in her shop. Except we're walking through her shop, toward the back. Where a barely past puberty Chinese dude is standing guard. He opens up a secret passage in the back wall (I shit you not) and motions us inside the secret room. At this point, I have my cell phone predialed to 911, ready to press "send" as soon as I know that we're all going to be murdered. Or sold to the Sultan of Brunei as his newest sex slaves. JZ walks into the tiny room and looks down a dark set of stairs and says, "Oh, hell no." And I say 14 Hail Mary's and thank God for giving me friends with sense. Or so I thought. Before you can say "white slavery," this chick emerges from the dungeon and JZ & Jenni strike up a conversation with her. That bitch convinced them it was "safe" and then next thing I know, JZ say's, "I think we should ALL go down there." Is she fucking kidding, me? Has JZ never watched Law & Order: SVU? I had no interest in becoming a special victim despite the fact that I heart Mariska Hargitay. I'll pass on the sexual assualt, thanks very much.
Next thing I know, my BFFand JZ are heading down the stairway to hell. Yo and I, in our infinte wisdom, remained above ground. I gave them about two minutes and called Jenni's cell phone. She answered and I asked her if she was being murdered. Luckily, she was not. Ten minutes later, Jenni emerges with God only knows how many effing purses, and JZ has more than Jenni. Knowing that my friends are safe, JillyD breathes a sigh of relief and indicates that she is ready for a margarita. The stress of my friends being sold into sexual slavery was a bit much for my system that was housing not tequila at that very moment. But no. Jenni & JZ wanted to check out one more place.
It was a scary warehouse with multiple closed doors. It was like a seriously fucked up version of that game show ~ what the hell was that called? Let's Make a Deal ~ yeah, that's the one. A fucked up version of Let's Make a Deal and buy a contraband handbag while you're at it. Here's what that scary ass place looked like. Don't I look nice and relaxed?
Do you see the shadowy figure behind me? I'm pretty sure he was a serial killer, just sayin'. We got the hell out of that place when we heard one of the "customers" say that there damn well better be shoes in that place because if she had to go to jail AGAIN, she wouldn't get out unit Monday since it was the weekend. Seriously. I almost vomited my chicken feet right on the spot. We hightailed it out of the den of sin, 232 handbags in tow, and found the safety of our tour bus. Because I had a little nervous energy to burn, I decided to hijack the microphone. The tour guide, who was at least 411 years old, wasn't amused. Look at him sneaking up behind me to reclaim his microphone - bastard...
Look how lovingly Yo is gazing at me. I think she wants to propose. Except that someone already proposed to me the first day. Sorry, Yo - JillyD's not available.
We toured the remainder of the Lower East Side - or something like that. These are "tenement" buildings. Remember that song, "Love Child" by Diana Ross and The Supremes? Or maybe she had already turned into a diva bitch and ditched The Supremes. At any rate, there is a mention of tenements in that song. I'll never bitch about my dryer again, just sayin'...
Could you imagine hanging your dainty underthings off the balcony of your tenement building? At least they washed their sheets. I have a thing about clean sheets - I've mentioned that before, right? So points for the laundry displayers because at least their sheets were clean. I think. Maybe they weren't. Now I feel a little vomitous again. Is vomitous a word? I just made it one - just sayin'.
Next up - how many Cosmopolitans can one human consume?