Lindsey Kelk
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What a week…


What a week…

And it’s only Thursday.

So I started out by accidentally crashing a wedding at the Ace Hotel in New York (my new favourite), trotting off to WWE at Madison Square Garden (don’t you judge me) and promptly getting ejected by security after less than an hour because my friend was wasted from said wedding. Seriously. We got Thrown Out of a wrestling event.
For shaaaame.

Anyway, I followed up with one of the most fun dance parties I’ve ever, ever been to. No Lights, No Lycra is a your usual run of the middle Tuesday night danceathon, except it takes place in a darkened church hall lit only by little green laser points on the ceiling. It’s. Amazing. Now, some of my friends have voiced concern that this was a dance party designed for uggers and that I shouldn’t write myself off just yet (thanks guys) but it so isn’t. It’s a dance party where you can jump up and down like a look to ‘You Can Call Me Al’ without judgment. It’s a dance party where a room full of thirty year old white people can dance to ‘In Da Club’ without feeling like a tit. It’s a dance party where magic happens.

And as if that wasn’t enough, this week has also included a marriage proposal to over G Chat (sadly, I don’t think he was serious), my first ever US tax return, the first proof of The Single Girl’s To-Do List and I still have to go on a first date I don’t want to go on tonight but since  G Chat man wasn’t serious and none of the other boys in my life want to carry heavy boxes up the stairs for me, I’m going to have to bloody well go. Sulk.

Oh, and my friends The Pains of Being Pure at Heart appeared on David Letterman this week. They’re the shit. This is a technical term the kids use to describe something awesome and it’s Peggy the keyboardist’s birthday today so please buy their new album, otherwise you’ll make her cry and you don’t want to make her cry on her birthday do you? Rude.


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