My friend Sam apparantly got fucked so hard he ended up ripping his Kate Spade sheets.
Kate Spade makes sheets? Puke.
I hate Kate Spade. Hate the bags, hated the girls who had the bags, and think it's a mixed blessing that your tacky overpriced sheets were shredded in the heat of the moment.
I got a call from several friends who were in Fire Island this past weekend.
Seems that one of my friends managed to meet a cute nice guy out there after making out with half the island. Romance is still alive, it seems, even in New York's gay beach getaway.
My first time out there I was a complete wreck....
Imagine it: I had broken up with the EX. Had heard stories of him dating another guy, had gained about 10 pounds, and was still trying to grow facial hair. I looked like a fat latin hick. And I was depressed enough to make the Bell Jar look like a romantic comedy.
So when Jamie invited me out to Fire Island, I said yes to escape the humid city, and to escape my sad post-EX world.
At first I was a total loser; moping around the island writing in my journal, but thankfully Jamie's friends were a group of sexy sweet guys.
We made meals together, went and hung out on the beach, and skinny dipped about 6 times.
They reminded me that there was life after love; and taught me that some guys really do look hot in a speedo.
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