Remember Jill and Mike? They moved to New York. Or, New Jersey. It's kind of like when I tell people I grew up in Chicago, when I really grew up in Gary, Indiana. Same thing. Sort of. We got the same news stations. Why don't you believe me?
I would tell you that we visited Jill and Mike this weekend to reminisce and sight-see but really, all we did was stuff ourselves like Thanksgiving turkeys. Upon our arrival on Friday afternoon, we stopped for a light lunch at The Iron Monkey, the hippest bar in Jersey City. The light lunch included an entire pizza for myself and 3 microbrewed beers with an alcohol content that could hospitalize most humans. Just a snack.
Next, we headed to the West Village for dinner. I like to call it "The Village." You can, too. Anyway, we ate at a restaurant called Good. Oh, and it was, folks. The baddest good.
The husband ordered the hamburger stuffed with pulled pork. It wasn't a pulled pork burger. It was a burger. Stuffed. With pulled pork. I was really happy to watch him enjoy such a satisfying meal. I was also happy that I was sharing the spare bedroom with one of the other wives instead of him that night.
The best part about New Yersey? That's where Jill and Mike live. Kind of like Brangelina.
No sales tax on clothing.
It's funny how the clothes I bought this weekend don't fit. I can't imagine why.
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