I’ve been walking around the house for the past few days finishing off a bottle of “Chateau des Plassons” strait from the bottle, and falling out in a haze of confusion and euphoria. You know how we roll. Seriously, can somebody get me on the waiting list for Promises?
I just sent my little Evite for my first ever party at Chez Stroll. I hope it’s not a bust. Beer and Crudités, I can’t go wrong, right? The whole scenario will be “mixed company” so to speak which will make things maybe weird but at least…interesting.
There was so much I wanted to give you my dear little blog, regarding my trip to the ‘Cut, but I just don’t have it in me to do so anymore as our relationship is increasingly strained. I have been displaced from my cubicle at work like some kind of refugee, after being away slaving at the meeting last week, and for two days now haven’t been able to get on my own computer or really do what needs to be done. Finally I’m back in action but I’m so behind and so overwhelmed by it I would have cried today, if I cried at all.
Anyway. In the cut this woman, let’s call her Mary, who is about ten years my senior and nice enough, totally had me dying. She used to be a stand up comedian, which is kind of hard to see, but I know she can be fun because we’ve been at happy hour (the femme stroll kind) a time or two. Well out of nowhere she catches me smoking (I sneak around my co-workers as if no one can smell the reek that emanates from my clothing), bums a cigarette, and proceeds to ask me which of the people at this meeting of old fogies I would sleep with! I was like, “I know this game! I play it on the subway!” So we went tit for tat on this for a minute, me saying things along the lines of how low my standards are BUT STILL EW, and she making suggestions that made me double over in laughter. As these are all church folk, being as it is a churchy meeting, there were jokes about Missionary Style and inviting bishop so-and-so up to your room for a little “laying on of hands”. Maybe you had to be there but it made the whole trip so worth it. She’s totally invited to my party now.
In other news, I am a hot mess, and I am continuously reminded by myself of the old adage, “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.” Among others, on Monday night I met this man George, the details of which are not suitable for this here family-blog, but I could be in love with him, Medusa tattoo and all. (Yes, he had a tattoo of Medusa, about which I asked, “What shoe know about Medusa?!”) Just pretty much perfect as far as my sense of perfection goes. This of course means I will never hear from him again. This raises a few questions. First, what am I doing out on a Monday night? And two, why do I find myself on Christopher street so much, which is these days the heart of an immense darkness and a place where, as my mother would say, “Nothing good will happen after midnight.” Hey, at least I started around five.