Warum nicht riefen Sie mich an? Ich wollte mit Ihnen sprechen!

Days have passed and now they are sanctifying my existence as the makings of a true Americanan.
Mexico is curled up next to me, eyes half-open, in a blissful state of melancholy.

Last week a gay man (I mean, straight man) that looked like Brian Botano - the figure skater, hit on me at work.

I agree with Snig Wigs - ABBA girl fashion is an inspiration.



Bookshelf love:
Two too many at wit's end. Death on the installment plan of grammatology. To have and to have not middlesex on leaves of grass. A child's garden of verse is fathers and sons on the red pony. Call me brick, washington square. How it is the sweetest dream. The golden notebook is like death in the afternoon for whom the bell tolls. Anna Kerenina is the paradiso dante. The little prince is writing about art for the wonderful story of henry sugar. A lover's discourse on language becomes gender diversity underneath gravity's rainbow. Virgin suicides play the piano drunk like a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit with Guignol's band. Tender buttons' love poems with an introduction by Anna Quindlen. Intimacy out of sheer rage begets the history of sexuality. Moments of being the odd women of Richard III's survival in Auschwitz.