No. 29
Dear Romance,
Where are you? Once upon a time you were bleeding from my fingertips, and now you are lost in the grand canyons of nowhere. I mean, cuddling up alone to two bottles of Chardonnay and fuzzy pink slippers on a Wednesday night just doesn't cut it anymore, even if their is a teenaged Christian Slater movie on TV. I want the real thing. I want petals, and fondue, and gilded lingerie, and waterfalls, and serenades, and balconies, and whispered candied words, and all the other delicious souvenirs of love.
Really? I'm making myself puke just a little bit. But something is missing. And romance, I know it's you.
Where are you? Once upon a time you were bleeding from my fingertips, and now you are lost in the grand canyons of nowhere. I mean, cuddling up alone to two bottles of Chardonnay and fuzzy pink slippers on a Wednesday night just doesn't cut it anymore, even if their is a teenaged Christian Slater movie on TV. I want the real thing. I want petals, and fondue, and gilded lingerie, and waterfalls, and serenades, and balconies, and whispered candied words, and all the other delicious souvenirs of love.
Really? I'm making myself puke just a little bit. But something is missing. And romance, I know it's you.
No. 28
Di,
Did I ever tell you about the time I fucked Brad Pitt? He came and came and came. Aside from being the most loquacious lover I've ever had, he also insisted on ordering Chinese food after we were done every single time. I used to wrap myself in his long, beautiful goldilocks, and I was jealous that his mane was so much more perfect than mine. He asked me if he should cut it, and I told him no, never, though that was long before he fell into the Jen-gelina traps. Sigh. What I wouldn't give to spend another night in his safari themed jacuzzi replete bachelor pad. Oh well, he wasn't that big, a little on the average side if you ask me. Plus, I don't think he's aged that well, really.
Oh yeah, he was even gonna get my name tattooed on his bicep, but I begged him not to. I knew it could never last. He was a little too wishy washy for me.
Did I ever tell you about the time I fucked Brad Pitt? He came and came and came. Aside from being the most loquacious lover I've ever had, he also insisted on ordering Chinese food after we were done every single time. I used to wrap myself in his long, beautiful goldilocks, and I was jealous that his mane was so much more perfect than mine. He asked me if he should cut it, and I told him no, never, though that was long before he fell into the Jen-gelina traps. Sigh. What I wouldn't give to spend another night in his safari themed jacuzzi replete bachelor pad. Oh well, he wasn't that big, a little on the average side if you ask me. Plus, I don't think he's aged that well, really.
Oh yeah, he was even gonna get my name tattooed on his bicep, but I begged him not to. I knew it could never last. He was a little too wishy washy for me.
No. 27
Di,
You know I'm not much of a cook, and while I love food to death, I'm not one of those people who walks around with uppity crotches and Aladdin pants calling themselves foodies. Anyways, the point is that my late great aunt bequeathed me five bags of quinoa upon her death six months ago, and it's just been warming up my cupboards ever since. I didn't know what to do with it, and, frankly, neither does my personal chef (though lord knows she tried). In the end, I found a much better use for it as cat litter. It works like a charm, and is much better than any of those clumping ones. At least that's what the maid told me, though it was in between melodramatic sobs, so I can't be sure- she was crying over her recently deported lover at the time.
I've also heard that you can make it into natural tampons, though I wouldn't go that far.
You know I'm not much of a cook, and while I love food to death, I'm not one of those people who walks around with uppity crotches and Aladdin pants calling themselves foodies. Anyways, the point is that my late great aunt bequeathed me five bags of quinoa upon her death six months ago, and it's just been warming up my cupboards ever since. I didn't know what to do with it, and, frankly, neither does my personal chef (though lord knows she tried). In the end, I found a much better use for it as cat litter. It works like a charm, and is much better than any of those clumping ones. At least that's what the maid told me, though it was in between melodramatic sobs, so I can't be sure- she was crying over her recently deported lover at the time.
I've also heard that you can make it into natural tampons, though I wouldn't go that far.
No. 26
One of the most important moments of my life happened on a Sunday evening. The sun was setting, the sky dripping all blood and half-used-tampon-mixed-with-sangria-like, and I decided, right then and there, on the balcony of some long lost hotel that Elizabeth Taylor used to frequent, that it would be nothing but the best designer merkins from here on out. I never looked back.
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