2003-07-18 - 2:01 p.m.
A flower arrangement more hideous than can be imagined was just delivered to our office. I'm not kidding, this thing looks like a set leftover from Children of the Corn. I expect it to start snaking a tendril toward me any second. It makes Seymour look like a friendly little flytrap. There are six, count 'em, six full-sized sunflowers, a handful of geraniums, lemon leaves, purple statice, you name it. Hid.E.Ous.
Bumptious tossed up last meals eaten by Texas criminals today. Lord. Do murdering felons all eat at Denny's at 2:00 a.m.? Cause this looks like the menu to me.
I've been Comments Girl today. Almost everywhere I've been, blather has rolled off my fingers and into my favorite reads' comments. Whoosh, there they go. And most of them should be marked with some of Tipper Gore's "restricted" stickers. One phrase I've not yet used, though, is holy fuckmonster, Batman! Give me a reason. Just give me a reason.
2003-07-18 - 11:25 a.m.
Finally, classes designed especially for me.
And this reminds me of the woman who lived across from J when he had the studio. She had the longest, noisiest orgasms of all time. More vocal than porn princesses, longer lasting than Energizer batteries. One night she shrieked out her lover's name so many times that we stopped our own canoodling to time her o's like contractions. Hey, five minutes. Wow, three minutes. Every so often we'd get a muffled groan from her partner. Thanks, buddy. Appreciate your built-in-the-20s thin-wall apartment etiquette. Are ya numb yet?
Comments: Speak your piece!
former / latter