Cheeks frozen. Must drink coffee and then describe photos, Millionaire.
…
Facial muscles thawed. On the left is the mysterious Stewart Monday at the Edge. He has been absent as of late, planning his forthcoming nuptials in India. On the right, Steph and Keith celebrating Steph’s b-day at Lolita. Keith is still living in what I call Middle Town, near 29th and Park. he does IT work for the city and has wonderful stories of government waste.
Trish-dish came over for food and Joe Millionaire, a new minor tradition. If you choose to watch bad TV, you might as well immerse yourself and go whole-hog. Tricia is one of the best at watching low-brow TV for sincere enjoyment without a hint of detached irony. Joe chose to eliminate Allison last night, a gorgeous red head who actually hangs out in my neighborhood. She was cursed with the propensity to only pursue that which flees from her, an affliction common to attractive, crazy (i.e. breathing) women.
“I don’t like you.”
“Are you sure, because I really like you.”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, ok. Goodbye.”
“WAIT!!! I was wrong! Wahhhh!”
“Sorry, sister.”
It’s a tale as old as time. That’s why when I meet a girl, the first thing I do is hawk a lugie on her shoes. They normally scowl and then give me their phone number.