dont be shy, send me a reply
Smoothtongue69: r u blond lina
Smoothtongue69: are you from overseas
Smoothtongue69: from czech
Smoothtongue69: please reply, you czech stunner
Smoothtongue69:: u want some english friendship Lina
..
While getting a mani/pedi the other day (that's a manicure and pedicure for
you not in the know), the manicurist asked me in broken English if I had a boyfriend.
'Well,' I said, 'kind of. I mean, he's in New York,' I explained,
slightly apologetically. I knew she would be disappointed in me.
'That's bad,' she replied.
'Yeah,' I said, nodding in agreement.
'He might have other girlfriend,' she said, shaking her head.
She looked knowingly at me and softly hissed, 'or boyfriend.'
..
At my friend Heather's wedding yesterday, I found myself followed by the bride
into the bathroom. 'Brad was asking about you,' she said, ensconsed
in her wedding whites.
'What?' I replied.
'He said that he made out with you ten years ago, but he doesn't know who
you are."
I looked at her questioningly, not understanding.
"He recognized your name on the guest list," she said apologetically.
You have a lecture series?
Erik | July 12, 2005 3:55 AMHow odd! Of all the things I remember about the men I've made out with it's never been their names. I used to keep a detailed record (charts and graphs) of all of the men I had made out with and to what extent since my first blooming kiss at the tender age of 14 - Through my lecture series, my friends came to know these documents as "the books."
I had began inocently enough, keeping the records in the back of my journal, thinking that I wanted to remember absolutely everything about each of my loves (They would be few; destiny was just around the corner disguised for now, I guessed in a Groucho Marx mask (Love comes in many disguises.),) and further be able to quickly cross reference all future second base encounters. As the list dragged longer on into my college years however, names of boys were replaced by, "that guy in the shadows at that Club in Barcelona, who asked me to dance to "Baby Hands Up," and so on.
At odds with posterity some years ago, however, I rashly destroyed all my records, fearing that if I died in a car crash or something else freakish involving a blender - one never knows - I wouldn't want these volumes to be found and regarded, alas, as my only completed literary work. So now, "that sweaty guy by the bathroom with the clubbed foot" is only the stuff of myth.
iris of the dead | July 12, 2005 2:16 AMshutitdown dot net
sunjay | July 10, 2005 10:09 PMbringing you excuses for aim conversation since 1979