More questions I’m asking on your behalf
It’s time to resort to interviewing myself again.
Q: Have you seen any movies lately?
A: I saw Matchpoint last week. It’s received a lot of praise, but I don’t think the movie was that great. It was a classic Greek tragedy, but not meaty enough to really intellectually engage viewers. I didn’t find any of the characters to be very sympathetic or even well-developed, either.
Explosive diarrhea makes a cameo
Yikes! Time for a cautionary tale: DO NOT EAT AT THE RAY’S PIZZA ON EIGHTH AVENUE.
Bobby and I have just conferenced and revealed that we both got explosive diarrhea after eating our post-”workout” slices of pizza. (Wow, the fact that I just typed “explosive diarrhea” on my blog that some of my mom’s co-workers read emboldens me).
It’s not working out
It’s amazing what one trip to Bally’s with Bobby will do to a girl…or maybe not.
An old friend anew
I’m the master of the lost connection.
Like somebody at the top of the transplant recipient list
Augusten Burroughs is beginning to feel more and more like a friend of mine, because I’ve now read everything of his except his “cheese popcorn” novel, Sellevision. And while I love Burroughs’ mean streak, he definitely has a way of writing such touchy feely sentimental stuff that I go “awww…” If we really were friends, I’d tease him about it, though.
Female Chauvinist Pigs
I’ve felt kind of loopy since returning to New York. The traveling wasn’t so bad, nor was the unpacking. I attribute my state of mind, which ranges from lackadaisical to lethargic, on the weather and the season. I am dragging my feet at the start of another year - a year which could very well be the best year of my life. It’s really a shame.
Salty dog, hold the grapefruit juice
I call it “Too Salty.” What would you title this photograph?
Cause-we-met soup
The mere thought of you sometimes floods my head with letters - I’m a bowl brimming with alphabet soup. The letters make words. The words make up the stories of what we did and what we do.
Passive-aggressive
Passive-aggressiveness irritates me. It’s the faintest of stenches that you can’t put your finger on. Where does it come from? Has he who smelt it, dealt it? This is to say that I’m wondering if I’m being paranoid by suspecting passive-aggressiveness from someone else. Is the passive-aggressiveness only borne of me when I decide it’s there hanging between this person and I? We’re the beginning and end of one bridge, mired in fog. I feel it, so it is?
