Here's me attempting to re-enact one of my favorite movie scenes ever, which is when Glenn Close smears her lipstick off at the end of "Dangerous Liasons" after she's been shamed out of the grand opera by all those she used to control with the batting of a mascara-ed eye. I do the best imitation of myself, right Ben Folds Five? RIGHT?!? I have developed a new naughty habit. When I am up to no good, I chain smoke. Even if I'm so much as typing something scandalous I have to have a Lucky Strike half-stuck to my bottom lip. As I am a full-time gadfly this means I'll soon have cancer. Oh, well. Better empty out that cedar hope chest Daddy made by hand for me because it looks like my Barbie Dream Wedding is to be marred by bloody black-chunked lung cancer.
Sometimes I think I like Cat Power. And sometimes I think I'd like to kick her square in the ass. It's a toss up really.
Hot tramp, I love you so.
I just got EXCITED about this weekend. Like, wiggling in my chair anticipation. There is going to be dancing. I have not been to a dance party (in public or at say, at 3 am in my apartment with forced participation from sleepover guest(s) and/or my cat) in way too long. And I've been too, too drunk the past few times I could have taken advantage of dancing at parties to do so. I am going to play the old college game my friends Carrie, Christina and I made up of "How many guys can I give a boner to by grinding on and then just bail?" I intend to request "Pony" by Genuwine to the delight of only myself and the disgust of all unfortunate onlookers. That's how it's going to be.
I, too, have Cabin Fever at AOL dot com.
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