A pastiche, a veritable pastiche of images. First off, I have decided with the recent slate of cold weather it is well time for a hot dish to be prepared in the Barber kitchens. This shall take place this fine weekend methinks. Second, I went out and saw Tell Your Friends at Lolita Bar last night, and it was a fine time. If you haven't attended you are missing out on a free (yes FREE) show that feels much more textured and rich than some things I've paid a lot of money to see. Liam McEneaney, as usual, makes sure all the ladies know he appreciates them. Photo proof provided. And if you haven't, you should click on over the the website of the lovely Kambri Crews, also pictured here. She is all tall drink of water who is always a delight to talk to. Sign up for her event mailing list- this one know's what's going on all over town.
I am on the hunt for a job. That's right, kittens. It's time for this one to get back to work a.s.a.p. Hence the picture of the classy lady in pearls by the yard. I've decided that while freeing the artist within was primo, so is having money to buy everyhitng bagels with scallion cream cheese and tomato to shove in my fat face. If you know of anything, drop me a line why don't you? I promise not to show up (visibly) drunk at my new place of employ.
Lastly, I hope you kept your Thursday night free because comedy partner gold Sara Jo Allocco and I are going to be doing our very first burlesque routine! That's right, and it's for a good cause- we auctioned off a burlesque "date" with us and all the funds will go to a very worthy charity. We decided to celebrate with an Easter theme and what better way than to dress up as Playboy Bunnies? You don't want to miss this! Come one down and see us at 7 at the fabulous Parkside Lounge- there's even $10 pitchers to enjoy during the show!
On a parting note: once a woman I know told me that she got so drunk ast a dive bar she took an MTA employee home to have sex. I was, as you'd imagine, repulsed at the thought. I mean, look at the majority of these guys- they're old school union fatasses with plumbers' crack, complete with years of crystalized rat urine caked under thier nails tamped down to a fine peanut-brittle like consistency. Yet I was, as is my way, intrigued. So last night while waiting for fucking EVER for the F train to come, imagine my delight when I espied a tall, hot MTA worker guy! He was young so I imagine him to have been some sort of trainee, fresh off the Forest Hills R train. Perhaps he had a bit of an Irish-inflected accent on top of the standard Queens drawl. It made me happy for some odd reason. Perhaps that reason was because I wanted to fuck him? No, no it was more than that. It was because I hoped in my heart of hearts that that was the guy my friend porked way back when, even though I knew this was not the case. I chose to rewrite history right then, to turn back time as Cher so throatily sang. Dear readers, may all the MTA guys you pick up in those filthy "pubs" strung out along 8th Ave be tall, supple, not possesed of astroturf back hair and not at/around 50ish. That is my wish for you. Good day.
2 comments:
You basically have sex with Sara in your comedy calendar. " My lovely comedy partner" repeats often. I sound jealous. At least I was called fancy, that's all that matters. I miss you!
I like to think rewriting history to suit one's own fantasy world is what writing is all about. Lying rules! PS, the combo of letters I have to enter for this comment to show looks like if you mixed the words "whatevs" and "perverts."
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