pillango

ah. here it comes. the drunken entry, brought to you by that devilish danish cherry "wine cocktail", kirsberry. it is delicious and i'm doing it up, babies. getting drunk in style: solo. just like the good ol' days.

i miss you. lots and lots. there isn't much time, so i'll get straight to the point: i am still alive. i miss you, have i said that already? right.

here are some oh-so-unpredictable photos of me, as proof that, indeed, i am still alive and kicking, albeit with slightly less gusto than in days of yore.

please observe that i really really like my white belt. evidently.



i call this my chinese acrobat dress. alternately, my christy yamaguchi (erm, figure skater) dress. though i am not as nimble or thin as chinese acrobats or yamaguchi, the day this photo was taken i was whistled at (much to my confusion and dismay) by random york boys. go me. hah.



enter the face. this is an attempt to smile. obviously, it back-fired.



now that's better. even i can admit that, here, my eyes are yellow and glorious. that's right; full of glory.

perhaps one last one before you're bored.



guess whose knee? the boy's. things are still going alarmingly well. i leave for france in exactly 31 days. things are too good for my impending departure. but such is life, i suppose. you can't have everything. i never do. i work my ass off for every single minute little thing and lose one to get another. fantastic story, i'm sure you're amused.

anywhoo. the other things that are happening at the mo are:

1. my conversation classes (the ones i've foolishly agreed to teach) are ending tomorrow. this is good.

2. i have read the new harry potter. i have cried like a baby. this is also good (though highly questionable).

3. i have a new ipod. alas, i had to sacrifice blanche. i now have a black ipod. suggestions for names welcomed at this time. please leave in comment format.

4. it is the boy's birthday this weekend. i'm going to spoil that sexy bastard to death. or bliss. whichever one occurs first.

5. if i know you (and we're friends, or sort of friends) send me an e-mail. yeah. just do it. k? thanks.

i suppose that would conclude my drunken entry. i miss you. have i told you that already?

here's a lovely poem by charles bukowski because, well, because the book is handy and because i'm feeling like it:

the Nile runs north

I walked into the men's crapper
at the racetrack
and I counted them:
there were twelve men
urinating in the south
trough.
nobody was using the
north.

wherever the masses go,
you go the other
way.

I used the trough to the
north.

then I got out of there
and that day I damn near
swept the entire
card.

I knew how to handicap
horses and
men.

observation put to action
is the eseence
of art.