Saturday, August 21, 2004 :::
...and sometimes it gets a little too interesting.
But luckily I found the cognac.
Liz Taylor and Richard Burton on a good day quickly degarded to George and Martha territory. Most notable for that stretch of Wellesley, which really should be marked as a tourist destination for free street theatre (translation: ex-couples that try to remain friends - but still fuck), where I proceded to twitch and bark like a maniac while jack-off runs after me screaming "I just want to make it better....I want to UNDERSTAAAAAAAND!
I want to wear 4 inch Laboutin stiletos and a YSL trench, turn abruptly, pull my 45 out of the lining pocket and blow your fucking head off.
*adjusts her sunglasses*
Instead a loaded up on valium and let him stay over.
Anyways, there are these fucking GOLD Helmut Lang numbers...have you seen that shot of Lou Reed in the gold jacket???It's like that, but wears one of those insane colognes, leaves your lips raw from stubble and pushes you against the wall, grabs your hard-on and just fucking squeeeezes.
I want to wear gold...
...and fall down the street
::: at 10:16 AM
Tuesday, August 17, 2004 :::
Without conflict there is no interest.
Yes, we had sex.
::: at 2:39 PM