Big ups to Tom Wolfe for passing the Electric Kool-Aid Flaccid Test (sorry) and snagging the bad-sex-in-fiction award.
But the hand, that was what she tried to concentrate on, the hand, since it has the entire terrain of her torso to explore and not just the otorhinolaryngological caverns -- oh God, it was not just at the border where the flesh of the breast joins the pectoral sheath of the chest -- no, the hand was cupping her entire right -- Now!
So anyway. Things with me are okey-dokey, smokey. I'm bitterly realizing I'm about the only person on earth who isn't going to see the Pixies on at least one of the many dates of their tour. Both my roommates went on Sunday nite. Skot & Melly went in Chicago. (Frankly, I can't even remember if Melly said she already went & it was awesome, or if she is going later & is really excited.) I have about a million friends going tomorrow too & another million going on Saturday. I adore the Pixies but I'm cheap and broke so instead I'm just going to be bitter about it.
Last nite I got pretty stoned at Leyla's house. She was watching the third Harry Potter movie but I wasn't really into it. I kept thinking about this SNL skit where Lindsay Lohan played Hermione, back at Hogwarts from summer vacation with brand-new boobs, & how I wished I were watching that instead. But I read an amazing short story & stayed till the end of the movie & then even tho I was broke I took a car home. During the ride I scribbled notes on the back of the short story, stupid stoned thoughts about one by one half blocks apart the wool-hatted people in the navy air or some such bullshit. I'm the champion of scribbling bullshit in the backs of cabs. & then I got home & for the first time in what felt like ages I washed my face & put on moisturizer & slept in pajamas in my newly made-up bed.
