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opabiniaI hope to grow white-haired, paper-skinned, and maybe a little saggy someday. When I do, I WILL COVER MY GOD-DAMNED ASS-CHEEKS IN PUBLIC. I do that now, regardless of what nightclubs I choose to frequent, and Jesus H. Christ, I will never understand why grandfatherly motherfuckers think anyone else wants to see them in anything less than pants anywhere.
Number of times I would have scored tonight if I were gay: >1. I was flattered, and said as much, but I wish to point out, a little grumpily, that I've never had an attractive woman ask me if I'm straight.
When I order a drink that comes with a little stirrer in it, sometimes I use that to aspirate the last bits of booze from the bottom of the glass. When I order the same drink again, and the barkeep serves it to me with a full-sized straw instead, I wonder if it's some sort of code language I'm unfamiliar with. Are they trying to tell me something?
I have never been so dangerously close to buying some seriously hot wheels. There's a GS 400-powered Skylark with my name written all over it in West Milford, New Jersey. I know because I went to see it today. Four hundred cubic inches. Black vinyl. Oh my God. (There are no atheists in ten-car garages.)
Today my dad told me that Colombian guys call the little nib on the middle of a laptop keyboard a "clitoris." Makes sense to me. Looks like one, makes things go, tricky to use without overdoing it.
Number of times I would have scored tonight if I were gay: >1. I was flattered, and said as much, but I wish to point out, a little grumpily, that I've never had an attractive woman ask me if I'm straight.
When I order a drink that comes with a little stirrer in it, sometimes I use that to aspirate the last bits of booze from the bottom of the glass. When I order the same drink again, and the barkeep serves it to me with a full-sized straw instead, I wonder if it's some sort of code language I'm unfamiliar with. Are they trying to tell me something?
I have never been so dangerously close to buying some seriously hot wheels. There's a GS 400-powered Skylark with my name written all over it in West Milford, New Jersey. I know because I went to see it today. Four hundred cubic inches. Black vinyl. Oh my God. (There are no atheists in ten-car garages.)
Today my dad told me that Colombian guys call the little nib on the middle of a laptop keyboard a "clitoris." Makes sense to me. Looks like one, makes things go, tricky to use without overdoing it.
