so goddamn hot.

brace yourselves, sweetlings: when the pictures from halloween arrive, you will probably want to have a fire extinguisher on hand. because we were JUST THAT HOT.

watch this space.

so last night, the troika (that would be the ladies K and myself) trotted our boots on down to carroll gardens' boudoir bar for its stellar open mic night. unsurprisingly, i came in with a quiver in my hand and a desert in my throat; generally speaking i HATE open mic nights, it's like everyone is just sitting there willing you to fuck up so that they can look better. cutthroat. and i'd never been to this one before. fortunately, my trepidation was all for nought, as the crowd was lovely and friendly, the bartenders as well, and there were a whole bunch of great musicians. my favorites were the flamenco guitarists, though their performance put a lump in my throat with the memory of a dark night in prospect park. there was the expected cavalcade of lecherous men, all of whom seemed to have set their sights on the kate. honestly. can't take her (or her boots) anywhere!



but best of all? it looks like i might have won myself a booking--immediately after leaving the stage i was accosted for one of the bartenders, who'd been tasked with keeping an eye out for people who "really really kicked a lot of ass up there;" apparently, i qualify. so we'll see how that pans out.


p.s. quote of the evening: 'too bad britney spears isn't as cool as you are.' spoken by a total stranger. i kid you not.

by the lovely bluering.

it smells like ripe mangoes in here. for a minute, i thought the smell was originating in my cubicle, that perhaps i'd been canonized without knowing it and had actually died in a horrible wreck on my way to the office, that ripe fruit was the smell of my sainthood and rotting flesh.

then i realized that sally sue was drinking fruit tea. and that i'm not catholic, which pretty much ruled out the canonization.

express train + rushhour + high heels + guitar + service distruption = VERY DISGRUNTLED SHIVLET.

but in other news, KATE has arrived! safe into our city and into our arms. WOOOOOT!

i hate it when song lyrics are right.

sort of.

my parents (my biological parents, not the father-stepmother combo i typically refer to when i speak of 'the parents') have been in contact. i know this because my father asked for my mother's number. i have absolutely no idea why he would need to contact her, given that with the exception of my college graduation, they've not so much as spoken to one another (to my knowledge) in about twelve years?

anyway. given that i can't get a hold of either of them right now, is it unreasonable for my skin to be crawling? is this a further sign of the apocalypse? lordy mama.

amendment: it seems that the parental summit was because the sister-unit had gone awol. funny how it didn't occur to him to ask me if I knew where she was, seeing as how i do actually occasionally ask about her and what's gonig on in her life. and therefore knew where she was. honestly. my family.

and by "dinner," i mean "five days of chaos and cavorting and utter fabulosity in new-york-bloody-city, breaking hearts, kicking ass, taking names, and rocking the face off this place"

yes, that would be our lady kate, innit?

there's something in the air. i don't know if it's the ash from the california skies or the mysterious funk that permeated the W train this morning, but curious things are afoot. at this moment in time, there is a higher concentration of fucked up shit happening, both on the world stage and at home, than i can actually recall occurring simultaneously before. we're talking death, we're talking breakups, we're talking miscommunications, we're talking disppointments, heartbreaks and agonies left right and center. and i am not being hyperbolic.

it's unbelievable.

and if it weren't so heartbreaking, it would be almost comical.

can anyone give me an explanation for this? (other than the fact that arnie holds a political office. i'm not giving him responsibility for this emotional armageddon).