Last night I stalked E. Yes, I will admit it. He called and left a message on my phone telling me where he was but didn't say, 'Meet me!' but yet shamefully I tracked him down. (Yes I am a sixteen-year-old trapped in a grown woman's body) Stalking is really not my style. I don't like to stalk. I have too much pride. But in his message he left the cross streets of where he was and he never leaves the cross streets unless he wants to meet so I took it a A SIGN. A GREEN LIGHT for STALKING. (everything seems much more important in caps)
70% of my stalking I blame on still being drunk from my office Christmas party. At the party I was required to stand on stage-drunk-assisting my co-worker the MC on three rounds of BINGO. That would be me-yes me-drunk and on stage in front of 150 co-workers turning a cage full of wooden balls. G24? G24? Anyone?
Fast forward-after me-Stalky McStalkster arrived and was in fact accepted by her loving future husband I enjoyed the party which was DJ'd by none other than DJ AK-47 the hottest DJ in town. If you haven't heard of him-YOU WILL. I also enjoyed as usual talking to my pal Lock however we forgot to discuss Pedro going to Shea. Two words-David Wells? What the fuck.
The end of the night was a blur. A man holding up a giant sausage to give away. A long talk with Simon about Turgenev. Me taking a photo of a man with two rolls of TP in one hand and Cheese Whiz in the other. And finally tall promises that I would send Manhattan Transfer a postcard drawing of Farrah Fawcett.
I’d say it was time to call it a night.