asdf
May 02, 2005 / 12:18 p.m.
Was lying in bed last night at ten after taking a shower, in my fresh white underwear, with my covers up to my belly button, the new yorker at the side of my bed, the lamp shining on my body hanging from the window sill that is next to my bed, listening to the rain hit the leaves of the trees in the back yard.
And Vanessa called, and told me she would be by in 10 minutes, to go to stripper karaoke.
Instead of two strippers almost naked, with electrical tape x's on their nipples, there was one this time, drunk, with a huge wig, a complete dress, not naked.
Drunk, what the hell i'll sing 'suspicious minds' by elvis presley
I announced it at our table, and vanessa's friends started speeding through the catalog to find the number so that one of us could at least sing a song before we left.
We ended up at this all night pancake house close to sellwood, on 10th and Powell, where grease emanates into your face as you sit there in the cheap cafeteria style boothes and eat greasy, skinny french fries.
All sorts of weird characters filter in. The black guy with the two white people in the back, all holding hands, praying to jesus. The pimps follow their ho's in 10 minutes after they've gotten a booth. ETc.
And it's suddenly 3 am.
bija wrote to say 'hi, just wrote to say i was thinking about you...hi'
and i want to write back 'that's fitting, i think about you all the time'
but i wont. (postscript: or maybe i did)
off to the 12 busstop, where i catch it and go to my therapist out on 82nd.
Will drop off my netflix into the post box on 42nd and sandy.
Maybe get a Clif Bar at Trader Joe's while i wait for it.
Everything really is beautiful. Especially love.