Archive for June, 2005
1. Run, don’t walk, to the Starbucks on 56th Street between 6th and 7th, right around evening rush. Why, you ask? Because that’s where you will find the goddanged prettiest Starchuckian mixmaster ever. He’s like LL in a green apron. LL in a green apron handing you a delicious soy latte. That is the closest […]
So I’m talking to a lady who is in her sixties but who looks really good for her age. I tell her I thought she was in her forties, at most, and she laughs and says she has a daughter in her forties.
This is where it all goes horribly fucking hilariously to hell.
“My daughter, […]
as much as I love certain pulpy writers and their novels, I am occasionally, shall we say, chafed by how absent we are from their stories. From their lives.
Oh geez. Outright: I’m tired of reading lily-white books. Even when they are fun, good books, I am amazed at how absolutely absent non-whites are from white […]
*dead*
Is anybody besides me slightly relieved that The Pretty started out looking like a used car salesman? Gahd, Hollywood is like some alien planet where everyone is forced to becom the best version of themselves or die a slow, painful death. Or move to West Covina or something.
To the individual(s) who found my blog by googling eighteen different permutations of Seal and Tatjan Patitz and abortion:
Ain’t nothing about that here. I promise. After this post, there will be nothing else remotely relating to it. Feel free to have a poke around, but, you know, dang, EIGHTEEN? Seriously. Try searching for Brad and […]