The lovers, the dreamers, and me...all of us under its spell...
Having a lovely Diet Coke with vodka and lime while watching Dr. Who. I don't know what the Hell is going on, but it doesn't interrupt my enjoyment of the show even though I still like David Tennent better.
About my earlier notes:
- JP is the best boyfriend because he repaired my parent's computer after my father somehow managed to shred a game CD in the drive. He's such a sweetie! ♥
- Thursday a former co-worker of mine chose me to be her guest at her anniversary luncheon at Chama Gaucha, a Brazilian steakhouse that has the most beautiful salad bar I have ever seen and about 5-7 waiters at any given time that circle around your table cutting meat off large metal skewers and putting it on your plate. They just keep coming and coming. An endless attack of MEAT. Every cut of beef, lamb, and chicken you can think of. So, so delicious. I have eaten at a place like this before but this was definitely the fanciest. Will go again when I am done digesting this meat. Like in a month or so...
- And finally, one last poem until the mood strikes me again for National Poetry Month and fitting, based on my activities tonight:
Vodka
The Stoli bottle's frost melts to brilliance where I press my fingers. Evidence. Proof I'm here, drunk in your lamplit kitchen, breathing up your rented air, no intention of leaving. Our lust squats blunt as a brick on the table between us. We're low on vocabulary. We're vodkaquiet. Vodkadeliquescent. Vodka doesn't like theatrics: it walks into your midnight bedroom already naked, slips in beside you, takes your shoulders in its icy hands and shoves. Is that a burglar at the window? No, he lives with
me, actually. Well, let him in for Christ's sake, let's actually get this over with. - Joel Brouwer
ETA: THANK YOU,iammine, for the lovely tin hat! LOL! I love hats, actually...