style wars

I may have another date tomorrow night. I say "may" because he emailed me this morning and has yet to confirm. This, of course, will be looked back upon as what-they-call-"a-red-flag".

Tomorrow night is a big night for someone I know. This someone may occasionally read these here musings. (Okay, that narrows it down to what? Two? Three people?) If you're reading, I'm thinking of you.

I may have another date next week. I say "may" because we've yet to confirm a date and time and location, but his emails have been long and winding and interesting and chock full o' questions about me. He said "I can't get over your smile" which I thought could be looked back upon as what-they-call-"a-red-flag", but I kinda dug it.

The wind is howling outside. The wind chill is zero. Old Man Winter has truly arrived.

My muscles ache from the multiple sessions of weight training at the gym and from once-a-week yoga and from once-a-week Pilates but I know that they ache in a very, very, very good way.

I'm makin' some grub for Kate Moss and Scarny on Saturday; after much thought, I've decided upon the menu: the best damn chili in Brooklyn, the best damn cornbread in my 'hood, and the best damn maple apple crisp to ever come out of my kitchen. They're supplying the booze.

Y'all jealous?