Girl. Hot girl. Twitter, of all places. Eventually found our way to AIM.
A little bit of this, a little bit of that...
At some point she's just not there. Hm. OK, cool. Whatever. La di da.
I make another whiskey and Diet Dr. Pepper cocktail. Still thinking up a name for that one.
Dig into my new bag of OG Kush buds (just purchased this afternoon from my handy marijuana delivery service) and fish out a few small nuggets. Toss 'em in the grinder, and throw 'em in the glass pipe. Yes, that glass pipe.
The glass pipe that traveled many miles before finally ending up here. I fire it up and think of her. I just saw that she's leaving for a trip to Chicago in the AM. Hm. It also seems she was caught in the undertow of the old big house we all used to call home only a few scant moons ago.
All I can think of is hiking in L.A. the other day, marching happily to a really inspiring mix of music.
The Neil Young song "Walk On" came up. And WTF? It pretty much says it all about 2009 for me.
Anyway, the AIM girl. I'm drinking, smoking, onlining, and she's still gone. The line is just open, like an errant phone left off the hook in some old-timey detective movie.
And then, right there on Twitter, came an answer to my unasked question.
"TRUTH: Theres something about the late-night-fucked up-6am-sunrising-orgasm that is just extra special. Were going to bed now...night"
So. While I'm sitting here wondering just what this mystery woman was up to, she was actually getting her poundcake on in some NYC dorm room, more than 3000 miles away.
We are all technology's bitch. Some more than others. I'm just polishing off a pint of Jim Beam, thinking how Keith Richards would have just slammed that thing during pre-game and called me a bitch.
Story of my life.
(Shout out to Jay McInerney)
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