Remember my friend Sarah? My 23-yr. old occasional fake date (the Sex Workers' Art Show in Feb, 2008, Poe's 200th Birthday Bash last month) and text-message buddy? Well, she raves on, so I thought I'd share with the group.
This is Sarah, by the way (dietcokelove on MySpace), in her New Year's Eve finery:
Sarah needs to write a book or something; she leads an... uh... interesting... life and has mastered the Art of the Brief But Intriguing Text Message. Earlier this month she mentioned she was moving to a new apartment and since I owe her some midnight door decor*, I asked (well, texted), when and where because "inquiring stalkers need to know." Her response?
There are nuts behind my ears and a bee on my knee. The camel on my toe has to wait until next week.
No address, you'll note. Sarah ain't stupid.
We commiserated a bit about Valentine's Day--I couldn't con anyone into taking me out and feeding me Valentine Bacon and no one had propositioned... uh... professed... undying (24-hr.) love for her, so we figured, well, things are going to be dull again this year; we may as well exchange DVD recommendations. The next morning:
Today has been the best valentine's day I've had in in 6 years. At 7 am i was playing extreme black jack. It involves nudity and cigarette burns.
See what I mean? There's a NaNoWriMo idea right there!
Anyway, back on the 20th I sent out a general alert re: the 4th anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson's death and Sarah responded in the best tradition of Gonzo:
I'm a day late on (Hunter S.) thompson's (death)day, but I think I've got it covered. For your amusement i will forward you texts I've sent tonight for you to live vicarious(ly through me).
Fwd: I believe It's going to be an evening of speed, red wine, and kafka tonight.
(she was preparing to paint her new apartment)
Fwd: Man, my hallway was so pretty, but It's dis a p p e a r i n g.
Fwd: Paint fumes. Drugs. No ventalation. kafka talking about raping ghosts.
Ghost rape? WTF?
I feel like I huffed a Bunch of paint and drank wine till 9am. oh wait-I did. How come they never talk about hunter s. Thompson having a hang over?
I'm gonna write a book called hunter s. Thompson's hang over. It's gonna be a scratch and sniff.
In between I responded that HST probably negated hangovers with a precisely calculated combo of sleeping pills, Wild Turkey, and methamphetamine.
Oh no! Speed is not the answer. Sleeping pills maybe Alcohol, yes, but no more speed.
Yep, brief and intriguing!
*As I left for work the day after Halloween 2007 I noticed my formerly white front door was covered--covered!--in bloody handprints. This was a real mystery as very few people know of my Halloween obsession (almost none locally) and even fewer care enough to acknowledge it in any way, shape, or form. I kept waiting for someone to claim credit so he or she could receive his or her... proper... reward (insert sinister laugh), but no one did until about two months later when Sarah made a passing and totally unnecessary comment about how clean my door looked these days.
She was so busted!