Pretty Pretty Princess of the Weekend...

Porn and Chocolate got a face-lift. Te gusta? Me gusta. I'm still tweaking the html--if you click on the google link, it takes you to overheardinnewyork.com. I don't know why--techno-retarded, remember? member? member that?

I also don't know why, but I'm ten times more sore today than I was yesterday. Humph. I'm hobbling around the office like Quasimodo.

[indistinguishable grunts]

I will take you to the tower, my lovely Esmerelda.

I'm listening to Lauren Hill. This song describes every man I've ever fallen for. Except take out the God references--I find my epiphanies on my own like a good little existentialist. Man. For real. And listening to it reminds me fondly of Kristen. You're everywhere, girl (Belle and Sebastian, our Lauren Hill adventure).

Conor came over for the OC (I'm slowly entering my single girl schedule) and I was on my bed, shaking out my hair which had been up all day. He gives me a weird look.

"What?"

"You look so pretty today. Did you masturbate? You're glowing."

Ha ha. Though I'm really starting to fade on this 40 days thing. I'm kinda set on getting laid this weekend (which means, of course, I won't, but all the same...).

"No."

"I walked in and thought, 'Why are you so pretty today?'"

I think I answered it had to be the yoga. More likely, though, it's because Conor hasn't had sex in a month. Even I'm starting to look good to him [ed note: This is not a self-hatred no-one-could-ever-love-the-Fat-Hump-Backed-Troll sentence. Editor would like to mention that Conor often refers to the Author as his sister, and so the thought of coitus/attration with/to her must mean that he is suffering from Extreme Horniness].

Extreme Horniness. A new sport that we're apparently starting up. I think it involves who can prove they are hurting more for some lovins. It's been a month for Conor, slightly over a month for me, and Devon just looks at us with hatred since it's been since Christmas for him.

He wins!

Extreme Horniness is the game that no one wants to win, though.

I get second place, not just because of the timing, but because I stopped masturbating as well. I'm a powder keg of hormones/phermones/needing moans.

But I have my girl coming in this weekend. The happy surprise of Ashlee having a shitty day and saying "Fuck it" and getting out.

Come, child. We'll burn the motherfucka down.

Quality Girl Time. A time-zone I am unfamiliar with.

I've also decided to buy myself something pretty during lunch. My new friend Lyle (testosterone alert!) is self-indulgent in that way (being uber-gay--so not like a red level testosterone alert--definitely pink) and I have a feeling he could be a bad influence on the saving-money thing. But I haven't bought myself an article of clothing since December 17. I know because I can go on LiveJournal and find it. Sad, yes? I've used LiveJournal to figure how long I worked at Core for my resume, the last time I had sex vs. when my periods are. That part of my life, chronicled on LiveJournal, is like my Palm Pilot. Or, I guess, my journal [Editor would like to take the time to welcome everyone to State-The-Super-Obvious-Land. Try the veal.]

There's a party that's being used to raise funds for our show tonight. And then the weekend holds endless possibility. I look to it with cautious optimism.

Which means, probably I'll get drunk and fall down somewhere.

Excellent. Right on par.