I'm so excited about going to New York that I'm not doing any of the things on my myriad of lists. Yesterday I started to blog my lists - that would have been helpful, no? and then decided to spare y'all. For which you owe me, bigtime. Except my head is full of them, from buying a carton of cigarettes to mowing the front lawn to, of course, trying every single piece of clothing in my closet on and then having a total hissy fit about how fat I am and how nothing fits. It won't matter anyway, because as my friend L so wisely observed many years ago, whatever you wear to New York immediately looks dowdy as soon as you emerge from the Holland Tunnel. You can go buy a designer outfit that day and wear it to New York - it will look like shit as soon as you get there. It is the immutable law. Also I have been in Asheville too long and have too many tattoos and too weird hair and my newly waxed eyebrows are giving me a rather disconcerting look of perpetual 1930s surprise. I seem to have reached that magic age where I look like a drag queen impersonation of myself.
Last night while I was working really hard on my trip I ended up going briefly to Downtown After Five & the New French Bar with my friend D and then to Jack of the Wood for dinner with my friend S, & saw RB Morris, who is, as you know, a god. It was nice to be at Jack again, saw a lot of people. All my friends seem to be dating someone now, which is great for them, but gave me a hormone & beer induced attack of angst about my eternally single status. Thus I had to go home & have a long drunken phone conversation with my erstwhile friend R in Charleston.
Back to lists! Back to lists! Woot!!