[Steppenwolf 1971 tour t-shirt... reprint + Sam Edelman pirate hooker boots + Vanessa Mooney wood and turquoise rosary + Thistle & Pearl sequined vest from UO + a scrap of paper containing one hot waiter's name and digits!]
I may be a one-trick pony these days, but if there’s one thing I love, it’s a solid concept. Rock tees 4 eva.
[Pretty Anousheh killing it.]
I was giving Rob a break the other night and went out with a younger, more taut girlfriend for some drinks and to catch a friend’s show around the corner. I’ll choose to ignore that the only employee in the establishment with salt and pepper hair was the one to pay me any attention—he was a nice guy and we were rappin’ music and his band and vinyl records and when he slipped me that little paper I was like Aunt Vera in the pool house:
“Say it again!”
“All of it!”
I mean, I’m happily married, you guys. You just don’t get digits at 32 like you did at 22. Shit made my week.
I’m not dead yet.
Until my friend c-blocked it and humiliated both me and the waiter by sing-songing that I’m basically an old married coug. Whateva, this is my United States of America.
Also, dork morph.