Apparently my roommate has a lot of guns in her house. Not like hand guns, but shot guns. [I'm not sure I comprehend how the distinction makes this any better]. This is New York ... that's probably not so good to blog about.
Sooooo I just got back from a fantastic night at Don't Tell Mama's cabaret bar. Lots of love to my gorgeous bicurious date for this past evening, who's got the most beautiful hair and the biggest heart of anyone I know.
Sang [music that wasn't church music] live, in front of people I didn't know, for the first time in my life. "Bill" from Showboat; and I thought about the smoldering Cuban the whole time. Gotta love the fact that I'm inadvertently working my way through the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. What is the appropriate mantra insert here? Methinks "walk tall, carry a big stick."
Every now and then we need those moments of complete and utter artistic bliss to remind us why we bother suffering through the madness in the first place. Thank you to Joe, John, Liz and Beth for my stage and the wine and olives that got me through it.
The summation of today's PR work, modeling session, and adventure into the sketchy cave of showtunes and love, is, as a wise man once said whenever you realize you're thinking a bit too much: don't worry bout it.
No comments:
Post a Comment