teenage unicorn

Well, it was a good run, but my social life is officially dead. Dead, dead, dead. Stick a fork in it.

A sad, sad, sad, rusty, crud-covered fork. It's "fashion week" and "art opening week" and I have

not gone to a single solitary "event." Not one. Here's my life now: Work (which is good, don't get

me wrong), get home around 9pm, collapse onto couch, stare at television, fall asleep by midnight.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Ta da! I guess this is what they call being a normal person. Am I sad about it?

I don't know, I can't tell. Probably I am. But you know, I shouldn't even blame work for my newfound

hermitude. Plenty of 9-to-5 working folk go out a lot, and there are weekends. I just don't feel like it.

I mean, I am an elderly person now, what is the point of traipsing around at all hours with lithe,

freewheeling youngsters ten years my junior? What I was searching for on all those dizzy moonlit

nights (ha!), I never found. Maybe I found a little. But not enough and so I say good riddance, sir!

The only thing that worries me is this little blog o' mine. I like this blog. I've met nice people because

of it and there have been other positive outcomes because of it, though right now I am hard-pressed

to think of what they are. But I know that I am reluctant to hang up the towel entirely. So what will

become of it? What will become of me?? Holy shit, am I feeling melodramatic.

When I looked through the photos I had taken over the past month, this was all that was there:

One day I hung out with a bunny and a cat.

Some days I hang out with this pantsless weirdo. He's almost as much of a hermit as me.

I joined the Goon Association.

I have a baby friend who wears clothes that I wish they made in my size. Look, she also has

noise-protector headphones like a real little rock-star baby.

The headphones are to protect her ears from the sounds of Vampire Weekend, a band so trendy

that I liked them for .0003 seconds and am now sick of them before their album is even out.

Ah, the fancy business dinner. A real grown-up treat! Every once in awhile, we all get taken out to a

different ritzy steakhouse where they look at us like the gaggle of slovenly freaks that we are. This

one was in midtown and is called Quality Meats. I like when the word "meats" is plural. These here

were my meats. "Filet done three ways" it was called. The three ways were: with cheese, with cranberry

sauce, and with a little flaky bagel thing on top of it. Deelish!!!

Thomas got the 64-ounce steak for two. For just himself.

Halfway through, he was getting so full he had to take his glasses off. He was getting the meat-sweats.

Plenty o' leftovers.

After dinner: Crank-calling Vincent Gallo at 2am. (And smoking in the subway! Such crazy kids.)

Leaping high-five!

Double leaping high-five!!

Then Thomas left to go on a boat to Garbage Island for one whole month. Lucky fucker.

Oh! This made me happy. You know that song "Pennygold" by Lindy Stevens that I love so much?

(Because it's such a hard-to-find song, I will put the mp3 for it here and hope that my bandwidth

doesn't go berserk like last time.) Anyway, I finally found the whole album that it's from and it's so good!

It's kinda Christian-y, but so pretty. Does anyone have a doo-hickey where you can make mp3s from

vinyl? I really want this on my iPod!