Hey, Miracle Gro!
I am in Hollywood! It's buttery and soft.
But I am still having pleasure-flashbacks from my perfect last day in Mpls., which included, of course, getting Slopped. Oh man, I can't wait to listen to the tape and dig the majestic "Ariel" action!
Jim Walsh took me out for Mojitos too. We ended up having hibiscus margaritas. Then I forced him to take me to the CC Club, the final Minneapolis rock institution which I'd missed this trip. A booth was open and ready for us and we had Newcastle.
The jukebox played Motley Crue's "Too Fast For Love," and I started talking about how "do you remember?" is one of my favorite lyrics ever----from Earth Wind & Fire's "Say do you remember?/dancing in September?" to Michael Jackson's "Do you remember the time when we fell in love?" to the Crue's "She puts her leg up/ and calls it good luck/do you know what I mean?/ Do you remember?/Well I remember!"
If I were even remotely awake I could tell you why it's neato.
But at the moment I can't remember.
Golly, it feels swell to be home. (Shit, is this the Fifties or something?)
My keen sweetie-pie roomie is so dreamy: He cleaned the apartment and then took off to some hotel with his GF.
But wait, there's more: He broke a troubling precendent and bought a HUGE package of the really good, expensive toilet paper.
Maybe this doesn't sound so big, but if you had a boy-roommate you might understand. I feel like a princess.
There is no pea in my bed, either. Just pillowy goodness.