Fingers and Messes

So I was a little out of control last night. Just a little, and hopefully not all that noticeably so. I vividly remember a finger in my mouth and the smell of soap and the exquisite sensation of arm hair against my cheek. I was at BC’s, watching the finale of Angels in America with some swell Live Journal dudes, only one martini down, but intoxicated by the nearness and warmth of sweet and handsome comrades.

Jack and Steve, let’s play bridge!

Remember Marlene Dietrich’s observation of the bloated and disheveled Orson Welles in Touch of Evil? “You a mess, honey.” I’m feeling a little better today. Thanks for putting up with me, everybody.

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