Paczki

So much for dieting; today is Paczki day - a holiday. For dinner tonight: Doughnuts and wine.

Because drunk dialing is so passé.

I just got back from the most lonely place in the world. I hate the laundry mat.
I hate having my two pairs of undies exposed for everyone there to see. And there is always some kid running or crying for *no reason* with nothing to loose. Just sitting there watching the laundry go 'round and 'round makes me want to scream out like I have turrets or something.
"motherfuckersonofabitchdamnshitpisscraptwat."
Like that.

A lack of something.

Are not crane operators born of the most insecure men of the world?

The contrived life of a would-be starlet of the Midwest.

Today was the last day of the Claudel/Rodin exhibit at the Detroit Institute of Arts. I went to the last showing on the last day of the exhibit. Fascinating.



I was a little worried about going downtown today of all days, but it really wasn't too bad. I was expecting throngs of drunk partygoers and sports fans massing in the streets of Detroit, but no. It was probably too cold for that kind of behavior. Traffic was surprisingly light and even parking was easy to find.

After the exhibit, my friend N and I sat in the atrium and sipped coffee. We discussed the fine sculptures and how we should make it a point to do more cultural events together. We laughed and chatted about how we should do things that make us feel sophisticated. Before we left, she plucked a flower from an arrangement on the table and placed it in her hair.

N is a woman of uncommon beauty; a head turner who oozes sexuality. She really is misplaced here in the decaying city of Detroit and I can't help but think she would be most appropriate in some other place ... a complex place, a cultivated place.

I can't help but think I would like to go with her.