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Why, you ask? Well, through some sort of unholy convergence and confluence of unspeakable events not unlike the appearance, disappearance and reappearance of the McRib™® sandwich, these two lovely people (Mr. Shain - high school friend and G, college friend currently residing in NYExpensive) ate lunch together. In LA. Without me. Which can only mean they spent the entire meal psychoanalyzing my psychosis. Yay! If this world gets any smaller, I might actually have to finally go on that diet.
More later. I will finally reveal to you my recent preoccupation and whereabouts. It's top secret. It's also called Rock Band.
7 comments:
And you thought it was weird when I sent her his Starbucks card.
I love the smell of napalm in the morning.
Shain is the sign of the Apocolypse, period.
I hear Rock Band is better than crack.
But if you try to smoke Rock Band you get some nasty plastic fumes and that's not so good.
Dude.
Also, this is my website (you've misspelt it in your post), to be soon updated as soon as I recover from a next door apartment being ON FIRE, a much-needed sleep, and two (count 'em, TWO) match.com dates tomorrow. Eek.
The content of Shain's and my conversation at el Getty: Blythe needs to move, preferably to NYC (my opinion), contemporary art = confusing and much stupidity, LA = okay.
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