When I was in Chicago in November, Joe and Stella and I were stuck in traffic for over an hour on our way to Aric's place. There was going to be Mexican food and sangria and gay bars and champagne. Itís a hell of a combination, and should be indulged in only with people you trust will still love you the morning after.
I was wearing a new, strapless green top I was very nervous about, so I was forever adjusting my hair and tapping my toes and tugging on the ribbed band that was holding up my shirt. Looking back at the pictures, I realize that I should learn to trust my instincts more, because I look like a wide receiver in that thing and will likely never wear it again.
While I was fussing, and Joe was inching along, Stella was going through the CD book in the backseat. "Here," she said, and thrust a disc over my shoulder. "This will make us happy."
This week through the mail, she sent me a burned copy of it, because it made me so happy, this Shirley Bassey re-mix album, this gay cocktail lounge, fruit fly in the shower belting out show tunes, bumping and grinding in my new jeans in front of a mirror, strutting in high heels down a marble foyer, absolute orgasm, diamonds are forever of a disc.
0 comments so far