Every stranger, heck yeah!

Umm, okay. No one likes a sloppy drunk.

But I've earned this drunk fair and square, and I bet the friends who helped me earn this drunk would even attest that I was only slightly drunk.

Ah, well. Today I was only in love with the much older known, the much younger underwearing unknown, the same old sweet wild standby, and the beautiful exie who left me a phone message (well, the first beautiful exie who left me one!). This raises the question: Am I in shape to love only one? Did I not just admit (over margaritas) that it is my own fault that I was unable to love the last two?

For example: right now -- yes, at this very second -- I'm flirting in another window. Well, actually I'm waiting for the results of my last pathetic flirt. And I'm flirting with disaster and uselessness. Because I can't help it. Because a few words and a small picture and -- well, I mean you know how people are? They have two legs and two arms (usually), and they're just stunning. How can you not love four limbs? I mean, really?

* * *

I'll be earning a drunk tomorrow, too, with my new friend (hi!) who has visited Zauberwelt and actually seems to enjoy it. We're having dinner at Fior d'Italia and then catching Richard Lewis in his late show at Cobb's. (Stalkers: I'll be signing MUNI transfers. Please form a zero-file line just outside the club.)

In drunken rhapsody I scribbled this in my little black book on the way home (after stumbling into the Gap in search of a black blazer for tomorrow):

"O lovers past and future! Tonight I sit [illegible] writing to a music so divine -- and [illegible] when I feel it [illegible] from me [illegible] a finale [female?] form so divine -- Ah! I would kiss every stranger."

And I couldn't agree more.