Dark sky, Madeira by the pool. The days without Black are starting 2 feel like one long red-wine soaked autumn.
I have some news about the FUNERAL, but first.
I've gotten many comments and emails asking me 4 more romance in general and more Evan in particular. I'll tell u more about that very soon, until then, let me tell u about my Paris BF.
"Johnny with a J" he called himself, pronounced with a VERY french accent. Maybe the name should've been a warning signal, but I was drunk and sad and found it sort of endearing.
Anyway. I remember Johnny wore 600$ Louis Vuitton slippers, smoked black tobacco and could stare in AWE @ his own naked body in the mirror for hours.
"You KNOW it's only an urban legend" i once said "in REALITY the male genitalia don't grow larger by u staring @ them"
And I remember Johnny's fist hitting my still open mouth. The weird sound, the taste of metal.
And I remember smudging the blood from my lips to my white dress asking if he thought it matched my shoes?
And I remember him answering that question by stating that I was a "fucking mental case" It was a term he had picked up in a british movie and used about most people that did anything he didn't understand (roughly the entire population of France and, ok, all other countries)
But in my case I guess he was spot on. Not even a hobby psychiatrist could dispute THAT diagnosis.
It was, all in all, the most memorable experience in our relationship.
Back home I tell Zombie the story of Johnny and he asks what made me so horny for affirmation.
"I'm a horny girl." I say.
"Well don't look @ ME with those droopy eyes" he sez "I havn't been inside a woman since my first birthday, and she did NOT seem to enjoy it."
And I say "ha ha ha"
"Speaking of pain" he sez "do you wanna go to that Dior party?"
And against all sound judgement (must b the temperature) I hear myself say "sure".
So saturday me and Zombie are off to Dior.
I've got a feeling it's gonna b memorable.