(From December 30, 2007)
So my source for free wireless internet seems to have dried-up.
Maybe it was the witch.
Dig: A witch just moved out of my building.
How do I know? Because when people move out they leave free stuff for the remaining tenants on the first floor radiator. The other day there was a big pile of curious items that included lots of books on witchcraft and a neat little box emblazoned with a pentagram. Also, there was the entire collection of Peter Ellis' "Cadfael Mysteries" which I snatched up because I guess that if I ever bring a woman back to my apartment I want to make damn sure I don't accidentally get laid.
I mean, really. Why the hell else would I have grabbed them? I don't read mysteries. And let's face it ladies, if you went back to some guys place and among his other hundreds of books there was a two foot stack of paperback mysteries featuring a 12th Century Welsh Benedictine monk who solves murders in his spare time would you sleep with him?
(I gotta get rid of those books. )
So what was my point?
Oh yeah, the internet. Don't use it to get a hold of me. Use the phone like a normal person.
(Now I'm going downtown to Macy's to buy a pair of monogramed silk pajamas because goddamnit I'm worth it.)