shit. talk about feelin nice. only the best, most grownup, birth day experience of them all.
i mean, if i bottled up all the tears shed tonight i could probably sell it to "wink" and they'd cover thos guys with gastrique. for $26.
now i have the most unique B.O. and can't stop thinking about the 3 times that *mark* touched me. not to mention scopin out the the tall cook with the mystery case.
flute? (insert Ariel's theme song here).
just another mystical evening.
i will end with an excerpt from Edith Warton's "Old New York". molly lent me this book while hurricane dean was invading my me.
"What is there in the atmosphere of such houses that makes them so enchanting to a fastidious and imaginative youth? Why is it that "those women" (as others call them) alone know how to put the awkward at ease, check the familiar, smile a little at the over-knowing, and yet encourage naturalness in all? The difference of atmosphere is felt on the very threshold. The flowers grow differently in their vases, the lamps and easy-chairs have found a cleverer way of coming together, the books on the table are the very ones that one is longing to get hold of. The most perilous coquetry may not be in a woman's way of arranging her dress but in her way of arranging her drawing-room; and in this art Mrs. Hazeldean excelled."