when doves die, or, when fatty cries (whatever)

Well my weekend was pretty awesome, especially the bit where I ate my way through Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn. I. am. friggin. full. y’all. So instead of venturing out tonight to any number of way more fun things to do, I’m going to be gettin all hot and sweaty (huhuhuh, perv). It’s become a battle of wills between my fat ass, Bally’s, and the effing Circulator during rush hour (god curse you), but I’m going to the gym tonight if it’s the last thing I do. Even though a part of me is dying inside that I’m going to miss the entire run of Purple Rain at the AFI. But you go. Sing along to “the Beautiful Ones” as you seductively caress the thigh of the person sitting next you. I’ll be fine, really, someday. Last chances are tonight at 9:10pm and Thursday 7:00pm. (Why don’t you just go Thursday Abby? Because I’m going to Fort Reno for the Aquarium and Benjy Ferree and ENDLESS CAKE, that’s why, smartass). If you’re not so into Prince (wtf?!), you could check out the gentle croonings of Georgie James' sometime bassist, and Bar Pilar’s most huggable sometimes bartender, Paul Michel tonight at the Cat. And if you’re still not satisfied with those choices, then you can go poison some birds or something, weirdo. I wash my hands of you.