sometimes i wonder if i'm not a little too content with routine. yeah, there was the fortnight of manic socialization wrought by the parker posey, but still. shouldn't there be more to a friday night than 90210, yoga and reading until 3 a.m.? some Drama or some Event or, at the very least, Some Thing. then yesterday- as i snuggled up to the air conditioner with guralnick and a glass of lambic- i overheard this conversation, the benefits of which have been two-fold.
firstly, having spent half an hour subjected to every single gory detail of some random drunk dude's struggle with his acid-dropping ex-girlfriend, who's going to have an abortion next week because she fears getting fat, i will never ever again wish for drama. because i have it pretty damn good.
secondly, i will never ever again say anything of import into a telephone, much less say anything of extremely personal import into a telephone at an exceptionally high volume while standing on a balcony near an open window and a screen door.