26 January 2002 - 12:20 p.m.

Well.

First, thanks to all of you who were kind enough to leave some words of love in my guestbook. I certainly feel L to the izznoved.

And thanks to all who came to my bitchin' partay last night! For anyone who missed it, suffice it to say there was stripping. There were sex toys (ok, one, and it wasn't really that sexy, but whatever.) My kitchen floor is sticky, everyone did the time warp and people I had never even seen before showed up. It was definitely a party.

I feel a little better about my sqeaky-clean self after last night's debauchery. Yesterday, when I was in the elevator, between leaving work and turning in my grad school application (go me!) two other women from my floor rode down with me. Both are very nice mom-types, one is I think 43, and the other turned 60 sometime last year. And when the door closed the 43-year old turned to us and said, "Do you know what it smells like in here?" She sighed and said, "I don't even want to tell you what it smells like in here. It smells like old bong water."

We all laughed, because, if nothing else, the phrase "old bong water" has a great sound to it. I may cahnge some of the letters and turn "Old Bongwatter" into a character for a story or whatnot. But then, the woman said, "Do you remember what that smells like?"

"Yeah," replied the 60-year-old. "Yeah, I sure do."

At which point I became very interested in the elevator buttons, because guess what? I have no friggin idea what old bong water smells like. Nor do I know what Old Bongwatter smells like, but that's a hang-up to be proud of. But there's still hope. Maybe my landpeople will reprimand me later for all the noise my friends and I made last night, and maybe even call me irresponsible, or a bad influence or a punk.

I can dream, can't I?

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: