Dear Katya, I’m sorry that I didn’t get a chance to get in touch with you when I was in Connecticut; I was there for only a few days, and worked about twelve hours a day for most of them (at Playtex International in Stamford). I had really wanted to talk to you or see you before I left… for California!
Yes, indeed, I’ve made the move, and right now I’m writing this letter to you from a rather boring temporary secretarial job in San Francisco. I moved out here two weeks ago, to Oakland, and I’m living with B. Co-existing is probably the way to put it, for there is no romantic or amorous entanglement between us. Not that he wasn’t expecting any; he was, but I’d put my foot down against it months ago, and he’s slowly coming round to appreciate the joys of platonic living.
oh brother, just a little pit stop on the wild phantasmagoric journey of missteps after
how long, dear reader, do you suppose the platonic living lasted?
he was a really good guy (hugs & kisses) - but so not The One
ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES
yeah, but life is rough that way
"Like, you need to have them be able to go toe-to-toe with you intellectually. But don't they also have to have a vagina you could pitch a tent on and just camp out on for, like, a weekend? Doesn't that have to be there, too? The Joshua Tree of vaginas? ...I'll be happy when I close out this life-partner thing. Think of how much mental capacity I'm using to meet the right person so I can stop giving a fuck about it."
I don't know, what John Mayer said - makes sense to me.
And memo to Arianna - douchiest? WTF is that supposed to mean? Haven't we evolved past such baroque sequestered terms?