I don't really know what to say. I know i haven't gotten through my sexual shenanigans over the holidaze yet, but I don't want to talk about that right now. I slept till 5pm. Got out of bed to feed cats, back in bed till 730 to go see the Unitards (hilarious) in DUMBO. I rode my bike there. It is below freezing. Who the fuck do I think I am?
If you guys haven't figured it out yet, I'm bummed today. The way my mind works, when I'm bummed basically civilization is doomed. The amazing thing is that I can pull it together so well and appear fun, happy, the guy who laughs loudest at the parties. I want to disappear. I want to be famous. I want to be the messiah. I want to be placed in a thunderdome with everyone that has pissed me off in my life. I don't know why, since there's a lot of them and just one of me, but it could be fun nonetheless.
CRAP so I just remembered my gem of the night. After the show this man is commenting on my pullover--it's a beautiful old wool plaid pullover with grommets down the front and leather lacing. It is constructed so it needs a side zip. He asks me, "Well son, I sure like your sweater. Is it wool? I say yes, show him how it goes on, and he says, "Where's the tag that says it's WOOL? " there is none. "Well how do you know it's wool?" Mind you, my pullover is beautiful and expensive looking, and made out of some sort of boiled or felted wool. beautiful vintage, like most of what I wear. When I have him convinced that my pullover is indeed wool, he asks me if its Woolrich. I say no, there is no tag in the entire garment (UPDATE: I found a tag at the back of the neck that says "DRY CLEAN ONLY"). I think I did hear him asking me "But how do you know how to clean it" now that I think about it.
Fifteen minutes later of biting my tongue and smiling and shrugging my shoulders and tossing my hair a bit I depart through the fucking frozen tundra of Brooklyn on my bike. I walk out with Wool Man, who then says, "It's Wool Man! You know, I have the most, most amazing collection of wool. There is so much you can do with it. Blankets, jackets, sweaters." I tell him my hat, scarf, and gloves are wool, and he says, "There ya go! It's amazing! And warm. So warm."
This dude fucking loves wool. A lot. Don't get me wrong, I am all about the touch of fabric. But this was deeper than that, yet at the same time if I started throwing words out like alpaca, camel, cashmere,
angora, mohair, and qiviut I would lose him.
WAKE UP BEFORE SUNDOWN (HAIRS CUT, CORY!!!)
CLEAR ALL SURFACES (couches, chairs, work table, banquette)
SWEEP AND VACUUM. MOPE WHERE NEEDED (hahaha I meant MOP but too good a typo)
SEX (whilst cleaning, perhaps, and after hairs cut... tomorrow I want a lot of it)