amour: the persistant paradoxical cycle of idiocy
As we drove topless I knew once we entered the bridge we would hit attentive eyes glaring with envy channeled through vindication that justified that the summer, thus enticement, had arrived.
Yes, the sun was striking off my new Dolce & Gabbana glasses I had seen J.Lo wear on some tabloid while I waited on line to pay for my P.O.M. Whether the hollering was for me or the Z8, the attention grew and while I endured the whistling from old disgusting men my regrets of going topless increased. I let out a big sigh as I shifted my restless body and crossed my legs towards the shift stick to see if he was even wary of what was going on. He obviously was too busy singing along to Bon Jovi.
Although I felt I'd about perspired enough from our strenuous workout, I had to go -- you know, go. But the stagnancy hinted, unless I was willing to ruin my Marc Jacobs mini and ruin his new leather seats, there was no method of relief, until the woeful little tea party we planned with Kanna, the bitch, who had just arrived from London. She was a family friend and twistingly one of my boyfriends' exes from 13 years ago; and if only if I could place an "X" on her forehead and grab a...
"Hey babe, light me a cigarette would ya?"
There always was some idiot to interrupt my shapely train of thought, and that was my asinine boyfriend whom I dated for 2 years for reasons that could not be compromised. I grabbed his Treasurer 100mm out of the glove compartment and flipped open a fresh pack.
"Did you finish the whole pack from last night already?"
I lit the world's most expensive internationally distributed cigarette and sucked in a bit of luxury made from 100% Virginia leaf tobacco. Ironically, my next breath of air left me realizing that the cigarette smoke was just incomparably invigorating to the air on the bridge. At the end of his trill of the last two words "My Love~" of Kiss Me, he refuted
"I was up all night with the boys"
and snatched the cig out of my hand. He was always up all night with those people he was right to refer to as boys; at least he was consistently right about some thing.
I remember the time we first met, it was at a holiday party hosted by his father's famed music production company. My best friend Amy was one of the coordinators at the midtown branch and being single asked moi to be her date. I thought it was a hell of a good excuse to adorn myself with jewels and wrap myself in Valentino. I knew I had met an uncanny fashion highbrow when he approached me and quoted "after black and white it is the only colour". I was speechless; he was gorgeous, and that was all that mattered ... at the time.
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