Last night was such a blast. After our set, we roped Jenny into coming onstage and singing her song “Bluebird.” That’s me and Mila doing the harmonies, and Kyle, who’d never heard the song in his life but nevertheless slaughtered the solo like Chris Thile, on mandolin.
A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.
You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.
A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.
You are in a garden, and you are astonished.
this show is a gift
|me:||i checked out his art (he does stuff with sculpture and...light...i don't know) and it's a little bit poncey|
|me:||still, he was nice|
|toby:||holy shit you're going to be a challenge J|
|me:||well, he sent me the link! and i had to react!|
|toby:||but you're writing him off bc of his art?|
|me:||i said nice things|
|me:||no, i'm not writing him off|
|me:||this is girl talk|
|toby:||i'm just picturing these footnotes in your memoirs|
|toby:||---potential date #3, eliminated, reason: art too poncey|
|toby:||date #4, eliminated, reason: ordered half-caff latte after 3pm, seriously|
|me:||he took a video of a crumpled-up pile of film tape in a corner and called it art, okay?|
|me:||i mean jeez|
|me:||i don't need a yoko|
|toby:||ok that might discourage me a little|
|toby:||i wan to take a picture of my contorted face right now|
|toby:||but i wont|
|toby:||i'm sorry i'm trying to help i really am|
|toby:||this is so fun tho|