Had a lovely g-chat with one of my el-lay gurlfriends yesterday. Since I left town, she's given up lawyering and started redecorating celebrity homes. This week she's helping some TV star match his interiors to his vintage magic collection.
"They were like, 'burgundy and red velvet damasks,' and I was like, "The Prestige meets a brothel?"
Ah, that used to be home. Sort of.
A couple weeks ago - with the help of a couple beers and my whacky roommates - I decided my magazine should put on an erotic fiction contest. I went to work some days later and said something like, "We should have an erotic fiction contest!" and everyone else said "Yeah!"
So then last night the deputy editor and I went out for wine with some guys from a local indie publishing house who want to collaborate. We're there for about an hour, going over the details. At some point my co-worker and one of the literary guys gets up, so it's just me and literary guy no. 2 who asks, "So what's your day job?"
...
This one?
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