Mr. H insisted on dragging me off to Antarctica or Canada or Maine or wherever the hell we went. We went on a boat. There was weather on this boat. I am making a face about being on the boat. A puss. The paparazzi imortalized this moment several times over. I share it with you lest you think my life is such a heady whirl of glamour that I am unapproachable.
On the plus side, I saw some dogs. Many dogs. Dogs like me, and I like them.
My friend Jim has informed me that its peanut butter jelly time, as they say.
Tonight its Lambchop on toast. I am going to wriggle into a slinky something for the Nick Cave show. Then to an after-party. Its on a boat. See, I told you I would not be averse to a cocktail on Nick’s yacht. I wish you could come, Lickety, you have such a way on the docks! My only goal for the evening is not to get so drunk that I am falling down and acting like a retard. Like most Saturday nights.