wildcat

Just in my underwear and a soft hemp T-shirt (Redstar-emblazoned! Fidel! O, Fidel!), buzzed from the two martinis I had at Bravo's with Jo and Daniel. I had a Burnt Bombay, which is basically the gin poured into a scotch-swirled glass. Then I had a Nutty Club, which is gin with amaretto and something else, with pineapple juice. I buzzed on to Nouveau Branden's house with those two; we smoked off of Branden's hookah (mint-flavoured!) before I swaggered home. Michael's deathly ill so I amused myself on the walk back with a phone conversation checking up on him. I had a mild panic attack about Frank last night so I think I wanted to stave that off from happening again. Damn me and my enthralling and highly functional imagination!

Tomorrow shall be exciting! I'm going to get up at an ungodly hour to an empty house because Christian's in Vancouver and Michelle is going to Vancouver, I'm going to work on getting at least one or two stories critiqued, and then I'm going to speak to Dan and Hudson about this writing gig they want me to do. I'm very excited about the prospect, which will allow me to increase my repetoire and begin something like a professional portfolio for the future.

I'll pick up some wine on the way home and mull it to drink while I do Technical Writing homework and finish critiques. Then I'll go pick up lovely things to take to Michael's house to make him feel better. It'll be very nice to have a night with him, even if he's sick as a dog; he develops this adorable pouty thing when he's ill and in need of nursing.

I'm going to dance around the room now, and then I'm going to fight my way through The Shipping News, which seems to have lost any discernable plot.