Living rent-free in someone else's mind.
Last night I had my very first cigar. Scared out of my mind at first, I was... I simply knew I would inhale, fill my chest with smoke and have my lungs collapse inside of me. There was enough hot sake in my blood by that time, though, that inhibitions of the irrational nature quickly fled the scene. Java with vanilla in mine (was incredible on the lips); Arturo Fuente (Hemingway's Short Story) was his. I felt very keenly observed by the surrounding male population - here she is, a nearly pale lady in a shimmering and shapely ivory Monroe-style dress, sparkling teardrop earrings, blood-black hair and brightly tinted lips...puffing away on a less-than-ladylike longpiece. A lovely paradox, 'twas. Let them think what they will, darling...for they will, whether you let them or not.
Leftover steak & lobster in my fridge. Remnants of a fantastical evening out. Is it even possible for me to validly complain about life, ever? Ginger dressing will have to be obtained at a later date. It makes for a good excuse to return to Shoguns.
All of my paragraphs in this post except for this one start with 'L'. I've grown so weary of the 'T's and 'I's as the entryways for every story; predictability has shown its ugly face around here for the last time, in my opinion.