I know that this tends not to work out for me, so I won't get all gushy about it or any thing, or at least try not to, or preface it with these caveats every so often.

Meanwhile, the gossip mill has been gleefully churning away made up stuff about the night I spent with Welsh James. He doesn't remember what happened. But I do, and my clothes stayed so on. There were smooches. C'est tout.

Anyway, now I'm off to carve another notch in my bedpost with my safety razor! They really have been mostly Welsh, but the ones I've kept around have actually (with one exception) been English. Agh!

Oh yes, am so betting on my American charm and boyish good looks to save my arse from failure on this essay. Flutter, flutter.

You know, or not. I could, you know, revise it.

2003-05-06, Oy

before / after

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