Friday, November 11, 2005, 08:09 PM - George, Friends
It's being very much assisted by certain communications, like the note I got in the mail from my dad yesterday:
I was a little hurt about your love life. Better over before you become really deep.
Life has its cruel way of answering questions - Why? Who can guess them. All I can say is there is another street car. If it stops, get on.
I love my dad way too much. And someone else had this to say:
you are lovable, sexy and super-fucking smart. not to mention bold and spunky.
translation: dream date
My friends are the best.
Monday, October 31, 2005, 12:55 AM - George
Yesterday I had the most profoundly wholesome day. I not only went running around St. Mary's (hallowed family tromping territory), I went to Silverman's Farm for cider and half an apple fritter, hung out with the bad boys of Fairchild Wheeler (and had the Vazzy's counter girl tell me how dad keeps the language clean for her), carved matching mini-jack-o-lanterns with him, and took him out to his first ever Japanese meal. Thankfully I quickly retreated to the nearest megacity for a late night of dancing to retro early 90s hip hop. My dad is the best. Back
