Kettle corn & perfume

I'm broke. Like pauper broke. Like digging-change-out-of-the-couch-for-coffee broke. Ah well. It's only money.

Did anyone see Madonna on the cover of Bazaar? She looks awesome. Why does she get to be 47 years old and hot?

I want to read that book "Not Feeling Myself" that was written by a former drag queen. I saw the review in Metro, the newspaper for cheap people on the run. ("Hello strange man with free reading material. Why yes, I would love one!") The author was the queen with the plastic boobs filled with water and goldfish. Remember when drag queens were everywhere in New York? I remember going to Limelight and seeing RuPaul. He wasn't famous yet and no one knew he was called RuPaul but he was there. He was good dancer.

I'm boring today, guys. I'm really sorry. I've been planning press trips all day and wishing for one of those Acme things to fall out of the sky and flatten me like in a Roadrunner cartoon.
I am musing over the little things. Lately I've been enjoying them -- a nice cup of tea at 3:00, fat free microwave kettle corn, the smell of the perfume I have recently decided is my signature scent. I've been enjoying them because I am waiting for the big things. They are bound to be on the horizon, right? I'm bound for something bigger than another drunken night in Manhattan, another bad date, another load of laundry waiting to be done, right?

I've been dreaming a lot about people that I used to know. I wonder if they're okay.

Blech. I hate when I get like this. Someone tell a joke.