I have 8 photo albums and 6 scrapbooks. Yesterday I started to look through them early in the morning, lost track of time and then realized it was 9 pm and I had nothing in the house to eat except Metamucil.
Apparently I find myself fascinating.
But since people commented on how thin I was in yesterday's picture with Pascal I spent 2 hours today looking for THIS photo. I had just discovered my boyfriend Matty in bed with my gay hairdresser and had stopped eating altogether. I was living in San Francisco and I flew home to D.C. to get away. My father walked right past me at the airport because he didn't recognize me.
Then he took my sister and I on a cruise to Bermuda to "help me forget" and I promptly had an affair with a cute blonde guy who wore Aramis. Needless to say he made an impression because whenever I smell it I think of him. I have no idea what his name was. Like you remember all your hookups' names. Don't even pretend you do. And IF you do, you've had a boring sex life. Trust me on that one. The beauty of this is you can't argue that you haven't!
I looked like this. Probably about 98 pounds. Even back then I dressed weirdly. That navy blue purse was an old lady one from a thrift shop, I have a bracelet up on my biceps, a tooth and Greek cross around my neck and tons of turquoise rings. I would kill to still have those sunglasses. And I was smoking a cigarette in that picture!! My whole goal in life was never to look like anyone else. I succeeded AND STILL GOT LAID.
When we got back home my Dad flew me to Paris so my mother could fatten me up with locamolé at Lake Heroin. And I slowly gained the weight back, especially after meeting Pascal.
Where is he now? He married a very rich girl. My mother said he would never marry me because we weren't rich enough. What's love got to do with it? Apparently nothing.
End of chat.