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personal

Saving the day

More fried fowl

The boy’s class had an outdoor gettogether recently at the park near my pad.

It was nice meeting some of the other parents.

Her: Oh, I’m a lawyer too. Kinda, I don’t really practice.
Me: Sounds like me. Did you go to law school here?
Her: Oh, no. I went to Yale.
Me: (laughing) If I went to Yale, I would have that tattooed on my forehead: “I went to Yale Law School.”

He had a grand time.

There’s something about seeing your kid joyous that’s gives you joy. This is him discovering a fallen branch.

It’s funny that I have to remind myself that everything is new and novel to him.

Also had a Scenic Fights shoot this past Sunday – which definitely deserves its own entry – and my normal babysitter had to bail for reasons I totally understood.

But that meant me scrambling for someone that I trusted to watch the kid while we shot our vids.

Literally called everyone I knew. Unfortunately, no one could make it – that is until Pez came in and saved the day.

Her: Yellow! I was just able to switch my Sunday, so I’ll be able to watch him for ya!
Me: Yes! Thanks!

She’s actually been helping out both with the kid and with the gym, the latter being a project I’ll tell you about later.

But, to figure out the contours of that project, we got some drinks and other legal pharmaceuticals to chat about it.

After a while, we got munchy and started trying to figure out how to get some food into ourselves.

We tried to get some wings at one joint but were thwarted by technology.

Her: Wait, we can only order on our phones.
Me: So, we have to download and install an app just to order food?!
Her: Yup.
Me: Well, that’s annoyingly dumb.

We bailed and just picked up fried fowl across the street and caught up at my pad.

Now I want some more fried fowl

Location: at an Italian restaurant with Pez, the boy, Chad, and the NFL Player
Mood: fat…sooooo fat…
Music: Believe in me. Believe that life can change (Spotify)
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Not hanging with the jet-set

Living below our means

Recently met up with another buddy of mine for dinner on the Upper East Side. Even though it’s just across the park, it really is like a different world.

He had just got back from vacation.

Me: (walking in the door and looking around)
Him: I thought you got lost.
Me: I figured you’d be late. Man, I barely recognized you with that tan.

We caught up over copious amount of alcohol, vegetables, and protein.

Him: I’m surprised you’re eating the biscuit.
Me: Eh, I just wanted to try it.
Him: Any good?
Me: No.
Him: Then it’s not worth the carbs. Just eat the wings.
Me: Dammit. I hate when you’re right.

It’s actually getting easier and easier to eat relatively lower-carbs out-and-about, I’m finding.

And I’ve been enjoy this whole alcoholic seltzer trend, which are essentially just variations of vodka sodas.

Him: Here, I got another glass, try this.
Me: (trying it) Damn, that’s good.

We chat mainly on text, but it was good to actually see him. I’m friendly with his sister so I was shocked when he told me that she might be declaring bankruptcy.

Me: Wait, what? She makes more than both of us. AND she married rich.
Him: I know. But if you spend more than you make…
Me: Jesus Christ, how much is she spending?!

I’m always surprised by people that live beyond their means. It’s so foreign to me. But, knowing her, I can see her and her husband keeping up with the Joneses. And they like to hang out with the jet-set crowd.

Me: Man, that’s terrible.
Him: She was always like that, you know that. It was bound to catch up with them at some point.

The beauty of the march of time is that it leaves us all as we truly are. Nothing he said was a huge surprise to me.

But I suppose that’s their story and not mine.

We ended up drinking far more than we should have but I was still able to make it home in one piece.

Always a good thing.


Here’s a pretty song, although I think I like this version better.

Location: earlier tonight on W 18th, wondering if I should get to the ER
Mood: injured
Music: I’ve got a heart permanently bound to you (Spotify)
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Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 3

An awful gift

It’s funny, when I first met Mouse, she was arm-wrestling a girl in yet another bar. At least, that’s one of the earliest entries where I introduced her to you for the first time.

In any case, she ended up arm-wrestling another girl at Pac’s bday at Solas as well. She won.

After I had my little outdoor escapade with the woman from the bar, I went back to Solas but when I returned, mosta my friends had left.

Since I knew the bouncers, they just waved me and I quickly – well, as quickly as I could considering how snockered I was – went up to where we were all sitting because I remembered I left my camera at the table in our room.

Shockingly, it was still there.

New York’ll still surprise you from time-to-time, I think.

I’d just left and wanted to eat so I wandered around looking for food. This worked out because I ran into Mouse outside on the street.

She was stone cold sober because she was driving the old whip.

Asked her if she’d be willing to give me a lift to the station cause it was super late and she – hesitatingly – obliged.

Figure she could tell I was two sheets to the wind. She’s one of the few that can since I don’t turn red and I don’t act much different to most people.

It was nice being in the whip again; I thought of her and my dad and tried to remember if they met. They didn’t.

It was a short drive – just from 9th and 2nd to 14th and 7th. But along the way, she asked me something that sobered me up right fast.

Her: When we were together, you wanted to die. You were suicidal. But then…you said that you would stay for the boy. (pause) I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t live for me.

Our past conversations were always arguments, always. Lots of yelling and finger-pointing. And anger.

So much anger, from both of us.

This time, though, the way she said it – simply and plainly, no anger, no bitterness, just…simply and resigned – cut through my intoxicated brain.

If I had a space to crawl into to hide, man, I woulda.

Me: (struggling) I don’t know. I was really messed up then. (sighing) I’m so sorry for everything.

She countered – calmly again – that she was often in physical and  emotional pain when we were together. Yet she still helped me – and the kid – despite her own pain. Instead of doing the same and helping her, I was trying to think of ways to kill myself.

The bad thing about being able to forget things is that when you remember them, it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time. I saw exactly the moment she brought up, as if I was watching it unfold for the first time.

Like Athena in Zeus’s head, that memory grew and, like Zeus, if I coulda, I woulda grabbed a hammer to bash it out.

Honestly, I woulda much preferred she screamed at me. Much.

She pulled up to the station, I stepped out, and she drove away.

Wish I could tell you I said something terribly charming or clever before I left. But I didn’t. For someone never at a loss for words, there I was.

It’s been four years since we were together. I was sleepwalking through life when I met her. Wish I found a way to wake up before she left.

Then again, I wish a lotta things.

I’m still ever the skillest and killest with my deadly weapons and I’m always armed and dangerous.

It’s a truly awful gift.

Him: (out of the blue) I wish I had a sibling.
Me: What?! (deep breath) I’m sorry, kid. I…
Him: It’s ok, papa. I just wish…
Me: (interrupting) I know. We wish a lotta things. I wish that too.

Location: on 79th Street, trying to explain why to him
Mood:
Music: you want nothing in return, I feel guilty (Spotify)
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Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 2

It’s my life that’s funny

It was Pac’s birthday the other night and he wanted to have something at Solas, as our usual tradition, so I set it up.

Coincidentally, the following picture showed up on my feed on FB the same day.

Again, there’s been a ton of weird coincidences around me lately, although, really, it was for his birthday four years ago, so it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Mouse was going to be there this year as well. We’ve not communicated in a while. It’s funny because she and I were two totally different people when that picture was taken.

The moment I arrived, shots were being passed around. The joint was packed – even Tom from Scenic Fights and Katrina showed up.

Pac was having a grand time from the moment he arrived to the moment he stumbled out the door home.

Early on, was able to take some clear pics…

…but, as the night went on, my pics got worse and worse because there was alcohol everywhere…

…so my pics started ending up like this.

Seriously, everywhere.

Met a woman named Jenna at the bar who wanted to come into Pac’s (private) party but I felt that would be rude to Mouse so I told her she couldn’t.

Besides…

Her: …26. You?
Me: (laughing)
Her: (laughing as well) What’s so funny?
Me: My life, darling. Lovely meeting you, reallly.

But there was also a dude that was pestering me all night – I tried to hint that I wasn’t gay – but he kept randomly showing up until Mouse brought him over to sit with us, so I had to leave.

This is Katrina, who is NOT the girl I’m talking about below – and whoever took this shot was way drunker than I.

A lotta of the night was blur. At one point I was outside with another drunk woman who had to pee. Like, right then and there.

Me: We can go back to Solas, you know.
Her: I’m going right here, between the cars.
Me: Wait, what?! (she does so) Welp, this is a new level I’ve unlocked. (later) I’ll join you. Stand in front of me…

In my defense, she had lovely eyes, I had a lot to drink, and she was very convincing.

There’s more but this is getting long and I’m writing it on a train pulling into Penn Station, so I’ll continue it later on this week.

Location: on a train just outside Plainfield, NJ, writing this and tomorrow’s entry
Mood: guilty
Music: should have fallen out of love with you by now (Spotify)
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Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 1

Burying dead things

It’s been an odd week.

Some relatively recent friends (formally) exited my Venn Diagram while others came back for a visit.

Years ago, the Devil told me, “We’re not friends. We’re friendly, but we’re not friends. There’s a difference. Don’t get it twisted, kid.”

Found myself saying similar those exact words to someone else at a Japanese restaurant this past week and – for a moment, at least – I was my old self again.

Me: For what it’s worth, it was mature of you to reach out to me to talk. I never woulda myself because it’s not in my nature.
Him: (slowly nodding) I only know you after Alison…died. I’m still getting used to who you really are.
Me: Gotta be honest, I don’t care. But, our interests are aligned: What you want and what I want are the same. Let’s just get the job done. Whatever personal feelings we have towards the other are irrelevant. (later) To be clear, I felt I owed you a debt. I consider the debt paid – in full. I don’t owe you shit. But, it cut both ways, you don’t owe me shit either. I just wanna come in, do my shit, and leave. We’re both professionals, let’s act as such.
Him: As skilled as you are with a knife, you cut better with words than anyone I know.

It was perfectly eloquent and cruel, but I suppose it was true and I deserved it.

After all, he’s right. I’m ever the skillest with my sharp objects, the killest with my blunt instruments.

Fuck it. I’m getting tired of apologizing for and hiding who and what I am.

A woman I dated briefly dropped me a line earlier this month and then again this week.

She made me laugh.


And then Rain hit me up to chat about stuff. Oddly, someone just asked me earlier today if he and I were still in contact.

There’s definitely something weird in the air. In any case, it was good catching up with him.

Me: Jesus Christ – you have hair! And it’s grey!
Him: Man, you look exactly the same. I can’t believe you still have all your hair and it’s black.
Me: I’m as surprised as you are.

We got onto the topic of buying some grass-fed beef together because…of course we did.


Weirder still, a girl I met on the train three years ago randomly dropped me a line recently as well.

What on earth is going on?


It’s was Pac’s birthday this past weekend.

Had a hangover for the first time in over a decade but I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow.

Location: earlier today, my kitchen, baking two dozen cookies and a pan of lasagna for my favourite tiny human
Mood: Same as the song
Music: Well, fuck ’em, fuck ’em, fuck ’em all (Spotify)
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Olga of Kyiv

Forgetting history

Me: …like Olga of Kyiv.
Her: (laughing) You know about her? Why?
Me: (shrugging) I’m always drawn to stories about people that go to extreme lengths for the people they love.

Don’t think I ever told you, but Lviv had yellow green eyes – they were green in the edges but yellow in the middle.

Was always fascinated by that. Recently met another woman from her hometown with the same coloured eyes.

Must be something in the water.

If you’ve never heard of Olga of Kyiv, you should know that she’s one of the baddest-assed women people that ever lived.

She was married to Prince Igor I of Kyiv who was the leader of a tribe called the Kievan Rus’, which ultimately became modern day Ukraine.

In any case, Igor teamed up with another, neighboring, tribe called the Drevlians against the Byzantine Empire. Or, at least, Igor’s dad did.

But once Igor’s dad died, the Drevlians figured it’d be cheaper to kill Igor and take over the Kievan Rus’ than pay them a tribute. So, they did (there’s a lot more to this but you get the point). They figured that Igor’s son was only three so he wouldn’t be much trouble.

It’s doubtful they gave even a moment’s thought about Olga, Igor’s now widowed wife.

Big mistake.

The Drevlians wanted to make their treachery legit and proposed that Olga marry her husband’s murderer, Prince Mal.

Holy disrespect, amIrite?

Olga thought so too.

So, she told them that, not only was she down, she was flattered. Flattered to the point that she told them that she’d honor them by having her men carry the ambassadors’ boat with the ambassadors in them.

Well, they thought this was grand and agreed. Sure enough, when they arrived, alla these men were there to greet them and carried them all – the entire ship – into the kingdom.

There, Olga had them dropped – the boat with alla the men on it – into a ditch and had them buried alive.

Reportedly, she watched alla this and said, “I hope you find this honor to your tastes.”

Because the Drevlians back home didn’t know about this, she sent word to them that they should send “their distinguished men to her in Kiev, so that she might go to their Prince with due honor.”

So, the Drevlians gathered up their very best and sent them to Kiev.

When they arrived, she asked that they all bathe before them met up with her, which they agreed to do.

While they did so, she locked all the doors and set the entire bathhouse on fire, essentially turning them into soup.

But she saved the best for last; since this was before Twitter, she sent a third message to the unsuspecting Drevlians, asking them to “prepare great quantities of mead in the city where you killed my husband, that I may weep over his grave and hold a funeral feast for him.”

And they did that, and she went and cried at where her lover died. After she was done crying, and the Drevlians were sufficiently drunk, she had her men slaughter all five thousand of them.

Then she went back to Kyiv and raised her army to attack what was left of the Drevlians. By then, the Drevlians were so terrified that they sealed themselves up in their cities. So, Olga told them she would spare them if they sent her “three pigeons…and three sparrows from each house.”

The Drevlians were like, Shit, done and did exactly that, sending her the birds they kept as pets.

But Olga told her men to attach a small piece of burning sulfur cloth to every bird, each of which flew back to their respective homes in terror, setting every single house in the city on fire.

As the people fled, Olga and her men waited for them and killed some and enslaved others, wiping out the Drevlians from history, save for this blog entry that no one but my mom reads.

Why this story?

Well, when Putin announced that he would essentially raise a new army to try and complete a takeover or Ukraine now, I thought of it and wonder if he fully realizes who and what he’s fucking with.

That’s the problem with history, no one learns.

Putin didn’t win the first time around with his professional army; don’t see how a hastily thrown-together military of conscripts is gonna do any better.

And now there’s an entire nation of pissed off Olgas that lost the people that they love most.

Like I said, I don’t think they’re prepared for what these people can, and will, do.

A Ukrainian official tweeted on Wednesday, “Putin have [sic] not yet understood who he is dealing with.

Agreed.

Her: And you? Have you ever been in love?
Me: Just once.
Her: What happened?
Me: Nothing I want to talk about right this moment. (changing subject) So, do people mention your eyes a lot? I’m a sucker for pretty eyes.

Location: Japanese restaurant, telling him we’re not friends, but this is a good thing
Mood: good
Music: being alone is the, is the best way to be (Spotify)
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Old lions

Parenting’s hard

Before I went out with RE Mike, I picked up the kid from school and he wasn’t his usual indefatigably happy self because of his black eye.

Him: Some of the kids were making fun of me. (sadly) They called me hamburger face. I didn’t like that. I asked them to stop but they didn’t. (sighs)
Me: You can’t control what other kids do or say, but you can control how you react to these things. Do you know their names?
Him: No.
Me: People that you don’t know that are mean shouldn’t matter to you. Don’t care so much about people and things that don’t matter. Now, go play.
Her: (woman overhearing my conversation after he ran off) That was really good advice.
Me: Thanks. Parenting’s hard, isn’t it?
Her (nodding) So hard.

If you don’t have a kid, it’s difficult to explain how much it wears on a parent to have a sad kid; and this kid is rarely sad.

But when he is, I’m bummed all day.

While I was out with RE Mike, I mentioned the fact that I studied weapons fighting for just about as long as we’ve known each other.

He was totally shocked because I never once mentioned it.

It’s funny, people think that because I have a blog, my life’s an open book. In many ways, it is. But I also keep a lotta secrets.

There’s so much of my life I’ve not told you and I don’t think you’d believe if I told you anywho.

After all, some secrets are (quite) good and some are (quite) bad, but all are special things.

The next morning, he texted me the following – the link is to Scenic Fights:

Anywho, after I picked the boy up late from RE Mike’s pad, we took the long walk to the west side to grab the train home.

Him: I’m scared.
Me: Why?
Him: It’s so dark and people are so loud.
Me: It’s fine, you’re with me and I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.
Him: You’re not scared?
Me: Everyone’s scared sometimes. But I’m not right now. Because these people are all like sheep, or – at most – like wolves, and papa’s neither.
Him: What are you then?
Me: (laughing) Uncle Pac thinks papa’s an old lion. That sounds about right. And lions – even old ones – aren’t afraid of sheep or wolves.

Although, to be fair, I’m like a weird old lion…

Location: West 77th and Columbus on a conference call trying to sound cavalier
Mood: parental
Music: devil’s on my shoulder stirring up trouble (Spotify)
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A night on Pier 17 with Mike and Andy

A wall of donuts

While the kid was away, RE Mike sent me a buncha invites but I couldn’t go to most of them because of timing. Still, one of them was too good to pass up.

It was a private party with a top-shelf open bar and the invite said, “Come hungry.”

Him: I’ve never seen an invite that says, “Come hungry,” before.
Me: Welp, I do as I’m told.

Don’t think I’ve ever taken my wallet out once for anything RE Mike’s ever taken me to.

But that’s not even the kicker, the kicker was that Andy Grammer – and I’m a fan – was going to be singing in a private concert to boot.

The last time I went to the South Street Seaport it looked completely different. They completely redeveloped it in 2017, while my world was crashing down around me.

It was almost 15 years ago when I last went there with Elle. The time before that was to catch another concert with Camera Obscura and the Grey-Eyed Texan.

So, I was looking to catch another concert there after all these years.

Mike’s wife actually grew up in the same town as Alison and they made plans to get together before everything went to shit.

She and Mike have a kid that’s younger than mine, so I dropped the boy off with her while Mike and I went out.

Me: Man, it’s like nuthin’s changed after all these years; we’re still out and about and you’re still floating me in.
Him: What else are we going to do? Just sit at home?
Me: Well, that was the original plan, but life got in the way.
Him: (sighing) I know. I’m sorry.
Me: (nodding)

In any case, the joint was packed.

Packed, I say.

Ran into people that I’ve not seen in years. Some of them asked me where I’ve been but that’s kinda why I wanted to avoid all these people for so long and hung out with a whole new set of people: Just didn’t wanna rehash things.

Her: What have you been up to all this time?
Me: Oh, you know…the usual.

Think the reason why RE Mike and other people invite me out is that I can go to pretty much any party and both be good company as well as go off and do my own thing.

Him: Where have you been?
Me: (shrugging) Making some new friends. This is Lauren. (turning to bartender) Lauren, this is RE Mike. Can you make us a pina colada?
Her: God no. But I can make you something stronger and better.
Me: Sold.

It was weird being out with RE Mike again. Like I just said, it’s like nuthin happened when so much did.

Andy Grammar didn’t take the stage until late but it was a school night and, as much as I wanted to see the show, I knew I had to get the boy and get him back to bed.

Her: Wait, you’re gonna miss the concert!
Me: I know, it’s fine. There’s a little boy on West 8th Street, waiting for me. (noticing her face) It’s my son.
Her: But you’re not married?
Me: No. Long story for another time.
Her: Take my number, I might need a lawyer in the future.
Me: (laughing) Take my number then. (hand her my card).

Found RE Mike and we were on the way out when we noticed a wall of donuts.

A. Wall. Of. Donuts. #merica

Him: You’re not having one? (reaches for one)
Me: (shaking head) Carbs. (later) Sorry to make you leave before the concert, man.
Him: (shrugging) I’m a dad too, now. It’s fine. [I can get you into these things all the time, you know that.]
Me: (nodding) Thanks for always inviting me out.

As for the kid, he was happy as a clam when I went to go pick him up from Mike’s wife.

It was bittersweet; she’s a doll (and a doctor to boot) and I know that she and Alison woulda been fast friends.

They met only once, and I didn’t even mention it in this entry because I thought I’d have time to slowly introduce her to you.

We always think we have time, and we never realize how little we have until it’s way, way too late.

I almost never hung out with them. It was too much for me to bear.

He and his wife bought another pad in a town that Alison and were going to go to. Haven’t visited yet. Not sure I ever will.

Anywho, wanted to mention that Andy Grammer gets flack because he’s relentlessly upbeat. I don’t get that.

Reality is such shit, why wouldn’t you want positivity if you can get it?

I’ll add him to the list of people to someday see in concert.

When I don’t have to pick up the kid, that is.

Speaking of the kid, the walk home with the boy was interesting but this is getting long so I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

Location: Bayside, telling someone he was about to make a terrible mistake if he swung
Mood: pretty good, I gotta say
Music: good to be alive right about now (Spotify)
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Donuts and bruises

Family of two

The pastor wrote me recently about a concert in November but it’s hard for me to plan out my schedule that far in advance.

On that note, I’m reminded that he stopped by with some high-class donuts the other day for some coffee and conversation.

I’m wearing the glove because I had some cuts on my hands for reasons we don’t need to get into.

Gotta say, there was a world of difference between my usual whole wheat donut and these bad boys.

Think I’m gonna have to hit the gym hard again.

Although I did have it with my portable peanut butter because I like to ruin things.

Still, I might have a problem going the gym as much as I want. I’ve had some health issues pop up recently, on top of tearing my meniscus.

The first is that Pac dropped me on my head in a recent Scenic Fights shoot. He was injured and tired and so was I so that wasn’t a good combo as I essentially got pile-driven into the mat.

Thank goodness that we recently just got gifted a crash pad because it woulda been seriously bad without it.

The doc said he didn’t see anything major to be concerned about but did ask me to take it easy.

But then some routine tests came back…weird. Need to run a few more tests to figure it all out.

Of course, there’s always something.

Finally, I’m not the only person in my two-person family with unexpected health issues; the kid was running in an afterschool program in the second week of class and then went face-first into a pipe.

1/2 an inch lower and he coulda lost an eye.

Alison once said that, the night before you become a parent is the last night you get a good night of sleep.

Man, that’s so true.

Him: It hurts!
Me: I know, kid. I’m sorry.
Him: Don’t touch it!
Me: I gotta. I’m sorry.
Him: Noooo!
Me: I need you trust me, ok? Do you trust me?
Him: Yes?
Me: Good enough. Deep breath.

Location: last night ~11PM on 8th St, telling him about sheep, wolves, and lions
Mood: concerned
Music: wish that I could build a world for two (Spotify)
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Precisely the opposite

Weapons are force multipliers

For those of you that have been reading this blog for a while, you may have noticed a recurring theme, which is, What does it mean to be human?

It seems like a silly question but we’re all essentially imperfect; physically, mentally, and emotionally, we’re all lacking in something that makes us fully realized human beings.

On that note, I had an interesting exchange with a young visitor at the gym the other day.

Him: I never knew that there was such a thing like knife and stick fighting, I just thought people picked these things up and used them.
Me: All fighting is skill-based. Some require more skill than others. The argument against weapons fighting is that it’s unnatural, because we’re not always armed, and I think that’s precisely the opposite of reality.
Him: What do you mean?
Me: It’s empty-hand fighting that’s unnatural; the nature of being human is that we use tools.

Imagine you’re alone in your home and you hear a noise in your living room. Do you just saunter out to check things out or do you grab a bat, stick, or lamp first?

Or, google any uprising and lemme know how many unarmed people you see? Or any mob action, including the January 6th riot – how many people are completely unarmed?

The nature of human violence is that we want something – anything – in our hands, in times of stress. Because we all instinctively know that weapons are force multipliers.

Fighting someone without any type of weapon is unnatural, precisely the opposite of what most people think.

And that’s why I think everyone should have some weapons training.

Here’s the kicker: If you’re unarmed, you don’t get to decide if you’re in a weapons fight or not. Only the armed person gets to decide that.

On a somewhat related point, we had to cancel the children’s classes at our gym because the kid’s coach we were using got an offer we couldn’t match.

So, I signed up the boy to the local gym around me.

I’m probably a bit biased but…man, he’s so damn cute, I can’t stand it.

This is in addition to alla his other afterschool activities like swimming. He’s the lime green blur in the photo below.

Trying to get into the new rhythm of the school year. One unexpectedly sad thing I realized was that every year for the past three years is that I’m the only emergency contact for him.

I had someone as a second contact when he was pre-4K but that was a long time ago.

It’s annoying, these little heartaches that randomly crop up.

On a much happier note, while I was there at the gym signing the kid up for his new class, this young man – very excitedly – waved to me:

Him: I’m so sorry, but are you Logan Lo?
Me: (laughing) Yes! Do you watch Scenic Fights?
Him: YES! I’m a subscriber! This is so cool!
Me: For me too!

I’m a solid D-list celebrity at this point, now.

Eh, I’ll take it.

Location: out in the village with RE Mike
Mood: concerned
Music: I can’t do this again, do this again (Spotify)
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