Sucked in by another clever marketing scheme, I have a new notebook. Not that the old one was full, but, like Nietzsche, I feel compelled to start and stop, not necessarily chronologically, but wherever the mood strikes me. Today I bought three tiny notebooks, probably manufactured by the same people who brought me this one. I bought them... because they were small, with tiny pictures on them... a coffee cup, a butt-naked cupid, and the moon hugging/engulfing the sun. I'd burn incense tonight if I remembered where I keep it.
Finished 'The Fatigue Artist' by Lynne Sharon Schwartz tonight. Knowing it would run out soon, I bought another new hardcover, 'The Romantic Movement' by Alain de Botton, along with my bounty of notebooks, at the Barnes & Noble on 53rd and Third. I love bookstores, have high hopes of meeting my future husband in a bookstore. Hey... you never know. But today, no husband.
Speaking of husbands...
- Larry is having lunch with Bachelor #1 next Wednesday. Bachelor #1... tall, blonde, 37ish, VP/Development at Client K. Probably gay. I had my hopes up when he agreed to September 9th as our wedding day, but I haven't heard from him since.
- Bob has stepped into the husband search, possibly to offer up Bachelor #2, net worth $15-$25 million, a partner with financial player Client C.
- (dare I say it under "speaking of husbands?") I spoke with Johnny Moneybags yesterday. He's free again, must have recently kicked Stewardess out of his townhouse (or moved out just to get away from her?) We're both going to the NAB Radio Show in New Orleans. I still miss the days when we could talk forever about anything. I guess every woman has someone like Johnny Moneybags... in her life, in her past, in her heart. Certainly Erica Jong. In 'Fatigue Artist,' Laura had Q. Ayn Rand would write about men like Francisco & John Galt & Howard Roark... but were her words inspired by a muse she could not tame?
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