Emma's panties are in a right fucking twist.

... but first the weather. Global warming anyone, extreme climate change? It is as warm as it ever gets in San Francisco, positively balmy, and it is one day past the ides of March, we ought to be shrugging on our woolens rather than donning our summer skirts and open toes sandals (crikey, our feet need a good sloughing and a polish) My windows are open to the usual Haight street cacophony, there are mercifully no screamers.

... and a domestic complaint, why is my cd player only playing selective cd's? I really want to hear, because I am in that kind of mood, the Magnolia soundtrack, so I can get good and fucking moridbund, and smoke loads of cigarettes in the tub.

... and now the rest.
I must make a sputterence, FUUUCCCKKK! fuck. fuck. fuck.
fucking fuckfuckfuck.

Whilst I was mooning over the snow in Tahoe, Mysharona and FLFF went on two dates. In an email exchange she was evasive so I called her on it. Turns out that she likes him and who the fuck knows what he thinks. Suffice it to say that they have a date for the movies this week and I have not heard hide nor hair from him.

So comes the awkward phone conversation, full of pregnant pauses and a lot of I don't know what to says. I am trying to suck it up, while freely admitting to a sick green twinge of jealousy and hurt feelings. I say she should follow her heart, and I would never ask her not to see him.

what I didn't tell her is that she violated my code. According to my code, one never pursues a girlfriend's crush, even when being pursued by said crush.

I don't whether to laugh or cry, I think I might do a little of both.

wasn't I just writing about high school, is this not soooo high school? Do you ever really transcend seventeen, it that easily wounded seventeen year old girl forever hovering in the heart strings, plucking and strumming?

The truth is I don't really want to suck it up, I want to cause a scene. Swallow several gallons of vodka and drunk dial FLFF in hysterics. Ask the really important questions like, what's she got that I don't have? My boobs are bigger, you worthless fuck!!!!

Of course this not Emma's M.O., we keep to the high road despite our misgivings, besides I have an interview tomorrow and it would not due to show up in full hang-over regalia.

Tant fucking pis.

And so we will write an open letter to our cher mayor Gavin Newsom.

Dear Mayor Newsom,

I am writing you on behalf of my great love and constant companion B.O.B. You see, I would like a license to marry.

I realize that it is a bit unorthodox to want to marry an battery operated dildo, a non human entity or henceforth a NHE, but I figured since you granted the marriage option to all of our gay friends, and since Rick Santorum is already apoplectic, I figured you may want to push the envelope and give the man the most severe case of hemorrhoids imaginable by granting my permission to wed my dearest B.O.B.

You see, having had my fair share of man flesh and the trouble that goes with all of that skin and viscera and hair you might want to give me everlasting peace (and orgasms!) that B.O.B. provides me.

We needn't be a drain on the state, since our union will bear no issue. I promise to keep him in double A batteries for the remainder of his life. We will need no food stamps, as B.O.B has no mouth to feed (kisses, fodder for all of those tepid suckers out there, I say cut to the everlovin' chase)

I bought him a ring, a cock ring, though I must return it to Good Vibrations, as it turns out that B.O.B has no balls, but he does he have these fantastic bunny ears... bunny ears...

pardon the reverie, dear mayor, I was waxing ecstatic over the honeymoon, 10 days on the beach, me sunsoaked and mai tai sated, while he pines for me from the back of the closet, wouldn't want the housekeeper getting ideas...

Really an ideal marriage, no fights, no diplomacy, no troublesome in-laws.

I do hope you will consider my request in all earnestness.

Sincerely,

Emma B.

ps: I am not scathlingly bitter, I am not choking back the bile.