"Now for the matters you wrote about: It is good for a man not to marry." 1 Corinthians 7:1
Not raw eggs hurled with force at their feet or my ipod blaring soft spoken Pet Shop Boys in bed could chase the noise of the 200 something heinously hungry kids on St. Mark's Place away last night. So why would I question the familiar blond with sleep deprived fine lines at the table, sucking down juice glasses of Spumanti on a Sunday afternoon, just why she gives a shit about the East Village noise ordinance board meeting adjourning immediately.
In search of a Hunter S. Thomspon or a Knut Hamsun novel at the Strand this finally spring day, I begrudgingly walk away with sickeningly sappy while smart Harville Hendrix', Getting the Love You Want" First Edition.
I might as well be a statistic.
Brunch this morning with my micro mini wearing Dee Snyder rocker girlfriend on Fifth Avenue today was like a glass of lukewarm vodka in the face.
"Marriage should not be hard or work, anyone who tells you that is lying. It should be like gripping sex."
What sex?
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