Oh, when I got home from work yesterday, Flame had named them. I had told him it was his duty to give them names, and he took me seriously, and I'm grateful.
Raoul was named after the great eyepatched director Raoul Walsh, and Rex is just Rex. Manly, sturdy names. They have been chewing the tails of their little fur mice.
There was a swishy swanky party at Shasta's , with a bow-tied bartender and gypsy guitar jazz flowing. God, I love Django.
I wore my feather boa, and left little olive green feathers everywhere. The boa was a gift from Miss Naomi West, who knows about such things. Shasta stored her little camera in her cleavage and her man, Mr. Sweet Basil danced like a dream. A dream with a leopard-print belt. It was a wondrously slinky affair, with men in suits and ladies in uncomfortable, delectable shoes. Huge bowls of limes and lemons and olives. Smoking on the street, we looked like a swank crowd waiting outside the dressing room door.
1:26 p.m. - 2003-09-14
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