I like to travel, read, write, dance and pretend. At the moment I am suffering an insufferable phase of self-aggrandizement, premature maturity and lack of wit.
If you think you can help me out of this funk, write me at idaman.z@gmail.com
Today I flirted with my band lead. I promised him a lap dance, and if he’s not careful he’ll get it.
Today I sat for hours staring at passports and visas and letters of acceptance. I considered burning them all, and then thought better of it.
Today I had my picture taken by the Seniman, who will then paint me into one of his canvases, a girl in sunglasses with a gun in her hand. I did not flirt with him, for I don’t want him in my bed, I just want him in my head.
Today I fooled a banker into thinking I am a young hotshot, a millionaire in the making, and she almost begged me to take out a loan with the bank. If you act like you don’t give a fuck, people start giving you a fuck. You see, you don’t have to have all the answers; you just need to look like you do.
Today I talked to Joel, and we reminisced about New York. For a brief moment, we were undoubtedly in love. As all things are in Manhattan, it was only for a moment, but oh what a glorious moment! We promised by the big lake in Central Park, while our cherry-sweet mouths kissed the lips of the other, to meet every summer, until one of us succumbs to marriage. Ours would be a tradition steeped in romance, excitement, newness! We would circumvent love’s inescapable disease – boredom. Madrid, Manhattan, where to next? Medan? Mumbai? Marrakech?
Today I traced a finger along the curve of a woman’s ribcage down the dip of her waist and up the slope of her hips. She laughed as I kissed her hipbone and sighed as the kisses played catch all the way down to her toes.
Today I gambled with my future and tossed a coin. I already know what I’ll do.
Now I need me some chicken & waffles. Or sex. Whichever’s easier.
