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I know it . . . I know in my heart that somewhere, somehow, at some point in my life I'm going to meet a unique and handsome trickster who will make me giggle past midnight as I kiss his sexy tatts, while Lucinda Williams or Marvin Gaye sings to us under the sparse yet pretty stars waving at us, like Santa with his sleigh of delights, in my haunted high rise apartment.
If you don’t know what I’m talking about then don’t respond.
Should you have a true glimpse of me you would see a dork beauty with black glasses who blows kisses to God on a daily basis and who is frequently buried under a stack of essays about Romeo or Hamlet or some such other emo hero. You would see a luscious life blessed with gifts galore of family, friends, career, dreams, opportunity. You would see an insistence for truth, candy, peace, coffee, tolerance, shoes, joy, Christmas trees that last all year, and music. Music always.
Intelligent delirium required.
If you’re courageous like Speed Racer, hilarious like Eddie Murphy, intelligent like Barack Obama, wicked like Johnny Cash, wise like Mr. Echo, dreamy like Michael Ealy, and sensual like D.H. Lawrence, then we better talk. OK, you don't have to be all of those, but could you be at least two?
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