so, I am too short and too old for Look Models. Brilliant. Just what I wanted to hear. Well. They aren't the only agency in town. Although they are one of the better ones. So. I am spending twelve dollars on a martini to make myself feel better. At the St. Francis. At least beautiful surroundings help. And oh what a strong martini. Lovely. I wonder if there is anything good going on in the city tonight. Although it is only 4:10...that would be an awfully long time to kill before a show would get off the ground. At least four hours. And besides, I'm not exactly dressed for it. I will not call P. Even though he does have my book. Which I need. I will not call because he has not called and I'm starting to feel like a stalker. A well intentioned stalker, but a stalker nonetheless. There would be hundreds of men who would love to be in love with me. Too bad he is much too rational. I am perhaps a bit...overpowering at times. Particularly now...But dammit...if you can't take the heat... Ahhh...how lovely, the Nordstrom-esque piano player has started up again. Too old... Superior olives. Perhaps they've aged well. When I was fifteen I was in no shape for modeling. Now I have the stamina and wit for it. This place is thick with business men and distinguished older women. "ladies who lunch" if you will, however, it is past tea time. I require a cigarette. I'm sure I will be able to procure one at some juncture. // Young blood. I need your young blood. Hot and sticky sweet. I grew up in palaces such as these. I take my time. I could easily walk out. But I don't, as it's bad karma. I love the painting. I hate the cliched piano renditions. But it is soothing, I suppose. I will soon venture home. Or to another hotel bar. An escort I am not. Just a tad let down. Depressed if you will. Not quite so. Regal. Head high. Strong chin. Eyeing the one cute guy who is 90% gay. Of course he is in this city. In more sensible shoes I'd head for North Beach. Needing a cigarette, I'll most likely head for home. Maybe Nordstrom's. No, not fun. Maybe the W. Or perhaps the MOMA will be open. Horrible. I will/should just go home and sleep. Fuck you. Fuck him. // 111 Minna. Turned down so long ago for wearing jeans. Accompanied by M. Darius. The asshole with the gorgeous studio on Dolores. The Four Seasons makes a better martini than the St. Francis. Far superior olives. Much more dirty, less jet fuel. I wonder. How I must look sitting here alone. Isn't he on California? I wonder how far that is actually. I should be packing. But I am not. I should be resting, but I'm not. We should forgo these trivalities and focus on reality. This place is much noisier than the St. Francis. Not nearly as regal. Not nearly. But everyone looks better in the dark. 6:15 I promised myself I wouldn't call. Absolutely swore. But with one martini under my belt and another on its way down its hard to resist. But I still won't. Absolutely not. Regardless of being told I am too old. Irrelevant in reality. oh, but I'd love to. Hurrah. A dear friend just called and came to my rescue. Or else I would have made the most dreadful call. Most dreadful indeed.

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Last Five
treasure - Thursday, Sept. 06, 2006
need - Sunday, May. 22, 2005
where is here - Friday, May. 13, 2005
save me. - Monday, May. 09, 2005
nonsense - Sunday, May. 01, 2005

ALL