I must be fine because my heart's still beating.
I am currently in love with a 25 year old ivestment banker (and novelist).

"I've been standing in front of the mirror for a few hours now, just practicing profound facial expressions. I light up cigarettes, blow big clouds of smoke, and then look at myself through the smoke, and think of Dr. Zhivago. I've also drawn inspiration from some of the portraiture at the Frick, and scandalize myself by showing a bit of calve to the mirror while placing a finger suggestively on my lip."

But seriously, I'm sick of pining over poorly dressed boys. I need a man. I need a man who wears suits, preferably shops at Paul Smith, and gets his shoes shined. Three piece suits even. Otherwise, I will continue to crush on married art dealers who wear their suits with puma sneakers. This might actually be even hotter...

Alas. I feel as though my sexual frustration is emerging violently, kind of like the scene from Alien, but even more like the parody scene from Spaceballs where the alien bursts out of the chick's stomach and starts singing and tapdancing with a tophat and cane.

This Corduroy Suit Is Delightful [via d-nasty]
- posted by liz @ 12/22/2003 01:41:00 PM