assuming the higher-ups don't mind using a long-term boyfriend rather than a husband, the missus might be popping up in my magazine soon; we're doing a piece on guys who cook, featuring recipes and a man-in-the-kitchen portrait or two. this would entail some emergency interior decorating on our part (would the room's cold war theme have to go?), but i dig the idea of flaunting joe and his mad skillz. he's gotten early aesthetic approval from the editors, so i'll cross my fingers for news when we're back from vacation. as far as glossy debuts go, this is vastly preferable to my adventure with butt photos. creme anglaise beats ass cream every time.
tonight we're headed to drinking liberally's mayoraoke night, where our local dean refugees promise to "promote democracy one poorly sung cover tune at a time." expected attendees include mayoral candidates anthony "fortress of solitude" weiner (dig the stickball commercials) and joe's boss's fave, gifford miller ("after months of being known to sing an occasional song on the campaign trail, i feel well prepared to face the critical drinking liberally audience"). if there's any justice in the world, someone will do "barracuda." if i drink conservatively, that someone will not be me.
how was mayoraoke night???
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