Afterwards I was called by Colorado Boy, asking for a drinking partner for the evening. I had not planned to go out again, but it was hot and I was sweaty, so air conditioning sounded like a remarkable idea. He and I stayed far too late, talking to Edible Eddie (the barfolk named him, not I) and listening to Dolly Parton. I really like this new trend of having gayboy friends -- it's a completely new development in my life. I have always had a stable of straight boys and a slew of girls (a share of which are, of course, homogirls) and I love them all to death, but just plain ol' gossipy going-out-drinking hanging-out-with-on-Sunday no-stress gay boys are greatly appreciated. The whole shared-experience concept is key -- it has something to do with being able to discuss, say, Ryan Phillipe's pert little bottom without feeling all token-queer-on-display. (Bring him up in a gay bar if you ever want strangers to join your conversation. I mean, Ryan Phillipe's assets are just the kind of topic that gay boys everywhere can really get behind.)

So I stayed out too late and had to wake up poor, wonderful StyleGirl because I had gone out in such a rush I left my keys at home. And today I feel vaguely dipped in molasses -- every movement I make seems delicious and slow and deliberate, in the sense that would be better suited for a steamy veranda and possibly a mint julep but more likely a glass of whiskey. If only I could be a professional raconteur...