Being Polish, nobody in my neighborhood seems bothered by the arctic temperatures. While a down vest and several back episodes of Project Runway managed to get me through three days in East Hampton without heat, I've developed a very romantic hacking cough since getting back, La Boheme-style, and am a little concerned that my throat is insufficiently insulated. February may see me in an early grave - forgotten and unsung.
Yesterday marked six months with Slim, which I calculated from the date of a July blog post. (Well, eight months if you date these things to our first meeting, or the Missed Connection he sent me. One of these days I ought to write that up for posterity, since I guess the graphic novel I made Slim for his birthday doesn't really count.) Just sayin'. I celebrated by going to a Martin Luther King dinner party. I was totally prepared to do a very earnest, a cappella rendition of "In the Name of Love" or, alternatively, read a sermon of Martin Luther's in the original German, and was sort of disappointed that we just ended up talking about yoga and eating vegan macaroni and cheese. Was seated next to a guy who turned out to be the roommate of this guy I got into a very unbecoming fight with in April ('you have just forfeited the privilege of my company!'), who turned out in turn to be the ex-boyfriend of that gal GK4 datd over the summer, with whom I had a drink and who mentioned my soft tummy...
"Bite-sized world," I said to him.
"Smaller all the time," said he. We lapsed into silence.
Then when I was leaving, and everyone else was still at the table, I managed to get my scarf stuck in the door, and had to come back, rather ignominiousy, and free it.
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