The Gin and Tanqueray Book Club

what a day and a night. i feel like after the 5th day or so of creation. i’m like “whoooooooooa. i could use a backrub and a high-five. fer real.”

the misanthropic writer could not be better suited to my life than if he were a character written into a novel. and not a stiff static character neither. a floppy and dynamic character.

we’re starting an institution. thursday night meetings. like the beatniks and the impressionists. we’re going to create a circle of literati. intern chris will be the head honcho with the academic bigwig namedropping but the mr. writer and i, we will throw wisecracks and jabs. trashtalking will be done by all. nothing will be sacred. except maybe poker. and politics. ha!

i was officially named his protegee today and my number entered into his cellphone, awkward photo and all (tis a new generation). i was so excited i couldn’t even look excited. i just feigned normalcy. i was also called an A-girl. apparently there are A-girls and there are Y-girls. some arbitrary characterization based on name endings, but hey, i came out of the judging process favorably so i’m not making any protest signs.

the misanthropic writer [pointing at me]: well, here’s a case right here of an A-girl. she’s delightful and gregarious. just lovely. and blogger-y. {said like an infomercial}

i hope our club has rules. and agendas. and free shrink sessions.

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