We Are All Whores on Sunday

Ever notice how hot you look on Saturday night?  Even if you're staying in?  With your mom?  Then notice how people look on Sunday morning in public.  Last night's makeup.  What appears to be last night's clothes. The look in the eyes screams "Eggs!!!  Cheese!" and if you aren't me, "Bacon!"  We all look like we've been a cast off from a Rhianna song, doing it all night long and when the lights lift, suddenly we dip to minus 4 degrees sexy.  

So Dracula and I have finally had our good night kiss.  What an awesome book.  I've now picked up Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway. 

So ever have a horrible crush? Not in a Glenn Close/Alicia Silverstone sort of way where you boil the Object Delish's beautiful life away.  Just in a Dude, You Wouldn't Be Able to Go Without a Shirt for a Week, kinda way?  Yeah.  Just saying.

And on that note, may all of our Draculas, older days of Paris and miles of things desirable cast a smile in our imaginations.