Early this morning, as I finally laid down for some sleep, I thought about a long, lost friend from Nashville. Her name, Ginny Brown. AKA -- Pinkie. I found her on myspace and this is an excert from our glorious reunion.
From Ginny B.:
"Buster Horne, HOLY SHIT!
The world works in mysterious ways my friend. I was walking down Haight St here in San Fran trying to find some hint of inspiration, plagued by the fact that I haven't written in a long while and artistically I have been in a lull and when I lowered my eyes what to do see but "No More Prisons" spray painted on the street. Instantly I was overwhelmed by rampid thoughts of one of the most intellectual and inspirational person to ever come into my life, you..."
I say, in short, "Yay!"
And that has been the cherry on top. Sweet, beautiful, creative, weird and soulful Ginny Brown wrote me back. If we weren't so not capable of having sex, I'd definitely fuck her.
Other news included a coffee date with the Tag Team Champions of the World, White Chocolate (i.e. -- Beige Sugar and Snow White). It was the best way to keep me going on virtually no sleep. And had either for even a moment given me the notion that if I skipped work I could hang with them, then I would have skipped work. But they don't know how to properly enable bad habits so I had to go back to the stockroom.
Speaking of, I have a few notes to share. For starters, I have no clue what the difference is between Juniors and Misses. I do now know that at Goody's "Extra Special" is code for not skinny, which is just a nice way of saying there's more to love. I have a beef with one of the labels we carry. Sag Harbor. It is clothing obviously intended to be worn by the middle aged women. If I were a middle-aged woman, I'd have a hard time buying anything that was rubbing my nose in the fact that as time has advanced on me, certain things have given way to gravity. It'd be the same, in my opinion, as if the mens department carried a brand called "Limp Dick Alley".
And while I'm talking about fashion, I'd like to include the panties we sell. I only know so much about these panties because there is an entire section dedicated to them as one enters the stockroom. There is absolutely no way to avoid them. So the first is the line of "Hello Kitty" panties. Should I ever get to see a woman in her underware again, I hope I don't see Hello Kitty written on them. It would only fill me with the fear that I was doing something illegal with someone who wasn't as old as they told me they were.
Then there are the "100% Flirt" panties. It is my theory and personal opinion that if someone has been given the opportunity to read someone else's panties, it is more or less a given that the one wearing the panties is a flirt regardless of what the panties read.
On an unrelated note, I'm going now. Love you, really, but I'm tired and I still have miles more to chew before the night is done.
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