The Southern Gentleman once said I reminded him of Phyrne.
I’d never heard that one before.
“You’re attractive. You’re artistic. A lot of people would consider your lifestyle to be indecent."
I could handle that. I was even flattered.
"Oh, and you’ve got awesome tits.”
Ding ding ding.
I think he’s the only friend of mine who could ever get away with comparing me to a BC-era prostitute. (Okay, okay, she was courtesan. So she didn’t get paid.)
The Southern Gentleman: My frequency of listening to Stronger has drastically increased in the last few days. And it’s all your fault.
Me: Why is it my fault?
SG: You know that line “I’d do anything for a blonde dyke”?
Me: But I’m not a…
SG: Shhhh.
thefashiondontlivewithoutvogue:
“Blondshell!” – Vogue Germany June 2010
The relationship between one of my friends and I can best be explained by examining that of Waldorf and Statler on the Muppets. They were my favorite. They were assholes. I loved them.
We’ll call my friend the Southern Gentleman. Why? Because he’s southern. And he’s a gentleman.
We’re pretty similar people. Same sense of humor, same interests, same sexual inclinations. He and I aren’t together or anything like that, we’re just becoming very good friends. He and his girlfriend are poly, but neither of them are bisexual. That takes a lot of trust. It also must be boring since they can’t share people at all.
We usually sit around and talk pretty candidly with each other about anything from sexual preferences to Kanye West’s ego. He’s an amazing conversational partner. And, mostly, we wind up turning into these old cooks pictured above.
If you’ve seen the show, you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say that a friend of mine and I have something like this going. No, I’m not in love. And, no, we’re not involved. We’re just the “series of escalating dares” kind of people.
A series of escalating dares.