#kensstarter

[fabbeats]

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Social Isolation: Day 1. Wine not pictured.  

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[fabbeats]

I’m in a different time zone, hungry, and up to my ears with work. But the weather is beautiful and the air smells like the ocean.

All in all, not a bad way to start a Monday. 

[sebastian-smythe]

What a night. 

[fabbeats]

One of the most irritating things is people who attempt to strike up a conversation when my headphones are in. I am not listening. I don’t want to listen. I have no intentions of keeping my volume low for your incessant chatter about absolutely nothing. Considering you are a stranger and this is a coffee shop and I haven’t given you any indication that a conversation about my drink choice or anything else was wanted....Go. Away.

[santanainny]

Hulu, you saucy minx, keeping me fully entranced with your endless seasons of Golden Girls.  As if I needed another reason to stay in bed all day.

[fabbeats]

Dear Girl Scout Cookies of America.

You and your delicious ass snacks. Why do you continue to do this to me? Bribing me with your tasty treats each year. You know what? To hell with what you would do for a Klondike bar. Give me thin mints and savannah smiles. I want those. 

Oh hey you guys. I’m just thinking about the goodness of Girl Scout cookies, don’t mind me. 

[mrhunterclarington]

Well, I suppose I should start with the assertion that I don’t usually bring one night stands back to my apartment - it simply seems too intrusive, too intimate really. I much prefer my penthouse at the Pierre with its captivatingly cold and uninviting vibe. But, you see, my judgement faltered last night. And while most people have the common sense to leave after hooking up with a stranger, it seems Valentine’s Day has a strange effect of people. Perhaps he was too out of it to call a cab or wanted to go for a morning round, either way I was drunk and gave him the benefit of doubt. That was a mistake. I understand my mattress is more comfortable than the common variety, but it is certainly not to be drooled upon.

Now it’s 9am and I would let Clarence chase him out, but I wouldn’t want to offend the son of one of our potential client corporations by kicking him to the curb. So, I would like to propose an economic opportunity of sorts to my fellow Kensington dwellers that I believe will be of great interest to you: If you come over and pretend to be my girlfriend/boyfriend who just found me cheating, I’ll give you 50 bucks cash. Cry, threaten, do whatever, non è importante. I’ll even raise you to 50 plus a cup of coffee if you manage to entertain me in the process. Think it over, this could be your chance to deliver the performance of a lifetime.

- Apt. 227

[fabbeats]

My job duties should not include ‘midday calls from clients when routine sex play goes wrong.’ I don’t know why I’m his emergency contact or why he didn’t realize he’s allergic to body paint, but here I sit in the emergency room with a manchild covered in neon glow paint and a serious rash.

This is absolutely ridiculous for a Wednesday.