June 24, 2004 - 6:51 AM

Dear My Hollywood Girl:

I still can�t tear myself away from these photos I took. You mentioned it, but I didn�t believe it was true until I saw for myself. You transformed into sexy fucking hot slithering smoking as soon as you put on those shoes and walked me through your routine.

Something about just taking off those cool chunky Frankensteinish boots you did your laundry in and putting on those red stripperhero-powered shoes turned on whatever had been turned off at that point and all the arrows flipped into the red zone. I mean, don�t get me wrong, you know how cute and sparkly I think you are even though you�ve never let me kiss you and not for lack of trying and you�d think that might even be a turn off for me, the endless rejection and straight up friendship with no drunken makeouts, but it�s not. You are so cute and sparkly (I�ll say it more times if you let me) that I hang in there just waiting for the drunken makeout. Waiting until the end of time or you get hit by a car. Whichever comes first.

But your cuteness and sparkliness went away in the magician-like moment when those shoes came on and you showed me how you walked with your hips leading and slid yourself up against that lucky wall and lazily dropped your head back so your hair fell and then you looked at me with sleepy sexy eyes over your shoulder you were so workin� it.

And then the lucky wall had you lowering yourself all over it before you crawled across the floor and shimmied up onto my lap and even though it was half-hearted, fully clothed with no music playing and a dog in the room, it was hot. I can�t imagine what that woulda been like had you been trying. And maybe that�s why I keep coming back to these pictures. Red, Green and Blue are my new favorite colors.

And no, I haven�t signed up to become a stripperhero yet. It was $400 bux I couldn�t justify spending. Instead, I just spent $500 bucks on a new improved much larger eyepod on accounta my birthday in on JULY 10th (obligatory bday reference self promotion la dee da). I figger I�ll get more use outta my eyepod than my ass in comefuckme shoes.

And remember him? Remember how we wrote that thing in order to conjure him up and then what happened?

The endless visualization paid off and he materialized. The Triple V.

We shoulda finished it. We woulda been superstars. It was going so well. Too bad we left our job.

He�s still so adorable and you�re still so funny your stories about that conversation time with him in the backyard and tips on England and old out of control canines and that time you called me from his bedroom as you cleaned up his closet and gazed lovingly at his toiletries almost bashing into him in the kitchen with breakables in your hand.

You keep it up Hollywood Girl. You are wacky. But cute and sparkly while being wacky. I will call you from time to time and you will call me from time to time and maybe we will go do your laundry again and you can show me more of your routine and maybe the dog can stay out of the room this time and you can throw me a bone and lower the lights and put flame to a few candles. Humor me.

Your friend,

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