My head is still throbbing from last night. Alistair took me to Nobu’s and then we went to a little Sake bar where I had more than a little to drink. This morning, I had deep purple craters under my eyes and when I stumbled out of my room, cheeks pillow-marked and hair matted, William looked at me as though he had just seen a ghost. Of course, I reacted in the same way since William never got up before noon and would only deign to arise in the morning, if there had been a nuclear holocaust and he had hoped to celebrate being the lone survivor.
William is an enigmatic type and I often resent his lack of willingness to conform to society’s labels. He isn’t an outright hottie, or a nerd, or a hipster. His interests range from cars to cuff links. What do you do with someone who refuses to be stereotyped? I mean, it’s positively indecent.
Speaking of indecency, I called Anne Beeker today to extend an olive branch. If you’re shocked that I would try to mend my relationship with a homophobic, obese, rehab-prone, closet case piece of filth, rest assured that it’s all simply part of my plan to out Miss Beeker. It’s terribly clichéd but also frighteningly true that you ought to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. By keeping on good terms with Anne Beeker, I’ll be able to devise a plan to get her to meet my good friend and proud lesbian, Sarah Walsh.
To get an image of Sarah, let go of every connotation you associate with lesbians. Yes, that includes the unflattering crew cuts, the political activism, and even plaid. Sarah Walsh is a bubbly, big bosomed blonde who hasn’t two grey cells to rub together, with a will as malleable as damp clay, and she just happens to like the V. If Anne Beeker really was a big old lesbo, Sarah would be the best person to find out.
Now, if you will excuse me, I have to prepare the crudités for my GRE study session. Oh, and I almost forgot, I need to go buy some hot wings. Laura has recently developed an insatiable appetite for these disgusting things and gobbles them down even with vanilla ice cream. It’s positively gag worthy but hey, they don’t called me Benevolent Beth for nothing. Well, they don’t at all. But in the biopic Aaron Sorkin will inevitably do of me, I’ll make sure it’s mentioned somewhere…