When I was younger, my mother used to always tell me that you don’t have to drink in order to have fun – she didn’t, mind you, ever warn me about getting too involved in soles, which is probably what she should have been doing, seeing as that’s my one true vice – and this coming from a woman who lives to drink margaritas and whose lasting impression of New York was the sangria we drank at the Yucca Bar. Okay, so she’s not a whino by any standards, but we all know what happens when your parents tell you not to do something…
My real “ism” as most of you well know is not liquid courage, but rather a much more reliable source of love and affection and the only thing that truly makes me feel good when everything else seems lost. Here’s the story of how I used my “lovah” to “lubricate” a very promising mystery social encounter…
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