oops

Remember how I said I really, really wanted to sleep with my hairstylist? Well, I am nothing if not a woman of my word, so I did. (Though it wasn't so much "sleep with" as "fuck in the bathroom of the totally sick apartment nextdoor to Lenny Kravitz's Soho loft.") I hope he'll still do my hair when I come visit, because he's by far done the best job ever (on my HAIR.) Also, I officially have a boyfriend. He lives in Canada. Anyone want to wager a guess as to WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME? Thanks.