Irony, You Dirty Dirty Bitch
Last weekend I went to a wedding. What were my cockquest results? With my full line of artillery up–little black dress, sexy peep-toe black stilettos, lacy g-string, shaved legs, make-up, the works–I got jack shit. The most promising thing all night was the waiter, and he was too clueless to realize I was doing everything but spreading my legs and saying IS THIS CLEAR, YOU DUMBFUCK?
But this weekend? I went to my first writers’ conference with my only goal to learn about writing/publishing and schmooze with agents (mixed results, more on this later). Result: I got action. Gee, was it because I was bleeding from the crotch or because I hadn’t washed my hair since Thursday? Oh I know, it was the zit! It was oozing pure SEX APPEAL.
