Cats and Wine

Hey there. I’m still alive. I’m still in New Orleans. I’m alright, I guess. I think about you often. I know I never write to you but I think about you constantly. I realize that does not make my lack of smutty stories any better for you but I know that if you really want to you can root through the archives on this blog and find a way to amuse yourself. But I fear that you might be worried about me, especially after the last thing I put on this site. So I’m writing to let you know that I am alright. Really I am.

I want to vent here. I want to tell you about the madness in my head. About the fact that I’m just sitting around in my bathrobe eating cake and drinking wine. I want to tell you that I am going to go to the titty bar and dance (not in my bathrobe though I wish I could do it and make money it would be kind of hilarious) and invite you to come see me, to give me money, to get drunk with me and take my mind off the fact that I am in the middle of the shittiest part of breaking up. But I assume you want to hear something smutty.

I want to be able to write a hot new story about how I had a threesome with two mid 20s hardbodied boys. But sadly they didn’t get back to me, do you think it was the bathrobe and the cat? Oh gawd. I’m a sad middle aged woman in a bathrobe with a cat and a bottle of wine. Yeah, I’m gonna go to the titty bar this weekend. I’ll put on some make up, try to feign happiness, shake my ass till I don’t care anymore.

Come see me. And bring money or I won’t like you even half as much as I like my cat (nor will I pretend to). I’ll be at Temptations on Bourbon Street Thursday after 8PM and Sunday all day into the wee hours of Monday morning. I hope you come play or I will just be chilling with Peter the house cat. Yes, the strip club I work in has a cat.

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