ahhh, and then there's my old friend Rage.

This morning, after a few beers in honor of Landry's birthday last night, I woke early and decided for the second day in a row that I would drown a sack of kittens for a cup of coffee. Threw on my coat, jeans and a tank top that haven't been washed in a good number of weeks, and a pair of flip flops.

In my ongoing effort to get back to efficiency, I took my drycleaning down. Walking on Avenue A, feeling good about the chilly weather and sun, I peripherally noticed someone leaning in to leer as we passed each other.

This morning? I looked like a crack whore. A hot crack whore, but still... dirty clothes, hair and leftover makeup from last night (Landry what the eff do you use to get 'blacktrax' from MAC off? I was ready to try Windex) and do you know what the fucker said to me with a snarl?

ssssssss'sexy toes'sssssss.

I hadn't even had coffee yet. I could tell without looking at him that his wife and daughters are terrified of him. And I wanted for just a second to be at his dinner table tonight.

With a dull butter knife.