Frivolous Filly
dark brown

Usually something red, black or striped, or basically anything as long as it matches one of my purses.

Merlot, or to be a bit more exciting, a Bocce Ball (1.5 oz Amaretto, 4.5 oz orange juice)
Plain old cheese and crackers, martini olives after they’ve been drowned in vodka, and my grandma’s rum balls. Mmmm.
Tom Waits (for beer), the Ventures (for chilled cocktails), Tindersticks (for wine), Billie Holiday (for anything)
2nd grade - practicing to receive the sacrament of Communion at Catholic school. After a couple “dry” rehearsals, the priest slipped us the real thing and we all made that squinty, bitter, disgusted face. I’ve since developed quite a fervent taste for wine.
Green – no, blue – no, green.
The Crying of Lot 49 – Thomas Pynchon
Breakfast at Tiffany’s, This is Spinal Tap, Chung King Express, anything David Lynch, anything Wes Anderson.
Tiger lily
Poopsmith, i.e., litter box shoveler.
My mom and grandma.
Yes. "In my heart, I think a woman has two choices: either she's a feminist or a masochist." —Gloria Steinem
Smart, classy, sexy ladies who know the real way to party.

First of all, it would be my interpretation of “shabby chic” – cute little things I’ve found at flea markets and thrift stores, with mismatched chairs, silverware and glassware. The walls would be red and the room would be dimly lit. There would be an outdoor patio with surf rock piped in, and a downstairs lounge with a stage for live music. The main bar area would have a jukebox to put the one at Gooski’s to shame, and I would be in charge of stocking it. The bathroom would be big, spacious and immaculate, however, I would allow graffiti on the walls so long as it was not offensive or personally attacking anyone. I’d even provide the markers. And the bar, of course, would have it all, even a bunch of skinny little indie boys working behind it.

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