Friday, January 14, 2011

The Mile High Club...

There's a girl I know about as well as I'll ever know her; I can't call her a friend, but she's more than an acquaintance. Do you have people like this in your life?

If you sold two properties this month, she sold five. If you rocked your presentation, she got a promotion. Whatever book you're reading, she read it months ago. Plus she has a signed copy, darling, because she and the author have been besties since babies, darling. If you're wearing Free People, she's wearing Prada. After a night of sweet shimmying in front of the jukebox, she'll beg you to teach her all those cute, funny moves. She passes by during dinner at the very moment your mouth is full of filet, making sure to comment "I don't know how you can eat like a growing boy, and still look the way you look, Jamie!"

And she brags about being a member of The Mile High Club. Gross.

You know me. I'm not a prude. Allow me to present Exhibit A as proof. Should you require more cogent evidence, scroll around here for a while. I guarantee it will get your heart racing.

My best, who you might remember as the one who advised me to "Porn it out," wore a similar look of disdain.

"It's one thing if it's a private jet. Entirely another mess altogether if you're talking about getting some in Economy."

I adore my girl.

"And what's that saying about dogs? They never f*@$ where they s*@$? Something to consider..."

I really adore my girl.

Tell me your thoughts on The Mile High Club, will you? I'm in the mood for some tawdry conversation! Smokin' photos snagged from here and here. Because, in addition to all her other charms, the girl is a chain-smoker.