Cocaine's for roadies, not for men

I have shamed Michael Lesy and for this I must repent.

The blog that once stood in this place was the emotional equivalent of packaging all the letters and emails Jacob ever wrote me and sending them with a nice little bow to that girl who is not me.

Fun to scheme with friends, but I don't actually want to hurt anyone. Which this might have done. And can you imagine if RICHARD had read it? Oh, dear! I ought to have left it at this:

I love the Young Dubliners and Friday night was an adventure that reminded me just how much I love Bren, that goofball bassist.

So you can beg and plead, but no, I won't tell anyone who hasn't already read it what was here once. Except for this:

The boy who works at Juice Monkeys is named Paul. And if he finds this blog via google, well, I'm sure that will make Monday morning awkward.