Censored! And other artistic licenses.

I've been censored. Called to the mat. Made to atone and account for my rampant blogging. I am loathe to change things on my blog. In fact, I don't do it. Often I wake up and re-read a prior blog, panic, think "what was going through my head when I wrote this shit?", but I don't take it down. Mostly because it reflects poorly on me and I'm okay with that. But Po has asked that I tweak a certain comment in a prior blog and it shall be so. The price? I am going to take wicked artistic license on this blog. See if you can pick up on the rampant bullshit!
After a night of delectable lovemaking, Michael brought me breakfast in bed and asked me to marry him. I looked the Tacori ring and the rapt expression of love and devotion on his face and told him, "I'm a size two and I run a 3:10 marathon, but I can't marry you: I know it's against your belief system and I would never force someone to do something they didn't totally subscribe to. Nor would I ever finger a hummer."
Then I gave him (and his 19" Dell flatscreen monitor and jug of bleach) a lift to his place, and repeatedly advised him to see a doctor. Oddly, I did not take any artistic license there. Titillating, no? I continued on, in my Prius and listening to Shania Twain, to Kerrisdale where I met up with my good friend L. We talked of all things interesting: insane family members; Plenty of Fish; the overall idiocy of a staggeringly high proportion of men; and work. I then sauntered over to visit with my friend the Newfie who hugged me. What is with people touching me? But she was pretty busy at work (there was a strange rush on doggie sweaters all of a sudden) so we parted ways after she advised me that she would be having a farewell party for her brother who is joining the RCMP (who has indicated that he would likely arrest me if we ever meet again, given... well, let's just leave it at that). I said, "Hells yeah, I be there fo sho" and gave her the Kerrisdale gang sign, which involves taking out a money clip full of hundred dollar bills and lighting fire to them and buying a $500 baby stroller. Such a complicated and time consuming way of indicating which 'hood you're from.
Then I hooked up with Po to talk about knitting. She's taken up knitting recently, and I've been enraptured by it. I find her new knitting experiences very fresh and invigorating and would like to also knit something very soon. We went to Hell's Kitchen and had a couple of drinks and she commented that I've been drinking a lot lately, to which I grabbed an empty Stella bottle, smashed it on the table and thrust the jagged edge in her direction, screaming, "What kind of sweater are you knitting???".
I then calmed down (more Malbec) and we talked about Dogville, and how much it made us want to kill ourselves, and yet how good it was. And it was good. I expressed gratitude that someone actually followed up on one of my recommendations, given that people roll their eyes when I make suggestions. At this Po said, "Give me a break. We read the books you recommend, we drink your suggested wine, we watch your movies and we read your blog every day. What more do you want?". I indicated that it would be great if you could all give me 10% of your salaries, as well as all your knitted products.
Then a couple that were in their late fifties walked in and I said, "They're old". Which was apt.
After this we walked back to my car and I said, "that's my car" and I got into my car and drove away. I think Po was crying when I left, though I'm unsure if the tears related to the complexity of her current sweater pattern, or the feeling of emptiness that my friends are often left with once I take my radiant persona away (odd note: I once left my radiant persona behind in Mexico, and man was there a lot of bureaucracy and red tape to get it back).
Now here I am. Blogging to an audience of thousands. Wearing a red kimono and eating starfruit, having just come in from performing an amazing balance beam routine on my balcony's balustrade to the accolades of my male counterpart in the building across the way.