Okayokay, my turn. Readers, meet D. You might also know her as Nadarine. For Vicious intents and purposes, we'll call her D. D is fan-fucking-tabulous. She bikes in Potentially Inappropriate Outfits and doesn't give a damn. She knows how to wield a jigsaw (swoon). Her obsession with bacon occasionally concerns vegetarian me, but less for ethical and more for "I want to eat that stoppit" reasons. She fashions chandeliers, ginsicles, and stores her shoes more elegantly than you do. D introduced me to Mint.com and all its attendant guilt, viz., "Mint.com can be a cruel, cruel tyrant. But I DO love that it has a line item for weekly bar spending on my budget and does this without judging me." If you need someone to help you find a more discreet term for "drunk," D's your girl. She lets me harass her constantly, not minding when I text her at all hours about girl woes, girl triumphs, scale crises, and spending malaise.
Maybe, if we're very clever, we can persuade her to come visit me in Philthy. Or, at best, to meet up in New York and run riot. Shouldn't be too hard, no?
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