Bonus from the evening was that I was invited to join an improv group that will perform weekly at a theater in Times Square, and it fits in perfect with my chopped gumbo slave schedule. Gonna attempt another form of improv other than The Harold form that is lauded at the UCB. I enjoy the shit out of The Harold, but I'll get my rocks off freaking out under the lights doing a different form. The best part of the whole deal is that the theater is a renovated titty bar, and the poles survived the redecoration. Be not surprised of tales of me luring ladies on stage to slide up and down a diva pole.

Discovered last night that one of the chicks in my group is a year and half fresh transplant from St.Louis. The ultimate St.Louis question was exchanged: what high school did you go to? Kinda like what highway exit for Jersey peeps. I completely understand the high school classification in St.Louis, being a severly class segregated town, where you went to high school defines what kind of life you lead there. Stinky bullshit to be sure. Also discussed NYC's absence of gooey butter cake and crab ragoon. I let her in on the joints in town that only recently started serving toasted ravioli. You wouldn't think this was a form of chatting somebody up, but she showed all the signals for granting me passage on her cootchie train.

Oddly enough, the chicks that I've found most attractive and had the most fun with have been transplanted Midwest chicks here in NYC. I think what gets my blood moving is that I see the kindred spirit of a person that also felt the overpowering need to flee from the river towns to the welcoming deviancy of NYC. I only hope she doesn't suffer from the blowjobs are for birthdays and job promotions only school of feminine sexuality that diseases the Midwest. I love smearing my face down south, and I need a chick who loves taking it in the jaw, extra credit if she likes me busting a nut in her teeth. Maybe she'll become my little Missouri hummingbird.