Which one of you bitches is my mother?

I am Lili. I was abandoned in the French Alps as an infant, the product of a reckless incident in the snow, one that didn't involve skis. My kindly adoptive parents were shot by German guards. It was the 60's - who wasn't? Parentless twice over, I headed to Paris where my muddled accent didn't stand out so much. As a young and very very beautiful girl with no money, I fell prey to pimps and pornographers. Sure I cried in the beginning when I undid my improbably sexy body stocking for the first time. But then came the diamonds and the yachts and I kept my rage private. The rage for the mother who gave me up without a second thought. Now she's in my grasp and I want answers!

Phew. Thanks for letting me Lace out. If you haven't seen Lace, the TV movie to end all TV movies, you really should. Starring Phoebe Cates at her most lucious and dripping with camp at its campiest, it pretty much cemented my identity as both a gay woman and a gay man trapped inside a gay woman's body. What could it do to you, my friend?

Any-fricking-way, since I last posted I've relocated myself and 3/5 of my belongings to Williamsburg, celebrated about 50 birthdays, lost about a million dollars, slept for an hour and a half on 8 different couches and visited 1 clairavoyant who pronounced that my true calling was to be a lawyer. Hopefully January will be a little more stable and less numerical.

Tweeze & Thank You

Right now, a major North American bank is paying me to pluck my eyebrows. I'm working overtime, waiting at my desk for a document to type up that will be arriving any minute and I just happened to have my tweezers with me. It's not like I need the OT money. I make about $100 an hour. That's what I earn for the hour (maximum) that I work each day. The other 7 unpaid hours at work are me time.