¿Do you like my pelt?

Somebody tried to give me a handjob on the metro this morning... at 8am. It was so crowded, I had no idea who was doing it, nor could I lower my arms to stop it.

I have three suspects. Suspect the first: man in linen business suit. Reeked of Polo Sport. Distinct possibilty. Suspect the second: little old lady. Disqualified due to Our Lady of Guadalupe necklace. Unless it was a Madonna/Whore thing. Suspect the third: mamacita in schoolgirl uniform. Please god don´t be her. Case open until forensic evidence has been analyzed. My enormous beauteous pad also has a lab in it, next to the second solarium and the stockroom. As a side not, I´m pretty sure my boner poked the little old lady.

Speaking of which, I, in my imperialist extravagance, hired a maid. Carmen. She´s incredible. Limpia toda is all I can tell her to do and she vacuums inside my shoes. It´s not a wounded frog, as English would lead you to believe. She brings her 3 kids with her who are hilarious. I buy them toys. I was hoping to hold out for a Lupe, but Carmen has authenticity too (in Stefan´s words.) If I find a Lupe, Carmen´s toast. Speaking of toast, Carmen cooks. Little Lord Fauntleroy, a sus ordenes.

Also, I´m flying to Buenos Aires on Friday to buy a beaver-pelt blanket.