I was talking to W on the phone and watching the Boston-Chicago game, when BFD called. It was like 8:25 and I had just finished cooking dinner (one-half of a habanero sausage from whole foods), so I ate and chatted with BFD for 40 minutes.
For the most part, we spoke about business, his (married) assistant’s emergency surgery, and my personal finances: “Plan, why don’t you just get a job?” That conversation. He wanted to know why I am not stressed out about being broke (he has no idea how broke I am, but he has not cashed the check my bank sent him two weeks ago), so I admitted, somewhat emotionally, “I so stressed about money all the time and I am terrified.” That actually made him feel better. I think he was worried that I just don’t care at all about not having money, which would be an issue for him if he thought I did not care about money because I assumed he would support me. Anyway, we made progress.
The whole conversation was great and helpful and we talked about our new topic of conversation, too, which is always fun. Toward the end, I mentioned that the game was going to overtime. He decided he should go downstairs and start watching it, so I was getting ready to hang up and then he said, “why don’t you come over and fuck me?”