Dear Diary;
Spent a few hours this morning on Skype with Jorge. Gave him the password to the Twitter account, told him about jiggling the toilet handle a few times, made sure he knew about Mother Angioletta’s bad ear (she can’t hear for shit on her left side), warned him to stay the hell away from the cook’s marinated pork butt.  Also suggested he get Housekeeping to change out that mattress: it reeks of Angelo’s homemade pastrami (I really gotta back off on the calzone).

I also told him about the secret stash of porn in his nightstand drawer and sent him over a gift card to the Vatican Starbuck’s. He freaking loves those Frappuccinos, even though he needs to stay away from them… Speaking of which, I mentioned that he might wanna stay away from the gold damask stoles: he hasn’t got enough height and they’ll accentuate his fat ass.