Boozey not Floozey
You know how I had made that goal, you know the one. In which Emma declared that she would go to the party as a cheerleader and do the illicit drugs and make out with a straight boy.
I am slightly abashed and can hear the snickers in the peanut gallery of my imagination as I say that it DID NOT HAPPEN.
Which is not to say that it was not a fine party, because it was, which is not to say that there were drugs in short supply or a paucity of kissable boys, there were ample. I am thinking it was the wig, that is the hooker wig... offputting somehow. Perhaps I was too busy rocking out to def Leppard with my pom poms and P. to notice any vibes cast in my direction. Perhaps it was the tawdry blue eyeshadow and the yellow cheer (cheer?) shirt I was sporting, canary is not a flattering color and certainly did not suit my bountiful - ahem - wig. Perhaps it was the venue, because really, who could possibly hope for a hook up in a porno dungeon, truly. No truly it was in a porno dungeon, there was even a nice lady with a whip should one desire a light public flogging, to each his own, what, what.
The music was fun, costumes are always fun. Pom Poms whish when you shake them. And shake them I did.
And so dawned Sunday, and I arose refreshed with only a partial hangover which was nothing short of miraculous and boded well for the party for superstah M's birthday party. I knew that there would plenty of men in attendance, including several men that have good enough to make out with me on previous occasions. I felt certain that I would achieve at least the making out part of my goal. So I put on my party dress, the one I wore to Pinpinette's wedding in New York, it saw plenty of make out action, shit, even girls tried to make out with me in that dress. It's true!
Alas there was no making out to be had, there was however a lot of booze consumed. Which accounts for my headache and gollywobbles and general office fuckoffedness today. There was also dancing I taught Michelle how to swing dance.
There is also some evidence that I was liberal with my phone number as there are messages from strange men.
You know how I had made that goal, you know the one. In which Emma declared that she would go to the party as a cheerleader and do the illicit drugs and make out with a straight boy.
I am slightly abashed and can hear the snickers in the peanut gallery of my imagination as I say that it DID NOT HAPPEN.
Which is not to say that it was not a fine party, because it was, which is not to say that there were drugs in short supply or a paucity of kissable boys, there were ample. I am thinking it was the wig, that is the hooker wig... offputting somehow. Perhaps I was too busy rocking out to def Leppard with my pom poms and P. to notice any vibes cast in my direction. Perhaps it was the tawdry blue eyeshadow and the yellow cheer (cheer?) shirt I was sporting, canary is not a flattering color and certainly did not suit my bountiful - ahem - wig. Perhaps it was the venue, because really, who could possibly hope for a hook up in a porno dungeon, truly. No truly it was in a porno dungeon, there was even a nice lady with a whip should one desire a light public flogging, to each his own, what, what.
The music was fun, costumes are always fun. Pom Poms whish when you shake them. And shake them I did.
And so dawned Sunday, and I arose refreshed with only a partial hangover which was nothing short of miraculous and boded well for the party for superstah M's birthday party. I knew that there would plenty of men in attendance, including several men that have good enough to make out with me on previous occasions. I felt certain that I would achieve at least the making out part of my goal. So I put on my party dress, the one I wore to Pinpinette's wedding in New York, it saw plenty of make out action, shit, even girls tried to make out with me in that dress. It's true!
Alas there was no making out to be had, there was however a lot of booze consumed. Which accounts for my headache and gollywobbles and general office fuckoffedness today. There was also dancing I taught Michelle how to swing dance.
There is also some evidence that I was liberal with my phone number as there are messages from strange men.
Perhaps I shall make out with one.
posted by emma at
5:05 PM
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