You know when you begin reading a Perfect Nancy blogpost which begins I was minding my own business when...
that you're in for buckets of evil malarkey.
So, I was minding my own business filing my newspaper column early, checking all facts, being so diligent, waiting for Jen to arrive so we could begin our mischief.
Diligence (OH, I should mention that I'm listening to Radiohead's The Bends in honor of the kaslosh-kaslosh in my head as my eyes move in any direction - sing on Tom, you fucking genius, wail away this hangover, suck the toxins from my cells) was replaced with debauchery in baby steps. First dinner, hobnobbing. Then the rounds of (OH, I should mention that before filing I froze my ass off waiting for the middling city's Mardi Gras micro-parade to come sailing by, wearing the odd tapestry coat with big fur trim I bought with the intention of mailing it to Dorota in NYC until I described it to her) bars and parties.
Censored highlights:
1. finding... okay, maybe not that one.
2. Convincing (I am the convincing champ of the Universe) the parole officer behind the bar at one joint that he not only should do his neat fire-breathing trick but that I should document it for next week's column. The manangement was afeared for their paper streamers and balloons. He did the stunt, I had the f5 on snap-happiest of sports readiness modes, shot away and then felt for my left eyebrow. Still there. Made further pals with strangers singing karaoke.
3. Hopped into a limo filled with drag queens, telling the driver, don't you dare leave with me in this car, dig? And as I put camera to eye more and more and more and more and more drag queens were filling the frame. I kept backing up up up in the limo, a stretch SUV limo.
4. Learning about these kaslosh-kaslosh-inducing things: IRISH CAR BOMBS which I slurped with Kelly et al as I was flailing as impromptu celebrity guest bartender, much to the delight of whoever.
Well all for now. Binges of Love.