| Trauma, Drama, and Che Guevara (Part I) |
[Oct. 31st, 2004|05:54 pm] |
I have seldom been so emotionally exhausted. And I've only gotten 2 hours' sleep, so the rest of me ain't feeling too goddamn perky, either. However, I am inexplicably wired (look Mom - no coke! And I didn't take any of Trent's speed, either! Arent'cha proud of me?) so I'm drying my hair with one hand and typing with the other, instead of sleeping it off like a normal person. The entire business (for me, at least) lasted about the length of a standard work day (and this is after putting in about 6 hours at good old æ) - from approximately 9:30 pm to 6 this morning.
So I showed up, looking Xena-riffic, and was repeatedly hit upon by most of the men (and some of the women - eek!) there. There was a Whack-A-Mole, two sisters who looked exactly like Nicky Hilton (pre-dye-job), a giant Red Sock, Donatella Versace (Bella/Pamela), Laird MacDuff (yummy!), Jem (sans Holograms), a bear-fucker, a tranny cavewoman, several pimps, and various revolutionaries: Che (Dan), Fidel (Eugene), and Ruthie, who was a member of the Red Army. Pia Zadora and Ric O'Casek from "Hairspray" (Fabienne and Hoopleville) were also in attendance, as was a White Lie, Snow White (Sayra - loved the tattoo!), Bush (Baseball Girl), Osama, and Saddam. Violet was a Black Panther. Parker (whose party this was, lest we forget) was a snowman. Weave was a 6-foot-10-inch dead preppie. Pete (a.k.a. Mark, a.a.k.a. George Clooney's cousin) was the Phantom of the Gymwear. And there were about 40 other people there, too.
I took a zillion pictures, but then I made the mistake of taking one of Sully (even though I should have known better) and he confiscated the camera, saying he'd develop them and give it back when he had edited them for content (ass-bastard better not take out any others besides the one of him). Herein lies the aforementioned trauma, because Sully does not forgive easily. I dislike alienating friends; more on that topic later.
More highlights and lowlights: Dancing with MacDuff was definitely a highlight; he's yet another "brother" of Dan's who kept dipping me almost to the floor, and then catching me - very dizzying, but fun. At first I thought he was Hercules, because of his suede vest and curly hair, but I suppose the kilt and face paint should have been a tip-off. I was a wee bit tipsy.
I was pretty pissed off at Dan because he kept trying to pimp me out to several of his friends, and giving me insanely mixed signals (some examples: "I want to sleep with you"/"I don't want to sleep with you"; "I love you"/"You don't know anything about me"; "You're my friend and I care about you"/"I don't want to hang out with you", etc.). So when C. started hitting on me, and my buddy Claire vouched for his not being a psycho killer, I played along because I was amused, and tired of being insulted by D.
C. is a businessman, apparently, who's planning on retiring in a few years, and is very attractive (so people tell me; he had an awful lot of grease paint on at the time), and is incredibly persistent, which was flattering. He kept trying to tell me what to do ("You're going to come upstairs with me right now." (!) "We're going to go out to dinner soon; you'll have fun.") I kind of liked the fact that he was being such a blatant asshole, but also piqued because he clearly did not know much about me; I don't respond well to orders. But after we had talked for awhile and he'd gotten me to go for a walk with him (what? I needed some air!) I agreed to go out to eat with him (just where we were going to find food at 3 in the morning is beyond me, but tipsiness and analytical thought are not generally synonymous).
To Be Continued...See Below: |
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