clipple on my nipple

The weekend started with my boyfriend coming over on Friday to sing karaoke. I fucking love it when my boyfriends understand my need to belt out a tune with the poise of a strangled feline. Luckily, thus far, they all have. And partake along with me.

He sang Nirvana, which was slightly amusing; I sang um, John Legend. Headed off to the Mandog with Moogs, L, C and the crew, and I wore my once-a-year tiniest, blingiest gold belt mini-skirt. It takes nerves and lots of Dutch courage to wear something that that almost shows my bottom. I was not alone, obviously, for the establishment boasts many a chick wearing similar things. 'Cept they’re 18, and have the grace of a gazelle when pulling one off. But I figure I’m not getting any younger, I should reap my twentysomething pins for as long as I can. When I’m 30, I’ll stop trying to look so young, and give up. Let gravity and such take over as the course of ageing will only allow. God that freaks me out.

Saturday was E’s birthday party, starting off as a giggle and drinks by her pool.
We did not stop giggling the entire day, C and I thought we were hilarious - we tend to think we are anyway - what with posing as FHM models on the edge of the eternity pool, we thought this was too funny, when actually we were probably just really sad.

Did you know that Jaegermeister was originally intended to help cows with colic? Which explains why everyone has the shits on Saturday morning. Urban legend? I think not. I met someone else who is also terrified of Kreepy Krauly’s/Baracuda’s/Pool Cleaning Devices!
I
Am
Not
Alone
In
My
Cocoon
Of
Terror.
We should start a support group. He also has nightmares about them, thinks they’re gonna suck up his leg and actually have teeth, and thinks it purposefully chases him around the pool.
You know it’s a good party when:

1) You wake up in your boyfriend’s bed wearing a bikini.
2) There is a hairclip attached to your right nipple.
3) You have tomato sauce all over your face.
4) Sit talking to a car guard about life then remember that you actually have to be somewhere, hence the reason for going to your car. But where?
5) You tried to watch a DVD, and due to epic double vision you sit giggling on the couch with one eye open and one closed. Because with one eye closed, Val Kilmer is one person, not two. Then give up altogether.
6) Get carried to bed and tucked in (bless)

Sunday involved getting some sun on the side of a mass of water, then dinner and a movie with him. We ate sushi, which I have grown to like immensely over the last year, ran in the rain, and watched The Devil Wears Prada. Like finally. It was my choice.
And most importantly: he let me drive his car a bit. An Audi A3 with a mofo turbo. I think I came on the seat from the speed and exhilaration of driving my favourite vehicle - breathe on the accelerator and it flies.

Sigh.

But the car experience only accounts for like one sixteenth of my happiness right now. I'm so very happy.