three out of four

I managed to squeeze in three parties this weekend. Three out of four isn’t bad going, now.
I think it’s safe to say that my alcohol ban has been rapidly quashed.
The third party is worth a mention.
This is why.

After a birthday do on Saturday, Smoking Legs had to show face at another party while I attended a house party in Dunkeld. Ramone was relegated the task of being my chaperone for the evening. His task was to look after me and make sure I was protected by the forces of testosterone that would bequeath me at such an event.
Considering I came home with a moustache drawn onto my soft, feminine skin, he did a great job. No really. At first I thought he’d be fired, but actually he’s not bad. Ramone is available on 555-5555.
By all accounts, he was allowed to ‘come right with C, but not with me.’

Well as it happens, we all got a bit blotto. Which is so 2006, sure. Danced around with C and Little C extracting such moves like the One Armed Push Up and the Washing Machine (Please. Don’t ask.) Drinking vodka and kola tonic (we bring the classy stuff), then having some oke write on my arm “I Am Hot” in permanent marker when I distinctly, if I remember correctly, asked for Chunder and Thunder on my guns.
Ramone was doing a fabulous job of chaperone, you know disappearing for hours and hiding mine and C’s vodka in the bushes. At one stage I was sashaying around with a Styrofoam hat on my koppel that said “I Am Jake the Snake,” which C kept on flicking, then flicked my eyeball by accident. But back to the tangent. All was fairly sub-standard practice, until… I had a moustache drawn onto my face.

Oh my fuck.

I couldn’t hold back the horny okes much longer, what with a blue handle-bar guy on my lip. I was so priddy, Ramone didn’t need to be around as my protector.

Until someone drew two penises on his face, that is. A moustache and two wieners down the side of his face. Which he didn’t know about until, oh an hour later – executing raver moves on the makeshift dancefloor and spading chicks left right and centre – until he was asked why he had two beautiful circumcised willys on his cheeks.
We looked and felt like rock stars.
Wicked evening really.

Just have a slight watermark above my top lip this Monday morning, which my co-workers and boss make no meat about staring at. Let it be known that for over the last two days, I have burst into tears quite involuntarily over nothing at all. Tranvestites, think hard - do you really want to to be a woman?

Welcome back to boozeville, Peas. The hangover wasn’t all that and a bag of chips.