Two of the friends I'm staying with are turning 25 this week, and they threw a huge party last night. We all got ridiculously dolled up, got our nails and hair done, and I'm sorry, but we looked fucking great.

For my girlfriends and I, no party is just a party, especially if we have a hand in the hostessing. Parties are events at which we pretend, for a few hours, that we are classy dames and not the kind of women who fart at each other in the elevator and have comical fights about cheese dip which have been known to escalate to the point where someone is in tears, all personal issues rise to the surface, and we end up somehow proclaiming our undying loyalty to one another. (I'm not kidding. But, the fight was about sushi, not cheese dip.)

THINGS YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT:

1. I wore a red strapless dress with a pouffy skirt and a fake rose on the left breastal area. I've never worn a strapless dress, and the friend I borrowed it from has vastly larger tits than most residents of the free world, so I'm still wondering how in the hell it stayed up on me, or how in the hell she ever managed to shoe-horn her way into it.

2. Somehow, the lady who did my hair managed to make it straight. STRAIGHT! Those of you who've seen me in "real life" know what a feat this is. Gone is the wee little clown-mop! My hair is obeying the laws of physics, for the time being! There's nary a frizzy in sight.

It's a little rumpled now from sleep, but still all sleek and shiny in a way I never thought was possible for my hair. It'll never look this way again. I'd have to (a) be waaaaay more patient than I am, and (b) have a few more arms in order to reach around the back of my head while blow-drying. I don't think I'm willing to put up with that, even for the sake of vanity.

3. I went barefoot all night, and the bottoms of my feet are crunchy with nast. Blech. But I had to show off my newly pedicured toes, you know. It was my first pedicure, and shit, what a trippy fucking process.

There's, like, foot-bathing and massage chairs and salt scrubs, a bit of almost insufferable tickling, some really amazing rubbing-action going on, and pretty colors. I think I may have moaned in pleasure a few times.

Afterwards, the pedicurist wrapped my newly shined toes in platic wrap to avoid smudging. I spent most of the time staring at her, fascinated by the whole ordeal.

I bet pedicurists have seen some skanky, skanky feet and I hope they have their very own section in heaven. Bless 'em.

4. OH! I found suitable replacements for my recently busted pink sneakers. The new shoes are white and orange and all covered with, like, spidery elastic design. I'd post pictures, but I don't have a digital camera. I do fully intend to draw and scan sketches of both the perishing pink Powerpuff sneakers, and the spanky new orange ones. Because it's very, very important.

Is it strange that I'm far more concerned that you see pictures of my new shoes than of me and my friends spinning through Manhattan like assholes?

Party was fun, I got to see a ton of friends I hadn't seen in years, and I gushed effusively over each of them as they walked through the door. Effusion increased in direct proportion with inebriation, so, as you can probably guess, I was in full "I FUCKEN LOVE YOU GUYS!" mode by about 2 AM.

Luckily, I am irresistably adorable. I imagine there are worse things than being attacked by a short, decked-out, pouffy-skirted, sleek-haired smiley-face who is absolutely adamant that you know how much you have been fucken loved and fucken missed. You'd have no choice but to fucken love me back.

And then, I don't know, I seem to have a blurry recollection of some kind of blablabla drama, and there was an incident with a broken vodka bottle, after which ... I fell asleep? Conk.

I don't remember falling asleep, and I don't think I realized it happened until I woke up, but my lame-o switch was suddenly flicked, and down I went. Maybe it was a defense mechanism to ward off becoming ensared in the mess of ex-boyfriend nonsense and glass shards.

I vaguely remember putting on my pajamas and lying down, with every intention of rejoining the party after a little shut-eye, but Morpheus had other plans for me. I think he slipped me a roofie.

How do you spell "roofie?"

That Morpheus. What a fucking cad.

I think I've mentioned this before, but goddamn I love parties. As socially retarded as I can be at booty-shakin' pump-pump bars or clubs, where I tend to hole up and implode, I can be Queen Mingler at house parties. Throw one and invite me. I'll do my best to make it.

You know, wearing a hat purloined from the US Navy does wonders for relieving post-party nausea. Who knew?

Be having fun. OK? Whee.

Reginans, please don't think that my visit to your fair city pales in any way in comparison to my New York jaunts. Seriously. I had a blast at every moment that weekend, and honestly, too much of this Manhattan shit might kill me.

I LOVE TRIPS AND VISITS!

My credit card does not, nor does my liver. They are both shaking their tiny fists at me and cursing my name.

I need to find a job that allows me to travel where I want, when I want, and pays me to play with my friends.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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