Drunken blogging
Sunday, July 16, 2006, 6:33 PM


... or wow, these red onions are mighty tasty.

So, did I tell you that I fell on my forehead last Firday? There wassh a handicapped ramp in the bar, fuh crissakes, no railings in ssshight. And I thought I could take the ramp with one single bound, just like Schuper-Fricking-Woman.

I've been told that the crack of my forehead striking the ground was heard over the sound of music and conversation. Personally, I didn't hear anything but the voice of the drunken gnat inside of me asking, what the?

In hindsight, I wish I had thought of some other kind non-health-threatening attention grabber. Trying to sing Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Wanna Have Fun in a bar called Peanuts pales in comparison, as does the heartstopping stint when my mini skirt fell to my ankles in the dancer's cage at Ruminations. It would have been fine and dandy if I'd just gone with the flow, but no, I freaked the eff out and bent over to yank the skirt up like I was a Mormon brought abruptly out of a trance.

Because I so inconveniently hit my head (and don't you just hate it when that happens?), the blood from the konkage drained down from the goose-eggage to my eyes. This past week, I resembled an abuse case. Embarrassing to say the least, but I sucked it up again. I guess I'm pretty good at that. By the end of the week I had gotten over the worst of my embarrassment and when people asked what happened, I said that some guy had caught me making the moves on his boyfriend. The reactions to that were pretty funny, but then I had to cop to what really happened.

I'm a klutz who can't handle the booze. And I wonder how the hell Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and-and-and--oh, no, I can't remember the other girl's name--anyway, I don't know how these four girls were able to get up from the table after ordering more than two rounds of cosmo-fricking-martini-politans. Real life ain't all like a half-hour sitcom. Guess I fricken forgot that, but I'll excuse myself this time because I'm in Holly-fricking-wood. The bruising is still there, but instead of looking like a full-fledged raccoon, I look like a fledgling vampire. It's important to note, though, I still feel rare meat is barf-worthy.

Um, I'll take the box of Bounce, by the way.
3 Did the Unhingey Jiggy Engage in Unhingenosity
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .