A little background for the new readers. Mom is a packrat of the most fanatical kind. Dad fought for a neat home for many years, but the passion for the good fight has left him, and he is resigned to his clutter-filled demise. This has not, however, diminished his sense of humor about it.
We three were in the middle of Chik-fil-a, lunching and loudly discussing the rattiest pair of slippers that needed to be retired.
Now, in trying to explain the difference between sane keeping of stuff and the obsessive need to accumulate, I used what I believed to be a facetious example…. ‘that would be like if grandma died, and someone kept her body in the spare bedroom because they miss her."
To this, my mother began to sputter, to clutch her hands to her face, and make unidentifiable noises… at first I believed it to be laughter, but tears at her eyes had me worried. Her mother passed away some 6 years ago, and it can sometimes be a soft spot.
ME: (to Dad) is she crying?
DAD: I don’t know
MOM: (napkin to her eyes, shaking head no, mumbles thru hysteria) murffle, mrgh… flr ooom.
ME: uh…. Um…. One more time mom.
MOM: (now clearly laughing) My mother’s ashes are in the spare room. (more laughter)
DAD: Ahhh, see…. Your Grandmother has gone from collecting clutter, to becoming clutter.
Yeah…. In ANYONE ELSE’s family… it would have been a facetious example.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Pandora's Closet Storage Area
She spoke of going thru her journals from a decade ago, and enjoyed the stroll down memory lane.
I, on the other hand, lock my old journals away in boxes. Unmarked, and sealed with enough duct tape to hold a bumper on a CRX. I know where in the house they are. They are never very far from me, because i would never want them to fall into the wrong hands.
When I began journalling, as a teen, I thought about my "glamourous life", and how I would capture it all on paper. I imagined the publishing of my memoirs after my too young death, and the scandal they would cause.
I pictured people salivating over well-described steamy scenes of passion. I envisioned lovers weeping as they discovered the un-revealed depths of my feelings. I hoped for fury from those I "double crossed", knowing I'd had the last laugh from beyond the grave.
Instead, what I have amassed is boxes of smarm and unexpressed rage. Hopes for loves that never should have gotten my time. Fully described moments of bold stupidity, fueled by desparation and the desire to be 'enough'. Later, when I thought I had grown to an age that I swore I didn't need approval anymore, I find thru reading that I in fact just transferred that need onto whatever abusive emotionally-distant jackass I chose to fill my life with at that time.
I used to read my journals more often. As if by seeing where I had been, I would know better to not go down that road again. But it became more and more painful....
I don't begrudge that girl her elaborately planned suicide attempts, or her bone-achingly deep desire to be loved. She and all her misadventures have made me what I am today.
However, much as I do when I'm entranced in a tv show (I yell at the screen helpful tips, and get frustrated when they can't hear me), I find myself crying out from my soul, "NO... Don't... Please please stop." And yet she barrels away blindly, smacking face first into the pain.
And the reading... it seems to give life again to those feelings. As if by speaking aloud the words I wrote in blood all those years ago, I cast a spell that calls them into being today. I resurrect them from their forgotten hell and set them free, to wreak havoc upon the world, and upon my soul.
When I was a child, I read the myth of Pandora and her box of horrors. Something about the description made me picture those terrors as tiny headless bats, slightly bigger than a 50cent piece, dripping blood, smelling of death, and screeching unholy fury.
That same image asails me when I think of opening that box of journals. This Pandora has fought many demons, and I daresay will fight more. But I will not give life to past terrors, and let the old ghosts come out.
In this way, Duct Tape will save the world.
I, on the other hand, lock my old journals away in boxes. Unmarked, and sealed with enough duct tape to hold a bumper on a CRX. I know where in the house they are. They are never very far from me, because i would never want them to fall into the wrong hands.
When I began journalling, as a teen, I thought about my "glamourous life", and how I would capture it all on paper. I imagined the publishing of my memoirs after my too young death, and the scandal they would cause.
I pictured people salivating over well-described steamy scenes of passion. I envisioned lovers weeping as they discovered the un-revealed depths of my feelings. I hoped for fury from those I "double crossed", knowing I'd had the last laugh from beyond the grave.
Instead, what I have amassed is boxes of smarm and unexpressed rage. Hopes for loves that never should have gotten my time. Fully described moments of bold stupidity, fueled by desparation and the desire to be 'enough'. Later, when I thought I had grown to an age that I swore I didn't need approval anymore, I find thru reading that I in fact just transferred that need onto whatever abusive emotionally-distant jackass I chose to fill my life with at that time.
I used to read my journals more often. As if by seeing where I had been, I would know better to not go down that road again. But it became more and more painful....
I don't begrudge that girl her elaborately planned suicide attempts, or her bone-achingly deep desire to be loved. She and all her misadventures have made me what I am today.
However, much as I do when I'm entranced in a tv show (I yell at the screen helpful tips, and get frustrated when they can't hear me), I find myself crying out from my soul, "NO... Don't... Please please stop." And yet she barrels away blindly, smacking face first into the pain.
And the reading... it seems to give life again to those feelings. As if by speaking aloud the words I wrote in blood all those years ago, I cast a spell that calls them into being today. I resurrect them from their forgotten hell and set them free, to wreak havoc upon the world, and upon my soul.
When I was a child, I read the myth of Pandora and her box of horrors. Something about the description made me picture those terrors as tiny headless bats, slightly bigger than a 50cent piece, dripping blood, smelling of death, and screeching unholy fury.
That same image asails me when I think of opening that box of journals. This Pandora has fought many demons, and I daresay will fight more. But I will not give life to past terrors, and let the old ghosts come out.
In this way, Duct Tape will save the world.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
New Version of the Old Scene
For years, I have been one to follow the time-honored tradition of the road game known as “Slug Bug”. A wide range of ‘slugging’ has occurred in my world, from a college relationship where we released unspoken aggressions in forearm bruising assaults, to friends and associates who have played in spoken exchanges only.
He: (pointing) Slugbug
She: Bastard!
However, the Pup and I (in what would seem a “stoner’s burst of logic” only we were completely sober at the time) have moved the game into a new, and I must say exciting, realm.
We’re playing “Cop-a-feel Bug”. And yes, it’s absolutely what it sounds like. Oh… it starts off with a twitch or tickle here, but after several hours on the road (we went exploring on our mutual day off) the game takes on a new dimension. We’ve become FAR more competitive about this than we ever were before.
When we passed a series of car dealerships, he told me “If you get near a VW lot, you better just pull the car over before we kill ourselves.” And pull over we nearly did on one small back road that was overpopulated with German engineering. A road we later found to be accurately named “Johnson Road”. LMAO.
Now, I will admit…. There is a ‘law of diminishing returns’ about this game. The more VWs your partner finds, the less you care about looking around. But really… I didn’t mind.
Trust me when I suggest it, folks. Play this one TO LOSE. *grin*
He: (pointing) Slugbug
She: Bastard!
However, the Pup and I (in what would seem a “stoner’s burst of logic” only we were completely sober at the time) have moved the game into a new, and I must say exciting, realm.
We’re playing “Cop-a-feel Bug”. And yes, it’s absolutely what it sounds like. Oh… it starts off with a twitch or tickle here, but after several hours on the road (we went exploring on our mutual day off) the game takes on a new dimension. We’ve become FAR more competitive about this than we ever were before.
When we passed a series of car dealerships, he told me “If you get near a VW lot, you better just pull the car over before we kill ourselves.” And pull over we nearly did on one small back road that was overpopulated with German engineering. A road we later found to be accurately named “Johnson Road”. LMAO.
Now, I will admit…. There is a ‘law of diminishing returns’ about this game. The more VWs your partner finds, the less you care about looking around. But really… I didn’t mind.
Trust me when I suggest it, folks. Play this one TO LOSE. *grin*
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
30 Days
Amazing isn't it, how the year speeds by?
As a Pagan, this is the beginning of a new year. Another moment of adventure spreads out before us, and we can jump on the bike and ride, or simply watch it go by.
At my desk, the giant windows fill with panoramas of construction against a hazy backdrop of the Angeles Crest Forest. With such busy eye candy, it is easy to choose to watch.
But watching leaves one life in a general rut, does it not? And ruts, however safe, are not my style of choice.
And so, in a declaration before the Universe, in a ritual to wash away the old year and make room for the new, i gave 30 days to the voices.
30 days that when I want to hit the snooze again, and the little voice says "get up so you can get something done"..... I do.
30 days when the little voice says "Please don't do drive thru again. You have soup at home" and thus i pass the BK and head home to heat up chicken noodle.
30 days when they say "Jump" and with faith in my heart, I do.
It is my intention, that in 30 days, this life will be unrecognizable, dynamic, alive, and I will be at the source of all that is around me.
30 days.
Sprout wings and fly.
As a Pagan, this is the beginning of a new year. Another moment of adventure spreads out before us, and we can jump on the bike and ride, or simply watch it go by.
At my desk, the giant windows fill with panoramas of construction against a hazy backdrop of the Angeles Crest Forest. With such busy eye candy, it is easy to choose to watch.
But watching leaves one life in a general rut, does it not? And ruts, however safe, are not my style of choice.
And so, in a declaration before the Universe, in a ritual to wash away the old year and make room for the new, i gave 30 days to the voices.
30 days that when I want to hit the snooze again, and the little voice says "get up so you can get something done"..... I do.
30 days when the little voice says "Please don't do drive thru again. You have soup at home" and thus i pass the BK and head home to heat up chicken noodle.
30 days when they say "Jump" and with faith in my heart, I do.
It is my intention, that in 30 days, this life will be unrecognizable, dynamic, alive, and I will be at the source of all that is around me.
30 days.
Sprout wings and fly.
Finding the spirit of adventure in unknown realms, she blurs the line between dreams and waking. As children do, she follows her bliss and leaves behind the “shoulds” and “have tos” of the everyday to climb into the world of belief in magic. -Thanks to AndreaPalframan for her BEAUTIFUL image!!
"Dream" is only one of several stunning pieces of art that make up her moon cycle deck: "Attunded"
Friday, October 28, 2005
Tis My Season
Today, I got to work a bit early, to spend the first hour of the day decking out my cube for the Halloween decoration contest.
In 15 min, I will walk across the street to pick up lunch for my team, while wearing my middle eastern dance outfit.
See the sparkling energy in the air.
Hear the children laugh and scream.
The season is upon us. The weekend should be good. There's a party tonight and ritual on Sunday.
and soooooooon, the wheel will turn, and begin again.
Brighest Blessings and Safest Celebrations to you and yours.
In 15 min, I will walk across the street to pick up lunch for my team, while wearing my middle eastern dance outfit.
See the sparkling energy in the air.
Hear the children laugh and scream.
The season is upon us. The weekend should be good. There's a party tonight and ritual on Sunday.
and soooooooon, the wheel will turn, and begin again.
Brighest Blessings and Safest Celebrations to you and yours.
A Halloween Memory
I was young....maaaaaaybe... 8 or 9 yrs old
and i had this great pair of spandex pants with built in Platform high-heels. I wore those, and took a piece of red spandex materiel (just a piece of material) and with pins and knots, fashioned it into a backless red-halter top.
then i got little devil horns and a pitchfork.
a neighbor asked "Oh... are you a little devil??"
to which I said "NO... i'm Temptation"
Yeppers, i started this sassy shit EARLY. *wink*
and i had this great pair of spandex pants with built in Platform high-heels. I wore those, and took a piece of red spandex materiel (just a piece of material) and with pins and knots, fashioned it into a backless red-halter top.
then i got little devil horns and a pitchfork.
a neighbor asked "Oh... are you a little devil??"
to which I said "NO... i'm Temptation"
Yeppers, i started this sassy shit EARLY. *wink*
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Because I need to remember
No one can die. None can be degraded forever. Life is but a playground, however gross the play may be. However we may receive blows and however knocked about we may be, the Soul is there and is never injured. We are that Infinite.
-Vivekananda
From "Teachings of the Hindu Mystics," © 2001 by Andrew Harvey.
Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston, www.shambhala.com.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The Search for Salavation
IN discussing Paganism vs. Christianity, and the short-sited views of some, she said...
Most bible thumpers think all of our lives would be better if we would only find Jesus. Personally, i think he's behind the sofa.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Lemme hear ya Witness!
My downstairs neighbor is apparently a very religious man, who likes to start the morning uplifted in ecstatic prayer.
At least, that's what I'm guessing..... from the number of times he called out his savior's name at 6am this morning.
"Oh god.. oh god... oh my god... jesus... oh... oh god... oh god..OMyGod.. oh god JEEZUS CHRIST... oh ... oh GOD O. MY. GOD"
Amen, Brother.
At least, that's what I'm guessing..... from the number of times he called out his savior's name at 6am this morning.
"Oh god.. oh god... oh my god... jesus... oh... oh god... oh god..OMyGod.. oh god JEEZUS CHRIST... oh ... oh GOD O. MY. GOD"
Amen, Brother.
Monday, October 24, 2005
She Said...
"The difference between you and a crazy homeless person is that You have friends."
ummm... and I'd like to point out, I don't smell like pee either.
Just Sayin'.
ummm... and I'd like to point out, I don't smell like pee either.
Just Sayin'.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
The Reign of Guilt is OVER!
This morning, at what should be considered an ABSURD hour for someone to be awake on a Sunday, my downstairs neighbor had sex, loudly!
HA!
I shall no longer feel bad for my nocturnal activities.
HA!
I shall no longer feel bad for my nocturnal activities.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Hell's Bells
There should be no button on the top surface of an alarm clock, other than the Snooze.
No Alarm Reset
No Radio adjustment
No button that changes AM to PM
No decrease of the volume
Therefore when, in a sleep-induced haze, one begins to slap blindly and randomly at the top of the wicked noise maker, one can then fall back asleep with the assurance that in 7 -9 minutes, the angry clanging will begin again.
I mean, THAT’S ITS JOB! To wake me, no matter what!
It should NOT give one or two half-hearted attempts and then develop some defeatist attitude.
grrrrr
No Alarm Reset
No Radio adjustment
No button that changes AM to PM
No decrease of the volume
Therefore when, in a sleep-induced haze, one begins to slap blindly and randomly at the top of the wicked noise maker, one can then fall back asleep with the assurance that in 7 -9 minutes, the angry clanging will begin again.
I mean, THAT’S ITS JOB! To wake me, no matter what!
It should NOT give one or two half-hearted attempts and then develop some defeatist attitude.
grrrrr
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Random Strangers in the Elevator...
...can change the tone of the day.
General crankiness continues. I'm walking (in that huffy "i've got somewhere to be" way) back thru the parking garage, into the building and up to my desk, post lunch. Handfull of Taco Bell bag. (horrible i know, but i was totally craving!)
All the while, someone walking behind me. I hold the door open, but make no eye contact... sites set on returning to desk and avoiding humanity. Awkward silence for a moment as I stare forward at the blinking numbers. Then I hear...
HIM: "You have the coolest hair colors. Seriously, you have 7 colors going on there. It's great"
ME: "uh.. wha....oh *blush* thank you."
HIM: "You're new. You're on the 4th floor, right. I'm M***. Nice to meet you."
no, M***... Nice to be noticed.
Thanks
General crankiness continues. I'm walking (in that huffy "i've got somewhere to be" way) back thru the parking garage, into the building and up to my desk, post lunch. Handfull of Taco Bell bag. (horrible i know, but i was totally craving!)
All the while, someone walking behind me. I hold the door open, but make no eye contact... sites set on returning to desk and avoiding humanity. Awkward silence for a moment as I stare forward at the blinking numbers. Then I hear...
HIM: "You have the coolest hair colors. Seriously, you have 7 colors going on there. It's great"
ME: "uh.. wha....oh *blush* thank you."
HIM: "You're new. You're on the 4th floor, right. I'm M***. Nice to meet you."
no, M***... Nice to be noticed.
Thanks
Saved from the Brink
Sometimes I find LA to be a soul-less city. However, I cannot deny the good people that i have found here.
- Real friends take you to your favorite local restaurant and soothe your craptastic week with fun stories, smiles and mojitos.
- Real friends squee in their girly moments, and trust you enough to listen.
- Real friends call because something they read in your blog made them worry.
- Real friends do 'lifechecks' on you when the times are tough.
- Real friends open their hearts and their homes on the holidays.
- Real friends understand and share in your disappointments.
- Real friends will let you embrace your "not-so-highest-self" re: your craptastic week.
To quote the Beatles,
"I get by with a little help from my friends."
Monday, October 17, 2005
And the sky wept to see such beauty
Thank you Los Angeles, for having such a lovely thunderstorm unseasonably early.
The bolts of lightening danced so prettily and the booming rumble of the thunder was like a drum solo of the gods.
I'm sorry I slept thru it.
Damn the Benedryl.
The bolts of lightening danced so prettily and the booming rumble of the thunder was like a drum solo of the gods.
I'm sorry I slept thru it.
Damn the Benedryl.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Build Wings on the Way Down
"If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair, we'd never have a friendship, we'd never go into business, because we'd be cynical. Well that's just nonsense! You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build wings on the way down." ~Ray Bradbury
Found this quote on a friend’s LJ and was really amused and moved at the same time.
The sentiment is similar the one I usually express in my pool analogy. Which is to say, some people ease into a cold pool slowly, bit by bit, stair by stair. But I think this takes much longer, and doesn’t really aid the ‘temperature accommodation’ process well.
I am the type that jumps into the deep end for one quick blood-jolting shock, and then treads the water to warm up. Now, take that theory and apply it life, not just swimming.
So many places in my life, I cannonball into the deep end. Some call this courage, some call it stupidity, and I guess it has been both at different times in my life.
There have been times where I’ve jumped in, only to find I’m not dressed for swimming, or that I’ve forgotten how to swim.
There are times I’ve plunged straight to the bottom, and when my head finally breaks the surface, the first thought I find there is “OH shit, I forgot how much I hate water.”
But ultimately, I rejoice in the time I’ve spent in the pool. I mean, as much as I like a good tan, life is not about laying on a lounge chair on the dry and safe patio.
Funny isn’t it? I only vaguely remember taping that there last week, and yet, here I am blogging, and suddenly I SEE it and I READ it, and I get that in the scheme of the Universe, this arrived in my life last week, so that it could support the feeling I’m having right now.
It might as well have said “Get back in the Goddam Pool, Girl!” or “Leap, and the Wings will appear.”
These ideas were also present in the books I read this weekend (home with a migraine, in bed from Saturday morning, until this morning). They were fun filled tales of facing the dark and challenging your fear and allowing yourself to experience all that life offers.
In short, the Universe seems to be working on sending me the same message in as many different ways as she can manage.
Got it, Mom! Time to Jump again.
Found this quote on a friend’s LJ and was really amused and moved at the same time.
The sentiment is similar the one I usually express in my pool analogy. Which is to say, some people ease into a cold pool slowly, bit by bit, stair by stair. But I think this takes much longer, and doesn’t really aid the ‘temperature accommodation’ process well.
I am the type that jumps into the deep end for one quick blood-jolting shock, and then treads the water to warm up. Now, take that theory and apply it life, not just swimming.
So many places in my life, I cannonball into the deep end. Some call this courage, some call it stupidity, and I guess it has been both at different times in my life.
There have been times where I’ve jumped in, only to find I’m not dressed for swimming, or that I’ve forgotten how to swim.
There are times I’ve plunged straight to the bottom, and when my head finally breaks the surface, the first thought I find there is “OH shit, I forgot how much I hate water.”
But ultimately, I rejoice in the time I’ve spent in the pool. I mean, as much as I like a good tan, life is not about laying on a lounge chair on the dry and safe patio.
Taped to my computer monitor is the fortune from a cookie I had last week …
“Approach all areas of life with a bold enthusiasm”
Funny isn’t it? I only vaguely remember taping that there last week, and yet, here I am blogging, and suddenly I SEE it and I READ it, and I get that in the scheme of the Universe, this arrived in my life last week, so that it could support the feeling I’m having right now.
It might as well have said “Get back in the Goddam Pool, Girl!” or “Leap, and the Wings will appear.”
These ideas were also present in the books I read this weekend (home with a migraine, in bed from Saturday morning, until this morning). They were fun filled tales of facing the dark and challenging your fear and allowing yourself to experience all that life offers.
In short, the Universe seems to be working on sending me the same message in as many different ways as she can manage.
Got it, Mom! Time to Jump again.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Once upon a DreamSchool...
International Pop Overthrow, at The Joint
Then again, at TAIX (where we are regulars)
I think I may possibly have the coolest best friend EVER.
Hottie Update
I spent some time with the Hollywood Hottie last night. With our crazed schedules, finding a quiet moment is like snatching a leaf out of a passing Autumn breeze. It had been over a month since last we hung out.
In case you were wondering....Yep... he's still beautiful.
I'd like to say the evening was a long thought provoking conversation that lasted until dawn, because we are well overdue for that sort of thing. However, he was running around like a chicken with his head cut off (his words actually), preparing for a trip. His exotic entertainment life is swooping him off to somewhere succulent once again.
Still, we found time to go thru items in his closet, judging what worked with his look and what didn't. I followed him from room to room while he packed and prepped, conversing about what had been occuring in life since last we met.
He asked about my once-again temping status. Silly... but i always wish i had a better answer for him. He asked when I would start my own business. A business in WHAT I couldn't help but think (and ask)...because the truth is, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I know what makes me happy, but i haven't figured out how to parlay that into paying the bills. And he looks at the situation and always has some bold suggestion of what makes sense to him.
I wish I had the ability to see the world the way he does.
I wish I had even an ounce of the suave confidence he exudes.
I wish...
I wish I had a bottle of oil to rub all over that incredible body. So Hot!
We thank you for your presence here at this blog, and now return you to your regularly scheduled life. Go on... nothing to see here. Move along.
In case you were wondering....Yep... he's still beautiful.
I'd like to say the evening was a long thought provoking conversation that lasted until dawn, because we are well overdue for that sort of thing. However, he was running around like a chicken with his head cut off (his words actually), preparing for a trip. His exotic entertainment life is swooping him off to somewhere succulent once again.
Still, we found time to go thru items in his closet, judging what worked with his look and what didn't. I followed him from room to room while he packed and prepped, conversing about what had been occuring in life since last we met.
He asked about my once-again temping status. Silly... but i always wish i had a better answer for him. He asked when I would start my own business. A business in WHAT I couldn't help but think (and ask)...because the truth is, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I know what makes me happy, but i haven't figured out how to parlay that into paying the bills. And he looks at the situation and always has some bold suggestion of what makes sense to him.
I wish I had the ability to see the world the way he does.
I wish I had even an ounce of the suave confidence he exudes.
I wish...
I wish I had a bottle of oil to rub all over that incredible body. So Hot!
We thank you for your presence here at this blog, and now return you to your regularly scheduled life. Go on... nothing to see here. Move along.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Bootie Beyond Belief
Of our last visit, Amandarin said I left my bootie in Echo Park . And to tell true that was a night of fantastic fun and grooveylishious tunes.
But if last time was foreplay, this time was THE SEXX.
O.
My.
GOD!
Way too much fun.
Perpetrators included: Amandarin, Adrii, RocketRN, Joshiee, Sexy Ass Man (women who have felt the glory know of what I speak- YUM), The Arizona Pup, and myself.
Our Posse met for pies at HOP. After a round of blissful nosh, the journey to the dancing began. A few wrong turns (by those that shall remain nameless) later, and we all arrived at the club, looking hot and ready to trot….
And trot we did. Right over to the bar to start the night with a round of shots. *wink* you see where this is going, right?
After inebriation commenced, the groove things needed to be shaken a tad. Keith joined our gathering, already in the process of rockin his bod. AZ Pup entertained the girls with his mad dance skillz, and Rocket got her swerve a little bit country style. And Me…well, I was sporting the new babies!! 8 inch, platform, thigh-hi black stiletto boots. In short, we were hella sexy on the dance floor and having a fucking fabulous time.
Bootie-shakin was interspersed with trips to the bomb-ass patio, for drinks, smokes and resting the tootsies. Props to Rocket who gave the Pup a lap dance that rosied his cheeks and ..um… lifted his spirits. Mandarin, Adrii and I all pitched in to be a living drum set for the Nirvana mix, and by the end of the night, our entire grouping dominated the front stage until the closing of the club.
Sadly all nights must come to a close, Cinderella, so there were smooches and groping good-bye and all the sexy bitches went in different directions to rock the house (or bed, or car, or floor) in the ways they do best.
All in all, if you didn’t attend, you MISSED OUT!
(if you’re smart, you’ll start planning right now to redeem yourself. BootieLA is back on Saturday, November 5th!)
But if last time was foreplay, this time was THE SEXX.
O.
My.
GOD!
Way too much fun.
Perpetrators included: Amandarin, Adrii, RocketRN, Joshiee, Sexy Ass Man (women who have felt the glory know of what I speak- YUM), The Arizona Pup, and myself.
Our Posse met for pies at HOP. After a round of blissful nosh, the journey to the dancing began. A few wrong turns (by those that shall remain nameless) later, and we all arrived at the club, looking hot and ready to trot….
And trot we did. Right over to the bar to start the night with a round of shots. *wink* you see where this is going, right?
After inebriation commenced, the groove things needed to be shaken a tad. Keith joined our gathering, already in the process of rockin his bod. AZ Pup entertained the girls with his mad dance skillz, and Rocket got her swerve a little bit country style. And Me…well, I was sporting the new babies!! 8 inch, platform, thigh-hi black stiletto boots. In short, we were hella sexy on the dance floor and having a fucking fabulous time.
Bootie-shakin was interspersed with trips to the bomb-ass patio, for drinks, smokes and resting the tootsies. Props to Rocket who gave the Pup a lap dance that rosied his cheeks and ..um… lifted his spirits. Mandarin, Adrii and I all pitched in to be a living drum set for the Nirvana mix, and by the end of the night, our entire grouping dominated the front stage until the closing of the club.
Sadly all nights must come to a close, Cinderella, so there were smooches and groping good-bye and all the sexy bitches went in different directions to rock the house (or bed, or car, or floor) in the ways they do best.
All in all, if you didn’t attend, you MISSED OUT!
(if you’re smart, you’ll start planning right now to redeem yourself. BootieLA is back on Saturday, November 5th!)
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