Mr. TV Mussolini (As he called himself last night after one too many drinks) invited me to some weird party that wasn't so much a pre-launch for his show coming out on TV as a party to tell the current landlord to fuck off. It was a rather queer bash, with loads of free booze (bottles and bottles of Shiraz) and signs in the unisex toilet nowhere near the romantic appeal of the one in Ally McBeal that said “Jesus is coming, you’d better start doing something!”.
I was starting to get rather tired of parties. They are always the same, with an overload of loud music, booze and men trying to get into your panties. Quite used to it by now, knowing that most of the time I ask for it, with the way I behave after a couple of glasses and Missy Elliot rapping about her milkshake bringing down the boys in the house. But the problem struck me as a little more severe last night then it usually is.
But I’m not complaining.
I have now decided that the frozen nothern isles of the Old and beautifully Rotting world produces very pretty, very tall, and very hunky boys. I was about to dump very blonde into the list, but hair colour has never been a deciding factor for attractiveness in my books (for that reason, I have never bothered to get my hair dyed.) Truth be told, it had been a long time since I got to a party where there were just so many gorgeous men. The girl collection was utterly terrible though. They were pretty, but too many of too little were just standing around being boring.
Seriously though, I have never seen people so perfectly drunk as a collective before. I thought I was behaving like a fucktard (considering how I peered into this guy’s cubicle while he was pissing and asked if I could see his penis –I didn’t eventually, don’t know why, I can only remember I didn’t- ) but it didn’t feel as horrid as it usually would after I sobered up because everyone else was behaving just as badly. Which is very good.
I got picked up a lot and carried about last night. Like I said, the rest of the girls cared too much about what they were doing or how well they were behaved. That ended up in me getting squashed between two guys and a conversation about threesomes. Someone started telling me about the time he was stuck with another bloke and this girl they picked up at a club in a hotel. Believe me, that would be one position I am so sure I will never be in, no matter how intoxicated.
Well, the host flattered me with one of my favourite phrases of appraisal. Apparently, I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks about me.
Not entirely true; it’s just that I don’t care for the opinions of people who criticize me. But the opinions of the people that think I’m cool? Of course I give a damn.
That’s always a misconception isn’t it. People always give a damn when it comes to their being extolled after all.
Anyway, everyone there seemed to be into photography. Well, a number anyway, so it made for good networking.
There was some French boy who has his own studio somewhere, and I talked to him for quite a bit because the truth was, I was at the party for the sake of getting to know people who could help me out. He was fine at first before the police came, but after they’d left and we took our human mess down from the roof into the studio, he started behaving like a fucktard. Kept on going on and on about how he had no limitations and no constraints whatsoever, and that I was being prissy sissy for having them.
“Look dude. If nothing restricts you, take of your pants right now and I’ll take off mine to prove I’m as good.”
Sheesh.
Anyone game for a gang bang?
xoxox
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