Well...funk...brief spurt of giddiness...then worse funk.
I blame my own stupidity, and an overabundance of hormones raging through my body. Let me tell you, ladies & jellybeans, the generic version of my old birth control pill makes me SO goddam fun to be around /sarcasm. My hormones and emotions were constantly on a roller coaster ride from hell. That, coupled with my own stupidity, made for a few lovely months of crying non-stop as I clutched Aslan to bosom, & prepared myself for life as a chain-smoking, whiskey drenched, crazy, cat lady.
Now I'm off the pill...which isn't a problem because I'm not currently having sex with anything that isn't battery operated.
I'm also over my stupidity...for the most part.
So, in an effort to regain my fabulousness, I agreed to attend a party with a friend.
Let me set the stage.
This was not my usual kind of party.
Picture me, if you will, flaming red hair, visible tattoo, nose pierced, Monroe piercing, in a faux leather dress that completely displays my DD's.
Now, picture me in the middle of a large group of ultra-conservative, wealthy couples and their offspring.
I know what you're asking yourself, "How the hell did you end up there???"
I can't say no to my friends.
I have a friend who is successful, gorgeous, kind, a perfect gentleman, and gay. The party was at his parents' home, and he has not come out to them. I can understand his trepidation, having met them back during one of my brief blonde periods. It makes me sad, and extremely angry that they have an AMAZING son, and he feels like he can't be honest with them because they are so full of judgement, condemnation, & hate.
Which is the precise reason why I agreed to come with him.
He wanted a beard for the evening. One he knew his mother would loathe. Mission 100% accomplished. I think if his mother could ban me from ever stepping foot in Mountain Brook again, she would. I seriously thought his dad was going to offer me money to go upstairs with him at one point.
I knew when my friend asked me to wear my 'riot dress' that the evening was not going to be a pleasant one. This dress is short, sleeveless, and shows more of my ample bosom than I'm comfortable with. Add to that the fact that it is made out of a material that makes my vagina sweat in this southern heat. Also, I feel awkward as hell in this dress because in my mind I'm still 70lbs heavier. For my friend, however, I put on a big smile and called upon years of theater training to appear alluring and mysterious.
I'm pretty sure everyone there thought I was a hooker.
A cheap one.
Whatever, I accept the fact that I look more at home with a group of bikers than I do around the more affluent members of society. I will die with metal in my face, ink in my skin, and manic panic in my hair. I don't have a problem with this, and i don't care about the opinion of those that judge me for it. A friend needed me, and I was there for him. That's all that matters to me.
I ended the night in a pool house with my friend, his partner (a longtime family friend), and several of the more easygoing partygoers...where I sang 'No Diggity' into a bottle of champagne that probably cost more than I make in a month. I got free booze, free food, chauffeured around, and I'm the best friend in the world. I win.
I'd say I'm back...if not 100%...pretty damn close.