Thursday, August 11, 2005

The dungeon is located on the top floor ma'am....At least my crotch doesn't itch.

- So my lover has officially left me, for London. He's gone for a year so you know what that means...Lots of tears, grief stricken dinners alone, and anonymous handjobs in the alley behind Cobalt. The year of 8th grade style copulation has arrived.

- So at work we host "private parties". Not the "private parties" that strip clubs do, but local fetish organizations will rent the top floor and have a gay old cat o nine tail whipping time. This past week was a group called BOUND ( www.bound.org) . Now a lil backstory on BOUND. When my friend crazy Christie and I were in high school, we thought we were too cool for all the other losers who stole 3 zima's from their stepfather's fridge and called it a party. We were cosmopolitan bitches with a penchant for going to shady nightclubs in the hope that old men would buy us drinks. Methinks we watched "Jawbreaker" one too many times. Anywho, the first club that we stumbled upon after getting lost on Conn. Ave was a Asian dance club whose name escapes me. The Asians no likey me and Christie so we headed down a back stair case...into BOUND. My testes almost reascended into my lower abdomen when I saw what I hoped was a lady beating the shit out of her small leather clad friend who was chained to a cross like structure. Needless to say we called it an early night and peed on a dumpster somewhere behind an embassy. Well my boss neglected to tell me I was working with the bound party the other night. It was interesante to say the least. It was packed and the people were really friendly and nice to me except for the one lady that tried to draw my blood with her metal fingernail thing. I am always amazed at the demographics of fetish parties. most people would think that they would all be pervy old men and drugged up little girls but that is not true in the least. As a rule, the guys look like roadies from the last Whitesnake world tour and the women resemble a cross between the receptionist at your dentists office and a school bus driver. Total run of the mill folks that just so happen like to have riding crops inserted into their asses by a transsexual name Madame. To each their own, but the funny part is that a lot of the BOUND people would accidentally come in the wrong entrance of the bar and we would have to tell them where the party was located. If I had a leather dog collar for every time I had to tell some woman from Rockville that "The dungeon is located upstairs past the popcorn machine. Needless to say, I got hit on, but the man had a corset on that screamed bossy bottom so I declined.

- I am slowly starting to heal from chicken pox. I am slowly starting to rethink swallowing all those pills and taking my life. Contrary to the popular media campaign...Da Pox don't Rox. Its such a refreshing feeling to have to quarantine all of your clothes and be forced to wear one pair of shorts, boxer briefs and wifebeater everyday. These three items must be washed in hydrochloric acid detergent everynight of course, which make life oh so fun. Before I knew what I had I went to my dermatologist to see what was wrong. I think she assumed they were the herpes or the scabies because she asked me to show her my gentle berries so she could look for a rash. I think she just wanted to cop a feel. After she diagnosed me and returned my bangers and mash back to its rightful place she said with a slightly sexy voice..."Well at least its not an STD". I immediately wanted to show her the copy of Black Inches I had in my bookbag to set her straight but decided not to ruin her fantasy of getting a Cornelius pudd'n pop.

- On a totally non related note but a funny one none the less...My two best friends from high school and I are going to be running in the AIDS marathon in New Orleans on February 5th. We are team "Doody Bubble" and will have shirts with the lovely Miss Whitney on the back. I need to raise 2700 dollas to go so I will be posting info later on how you can help me reach my goal. Don't be cheap, remember all the good lays you got out of me. That means you Frankie.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home