Live Blogging from a Pimp and Ho party August 27, 2006

Okay, so it isn’t really a pimp and ho party.  It was supposed to be a combo pimp and ho party.  A bachelor/bachelorette party (maybe I spelled bachelorette wrong, don’t care).  A combo party, where we were all supposed to dress up like either a pimp or a ho, but a bunch of spoil sports wouldn’t jump on the bandwagon, so now we’re all dressed up like regular people, and we’re all drunk.

Surprise, surprise, right?  You people know me, I know you do.

Where I’m at is a party at which we are supposedly celebrating the impending marriage of a couple of people my husband went to high school with.  This is an impossible thing, really, because my husband and I are a marriage of two people from two opposing high schools.  Maybe that doesn’t seem like a big fucking deal to you, but if I stood up on my stool, Ketel One and tonic in hand, and announced “I am a graduate of Hinsdale Central, and I am proud of it,” I would probably be taken out back and a bunch of drunken idiots would try to kick my ass.

However, they would be unable to do so.  Why?  you ask?  Why would you ask?  Don’t you know me?  Because I am FROM Hinsdale Central and they are not.  They are from the other side of 294.  The only thing, I mean the ONLY thing we, in high school, would cross over the highway for was the Highland Queen.  We’d sneak out of the parking lot and promise the security guard an order of fries if he would let us out, and we’d either go to the Hinsdale McDonald’s, or we’d take a VERY DEEP BREATH and we’d head east on 55th and we’d go to the Queen.

The Queen is still there.  Occasionally, my  husband will have the guts to ask me to go up to the Queen and get him a Double Brute with cheese.  And fries.  And maybe a chocolate shake.

I’ve forgotten what I started out to say.  One of the things I started out to say is that Phil, who is throwing this party (and who is having a fantastic conversation with my husband’s best friend’s girlfriend right now), has a completely wired house.  I WANT A COMPLETELY WIRED HOUSE.  I know it sounds weird.  Sure, I can go anywhere in my house and connect to the internet.  I can sit on the toilet tomorrow morning with diarreah (I know I spelled that wrong, don’t care) with my laptop on my lap and connect to the internet.  I want the little room off Phil’s kitchen that has 3 computer screens. 

Phil is my idol and I adore him.  Really. 

And Holly told me to stop what I’m doing and join the party.  Here’s the deal.  This was supposed to be a party at which we were supposed to arrive dressed as either a pimp or a ho.  I had dreams, people.  I heard about this party, and I thought, GODDAMN IT!!!!  I get to dress up with my boobs hangin out and no one is supposed to be allowed to care!!!  It’s like a dream fucking come true.

Holly wants to know what I’m writing.  Someone told her, “She’s writing on her blog.”  She said, “You have a  blog?”  I didn’t answer.  No one here knows anything about me, really, which is hilarious.  Because they know more about my husband than I want to know.

Phil is getting mad and I don’t know who to stick up for here.  Poor Shannon.  She’s trying. 

Me to Shannon:  “Do you have something to say?”

Shannon to me:  “Oh, I don’t want to say what I want to say.  No comment.  It’s not worth my comment.”

Phil is not embarrassed about what he does.  Why should he be?  I’ve met him maybe three times in my life, and I’ve liked him every time. 

I will be  back.  People are giving me shit for writing, which pisses me off.  What the fuck is wrong with me writing?  I’m still listening to you, you idiot.  I’m just typing every fucking word you say, that’s all.

No, I’m really not.  I can’t type that fast.  I can type REALLY FUCKING FAST, but I can’t type that fast.  Because while people are talking, I have all these thoughts, and I also have a censor that steps in.  Right now, I want to take everybody into a big, gigantic bear hug and tell them to shut the fuck up.

I am hoping, PHIL, ARE YOU LISTENING?, that Phil guides me towards a beautifully designed website.

Now, suddenly it’s gotten all QUIET.  There’s nothing worse at a party than when it gets all QUIET. 

I love you, my people.  I’m sorry I’ve been in and out for so long now.  The writing is coming back, but I’m hiding it from you.  I’m sorry about that.  I’m trying to come back.  I haven’t abandoned this altogether, and I don’t think I ever will. 

Bye bye for now.