21:28:35 | 2000-12-21


Shall we talk about the date last night?

It will forever be called the non-date. We sat in my apartment for 5 hours, drinking, smoking treats and watching TV. Okay, I don�t know about you guys, but that�s not a date in my book. That�s an off-night. I wanted to GO out.

The entire thing was a shitshow. He talked about other girls he dated and a woman he met while on vacation � whom he still sees. That�s right. And his job. I sat there and mentally ran through my Christmas list and mused excuses I could make to leave my own apartment.

So, over the 5 hour period I had 5 beers. I don�t know about the rest of you and your drinking habits, but 1 beer an hour is nursing it for me. I had to physically remind myself to take small sips. But HE only had like 2 beers. And at one point when I asked him if he wanted another, he asked if he �should run out and get you more beer�or a keg.�

It was all oddly reminescent of that recovering heroin addict I used to hang out with, but at least he was game for some bar action. Which, looking back, probably wasn�t a good idea for him.

Umm, eeeewwwwwwwwww. Horrified, would pretty much sum it up.

I can�t believe I wasted an outfit on THAT.

*~*

I am so fucking exhausted at this point, I can barely point my pink-haired self into the direction of the parties that I have to go to. The Shirley Manson Red hair has evolved into a Vitamin C orangey-pink. I am unclear as to how I feel about this. But I can assure you that drastic measures will be taken, and I will be Run, Lola, Run again in no time.

*~*

More Christmas tales.

When I was in 7th grade, I finally won the part of the Virgin Mary in the Church pageant. I was soooooo excited. A week or so before the production, we were at Church on Sunday and my Dad was joking around with our favorite Dioceasian priests. He was one of those young priests, who are so cool and good-looking that you sit around talking to your girlfriends and trying to figure out what�s wrong with him that he didn�t get married and instead, became a priest. My Dad said to him, with a smirk, �did you hear that Partygirl is playing the Virgin Mary?� The priest throws back, eyebrows raised, �Guess they don�t believe in type-casting, eh?�

Nice.

*~*

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of Santa Claus. Actually, I was terrified of men with beards. And men with booming voices. They were so loud and scary. Egggaaaddddss! I remember going to that �Breakfast with Santa� every year at our church.

It was such a big deal. My Mom and Dad would tell me that I had to go and sit on Santa�s lap and tell HIM what I wanted in order for the deal to be done. I remember being very excited and nervous as my Mom dressed me in my little velvet dress but I was patient through the whole application of white tights and my shiny new Mary Janes.

I loved wearing those velvet dresses. I would twirl around and around in them. Do you know why? Because underneath those dresses, I wore holiday underwear - special panties with RUFFLES across my behind and in the front!

I used to like to pull my dress up and show everyone my ruffled underpants (which I wore over the tights), but I got in trouble for that, so I settled for twirling around and around in my Christmas dress and hoping that the world would notice my underpants.

Funny how people change?

*Giggle*

I would shift around restlessly as my mother painstakingly used a curling iron to make perfect Farrah Fawcett wings on my baby fine hair, careful not to move lest she burn me.

I would squint my eyes *realtight* and suck in my breath when she brandished the aerosol hairspray and went to town on my hair.

When we got arrived at the breakfast and my parents sat me with the other children to eat my pancakes, I would look to my parents with panic in my eyes. Who are these people you are leaving me with I thought?! Don�t leave me here! But they pointed out their seats a couple of tables away, and I was left to sit at the table in my beautiful party dress, silent.

I wasn�t much of a talker as I child. Not until I was school age. Before then, I was a scaredy cat. And nothing was worse than putting me around other children I didn�t know.

I take that back. One thing was worse.

Calling my name from a podium and asking me to come onstage to sit on Santa�s lap.

I knew it was coming before it happened and I tell you I was scared shitless.

Alone, at a table, non-speaking and listening to the other children (none of whom were NEARLY as well dressed as I � this I knew even at age 3) excitedly prattle on about going up on that stage to talk to Santa. I refused to show my fear, and I also refused to get the hell up on that stage and sit on that enormous-bearded man�s lap.

Meanwhile, today I would refuse to get OFF that man�s lap - funny how things change. But I digress�

My name approached on the list and my parents came over, and led me to that stage. I think I may just have squeezed their hands like I was being led to the chair�and then I heard my name��Partygirl!��and I felt my parents push me toward that enormous man who was bellowing, �Ho, Ho, HO, Partygirl!� and I wanted to scream like Janet Leigh but instead found my little tights-clad legs moving toward him.

In one fell swoop he placed me on his lap and he asked me if I had been good and I nodded my perfectly Farrah-coiffed head and the next thing I knew a flashbulb went off in my startled face and Santa pulled a wrapped gift out of his velvet sack for me and then an elf was leading me off stage and all I really wondered was:

�Did Santa see my ruffled holiday underpants?�

...and just in case, I lifted up the back of my dress and flashed him.

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