party of the year

So, holiday wrap up. Hmm...Miller's party: PARTY OF THE YEAR. For me, that is. Others may say heritage party. I stuck to my intoxication plan (the serious partiers always have a plan) so that I would not pass out early as I always do at Miller's party. I paced my drinking, remembering (unlike some I could mention) that although Apple Jack tastes like delicious candy it is really the Devil's Candy (not candy cigarettes like you would think). I took a pill and talked waaaaay to much so sorry if I cornered you with a manic look in my eye. Three embarassing things I did (I like to torture myself by thinking about them later so I might as well share them with you): trapped a med student in the line for the bathroom and told her about my breast ultrasound, told a dirty joke in front of Johnny's mom, and continued my weird habit of talking about my bowel movements when I'm fucked up by informing a very tall man at the party that the pill I had taken was making me want to take a crap. He replied "yeah, sometimes the uppers will do that" and quickly exited the room.

The djing was excellent, with Jason D. being the standout DJ of the year for me (as usual). A so-called friend of mine claimed the next day that dancehall is not good to dance to and, eyes bulging, I shouted "go to Jamaica and tell them that!! Try telling that to Elephant Man!!" Touche. This same person was heard to slander R. Kelly within the walls of my home, which is grounds for immediate eviction. Sadly, due to the non-attendance by a certain Mr. D.L., there was no sportin' it (I think, unless I missed it). There didn't even seem to be that much chanting. But, everyone danced and yakked (and in my case, babbled) into the wee hours of the morning.

I have blogged all that I can blog today (so much for my vow to quit slacking at work), so I'll continue the holiday wrap up tomorrow.