so... the warhol spike-a-delic was, well, the warhol spike-a-delic. my "job" was to run around all night in fishnets, stilettos and a garter belt, do splits on a pedestal, get propositioned by gross drunk old rich men, deflect advances from a girl of questionable sexuality [no REAL lesbians hang out at sanctuary, do they?!] and ATTEMPT to dance to the dj stylings of the misshapes. gah. poor glenn got so drunk, i was convinced we were going to die in a car accident on the way home and he was violently ill the entire next day. the high point of the night [i was supposed to be performing the whole time.] was sitting down with glenn right next to some stuffy looking rich people and making out like whoa. for all my troubles, there's a picture of me on the cover of the seen section of the post gazette - a blurry me standing behind a gorgeous posing john allen [ex-boyfriend extraordinaire, who i like 100 times more now that we're not dating].
ps. my boyfriend is so awesome, he's doing my taxes for me!
ps. my boyfriend is so awesome, he's doing my taxes for me!
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severus:
i dont know how the us tax system works but i guess it's as boring to do your taxes there as anywhere else... so, nice of your mr to help out. puss
severus:
tack honey! i've had a good day. and i'm exited about getting to see bruce live, finally.
