Every weekend should be three days...

A lot of nothing happened this weekend. Fabulous.

Friday: Mexican restaurant, Belgium bars, new Irish friends (with whom I made plans to stay there with while I'll be there next spring... ask me their names now and I have not an idea...), bringing boy back to the house (while I decided to go to bed)... leaving LJ, Miller Time, JP and LaLo to take care of him... cheers (?)

Saturday: Brunch led too far too many libations throughout the day which led to the need to have an early retirement to bed. Leaving JP to go and seek Beach Chic and Crazy all on her lonesome. LaLo came and got me out of bed (threatening me... I swear!) saying that two girls in their 20s can't stay in on a Saturday night (really how much longer might I say that?!?)... thus dragging me out for more sake and beer... and then wine and beer.

Sunday: I awoke not knowing where I was, and finally came to the reality I was in LaLo's bed. I went up to mine (apparently that last floor up to my house was just too much the previous evening), where JP was at, and went to breakfast... not wanting a repeat of Saturday, we chilled, went shopping and planned a poker party at my house for that evening. (Honestly I hate poker... but thus is an excuse to have people over...).

SO as much as I recognize that I live in the plastic OC, when it surrounds one bit more than normal... it can be rather overwhelming...

At one point Sunday afternoon, shortly after JP and I returned from shopping, a couple three of LJ's friends stopped by. This is not an unusual occurrence. I may come home more often then not without LJ there, and people are hanging out. This doesn't necessarily bug me if I know the peeps... and I knew everyone but one of the girls there Sunday afternoon. OH, but was she a treat.

I realize that people can take a certain prestige in wearing "labels". Whatever. If I find a pair of pants that make you want to cum while seeing me in them, money is no object *she laughed at her own lie*. Having said that, I will not, can not, spend a frivolous amount of money on mediocre items that may or may not even be noticed.

Sunday afternoon, one such OC plastic entered my home. If labels were cocks, she would have been the whore that had fucked them all. Labels had thrown up ALL over her... and it was a mess.

She bitched to JP and me about the lack of "quality guys" she could find in OC. I'm sorry, and maybe I'm horribly wrong here (anyone please feel free to correct me) but if you look like a blow up doll and your lack of apparent ability to execute any amount of intelligence causes you to act like a blow up doll... then ladies (term used loosely) YOU ARE A BLOW UP DOLL. (So sorry) They will *uh-hem* fuck you... but after a certain amount of money spent, they don't care, I don't care and your gripe is not a concern for anyone other than yourself.

To top off this 'gem' when music was turned on she paraded around the house (of three girls and her friend's ex) dancing as "sexy" as she thought she could, even sandwiching herself between my front door jams and dancing snake-like in the middle. Damn it... I forgot to put up my smoke screen... and apparently my door lock. They left (I swear swear swear she told them, "man I like how you guys roll…") when their driver came to retrieve them.

The party began not too much later… once again libations were consumed... people arrived and (un-edited) drunk OCG stories were shared (Why God, Why?!?).

At the end of the evening Tiki, JP, Crazy and I all retired to my room... and who walked through the door other than "foot man"!!! I swear I hadn't only avoided, but had managed to not see him since our last...encounter. He entered my bedroom and tried to drag us out of our perspective beds. So not happening.

He grabbed my guitar and threatened us with serenades if we didn't immediately go to the living room. His friends trickled into my room (please know that I hadn't cleaned up the explosion of clothes... so bras, panties, a vibrator and pics of my boobs were now scattering the floor) and they all attempted to get us to join them. (Are you F'n joking me?!?)

JP at that point then grabbed her sock, slowly undressing it from her foot, threw back her head, and said "Oh my foot is SO hot". Foot man drooled, I gagged... and promptly passed out (this time ensuring no toes were being sucked).

Monday was yet again a return to the norm that has become my weekends... Breakfast, bed, nap, terrace, couch, bed... and then sadly airport... Bye JP...'til a few weeks time.

Tuesday required work and recovering... thus not the opportune to blog... but sometimes... thus is life…