Tails of a 17th Street Geisha

So Wendy had a dinner party tonight in honor of Chanuhkaahhahhaakkaha. We lit the men’s-ora, chanted or attempted to, and then ate like pigs. Well, like kosher pigs. Lambs? And stuff.

Mid-lottkeys (I know I’m spelling it incorrectly for added affect, don’t blame me I enjoyed Borat a little too much) okay, so mid-meal, and in a pensive, rare-silent moment (induced by a premature dose of codeine), alright, I’ll get to the point!

Okay, so mid-meal I realize that I’m sitting around a table with a bunch of straightees. Breeders. Adams and Eves. I was outnumbered. There was even a baby in the mix. One party-goer actually popped out the tit to feed aforementioned baby. Not only did I have fun with the breeders, but I was still entertaining. All this time I had pidgenholed my comedy to gays and feminists only, but perhaps I can be funny to a broader audience.

oh, that’s not the point. I feel like I had a breakthrough moment. I didn’t feel a weird pressure to act a certain way among the straightees. I felt free to act like myself. Perhaps that was the codeine acting as a courage-in-a-brown-plastic-bottle or something, but I was myself! I can be myself among many a crowd, but among straights, especially the men-folk, I find it hard to be myself. I can’t pop-psychologically analyze it right now, too tired, it IS 3am and I’m sick and tired and spent an entire day at work.

So why is it that I’m up at 3am? Could it be that I’ve watched too many episodes of Dexter and I’m afraid? Could it be that I’m semi-stressed about unstable life and uncertain financial situation. Should I have waited on the Codeine? Am I simply unable to go to bed because I would be sleepless laying down, as a toss and turn from one coughing spasm to the next?

Fuck it! Whatever it is, I am miserable! The freak in me is considering watching another episode of Dexter and getting myself all scared again.

All of me wishes I had a sympathetic, fun and cuddly to snuggle up to and to help me make better medicine decisions while I’m all in a codeined up haze. And also to run and get my orange juice from 7-11 in the middle of the night. Oh and to give me a back massage and relax my back from the pain of sleeping for many hours straight.

Oh God. Have I become Bridgette Jones? Albeit a non-smoking, non-drinking, non-awkward, way-more-wittier, doppleganger? I’m going to cry now.

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