...luring disco dollies to a life of vice since 1999.

2000-08-30

Slumber Party Pt. 1

Email received from Linda just now, in regards to yesterday's query:

I'm sorry I stuck that sweat sock in your mouth while you were sleeping, Lees...that was an impressive shade of green you turned at Bickford's.

That's really what had me worried for a bit, there - the fact that I hovered near-death in a Bickford's of all places. Y'see - ordinarily I'm a big fan of grease-laden breakfast foods as treatment for the Common Hangover. And I have a soft spot in my heart for Bickford's and its pie-wielding Southern sister, The Village Inn. I've nursed many a hangover in these places, and to be sitting there, seriously ill at the thought of consuming anything more than a plain English muffin, while my girly cohorts gorged on Belgian waffles and Eggs Benedict, made me very, very unhappy.

Okay. The slumber party. The story of six grown women trying desperately to recreate tenth grade.

Jess, Shari, Linda and I opted for the comfy-pj's-and-pigtails look. I said, "How much you wanna bet that Paula shows up in a friggin' peignoir?" Paula, hands-down the most glamorous of our group, did not disappoint, sailing into the living room like something out of Valley of the Dolls.

From there, it was a full-on Estrogen Fest. I brought my wigs, Robin brought her trunk-o'-makeup, and we gave each other makeovers. I had a full face of pastels, a la Patrick Nagel. Jess donned a blonde wig and became Marilyn Monroe. We ordered pizza, piled onto the sofa - wigs and all - and tuned into what sounded like a promising pay-per-view flick called "Paradise Island."

"Paradise Island" turned out to be a bust, no pun intended. Never saw so many implants in my life.

"This sucks. Where's the dick?"

"Yeah. Howcome they won't show any dick?!"

"You said �dick.'"

"That was awesome."

"DICK! DICK! DICK!"

"Ew. Why is she hollering like that? I don't holler like that..."

"Let me try: UUUUNNNNGHHHH."

"UUUNNNNGHHH."

"Yeah, baby. Say it like you mean it..."

"UUUNNNNGHHH."

"I paid $6.95 for this. Now I'm pissed."

"This is stupid. Let's watch Better Off Dead."

John Cusack is always a welcome diversion. We popped it in and readied ourselves for two hours of shameless nostalgia.

Then the power went out.

"What the fuck?"

"Oh my God."

"Is this the panty raid?" (There were vague rumblings, among the husbands and boyfriends of our freakish sextet, of a panty raid at some point during the evening's festivities. Natch, we all brought extra pairs of unders.)

"God. Do you think?"

"It's gotta be."

"But...what if it isn't?!"

We all screamed.

"Look out the window. Is the power on across the street?"

"Let me...yeah."

We all screamed.

We sat in the darkness for several minutes, clinging to each other like baby monkeys.

"Are they in the basement?"

"Oh, yeah, like I'm really gonna go down there and look..."

"Come out, you BASTARDS!"

"BASTARDS!"