les miserables

by the time i leave mckibbons my Diesel jeans are drenched, they might as well have been just removed from the washing machine. plastered to my thighs, which i think are fat. and are far skinnier than johns, who lost weight after a week long relationship with the flu. i lost two pounds in europe.

celine, not dion, gets low, but tash and i get lower. a vortex of people: onlookers, the jealous, the try hards and imatators looked on and tried to mimic but did a half decent job of being dirrty a la xtina. we were the embodiment of slut.

she topless, i soaken wet with sweat and dance. dave lachapelle could have been the one pupeteering tonights spectacle. but no. he wasnt there. only a few hundred sweaty, adrenablined, intoxicated somethingsomethings. dancing like they dont give a fuck. some loyla grads that i tried hard to impress and tried even harder to ignore. which was near impossible as they, for once, chanted my last name in encouragement rather than insult, as i lifted her up, and up, and up.

eight rum and cokes. the last one, just minutes before midnight. my fuel for the entire evening. john left early, by surprise. off to Vocalz, to test his skillz i suppose. mauve was there too.not that that makes a difference in the plot i suppose.

but we owned the dancefloor. we didnt even have to pay for it, it was given to us on a silver platter of top of the pops tunes and anthems for club bangers and dance-aholics alike. who grind and dryfuck the night away, clumped togeter ina poorly ventalated room full of open bar devotees.

quite a few didnt make it tongiht. though i was disapointed at first, i must say that i would have been much too distracted to pay attention, as the girls looked on in awe and wondered why their dance partners werent as carefree to move, and boys wondered how many more drinks and oneliners it would take to get their girl to move the same. but the differenfe is ive known her since i was five.

does it matter that my taxi driver was hawt?
i doubt it.

though he did make it a poiint to point out the biggest house in cote st-luc. and to tell me taht lots of jews live here. i didnt tell him that i play one on tv.

and so im at the kitchen sink. contemplating a hangover and a piece of pizza. ultimately deciding that the pizza would help stop the former. mushroom, green pepper and peperoni. just what i need. the mushrooms hit the drain of the sink witha smacking sound as they slide down into the blades of the garborator. peperonis left on, duh. my calves tell me its okay. so do my collarbones. but my insanity and dehydration tell me that the pizza will be good for the twins.

thats about all for now...

this post has been brought to you by
rum
coke
and lots of sex on the dancefloor.

i wanna get dirrrty

deh