Monday, May 07, 2007

Fat Ballerina

My little get together was an unprecedented success. I think everyone had a good time. You know it is not a party until someone gets sloppy and I was not let down. Only one person from work made an appearance which was probably for the best, as the lone co-worker seemed a little freaked out by the … cast of characters. Nonetheless it was a lot of fun and I have so much shit left in my fridge that I could, in theory, do it again this Saturday.

George is a long story that I won’t get into but I did not hear back from him so he is dead to me. That is until I hear from him again, at which point I am liable to say something stupid like “I love you”. Desperate times, measures, all that.

During the party, K-rock began pitching herself as the Fat Ballerina. It has been a while since I have laughed so hard. K-rock, who is not as fat as she thinks she is but is not a waif either, gave her presentation complete with dance moves and monologue. Fat Ballerina would be, well, a fat ballerina, among her colleagues who are of course all 13 years old and rail thin. Dripping with sweat, gigantic breasts bursting from the leotard, a big fat roll in the middle, broken toes from going on point…fascinating and compelling! I volunteered to produce and direct the documentary. Maybe you had to be there but it was hi-larious. I thought Aarondrala, who looked on in horror, might have been traumatized (as he has never met K-rock) but the next day he replied to my text message stating that he is a huge fan of Fat Ballerina and is looking forward to her next performance.

Some of us moved on to ye olde Albatross where J-Boogie got down like I havn’t seen her get down in a while. A frantic phone call later describing herself as “on a corner somewhere” terrified me, so I called her husband who went out on the street and promptly found her lost only a block away from her home.

What follows is too much information.

Right before my party began, I noticed that my toilet suddenly decided that you have to hold the handle for it to flush. As the night wore on and came to an end the toilet became increasingly resistant to flushing at all, and now just a little trickle of water runs around the rim in a desperate attempt to flush. Knowing how I am prone to blow it up in there, I didn’t want to risk not being able to get the, well, you know, down, so I borrowed access to S.D.’s commode next door. As luck would have it, his commode clogged on me anyway (luckily all the shit got down in phase one of flushing, so only a little paper remained) so I spent he better part of an hour in the clothes that I had worn the day before, in someone else’s bathroom, plunging their toilet with increasing force, trying to dodge splashing toilet bowl water, really hungry and with a bit of a hangover. This, somehow, is a metaphor for my life.

The super is coming to tomorrow so hopefully I will be able to once again have a pot to piss in, literally.

On a final note, I got a promotion effective June 1. This news comes just as my present position is about to make me cry, and make myself bleed to death via paper cuts and repeatedly banging my head against a stacks of urgency.

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