  While not technically an alcoholic manoeuvre under the article 13 which states one has to be sauced for it to count, I just tripped my little self walking up the stairs with my glass of wine in my hand, spilling just enough to curse out loud.
See? Its a good thing Im alone! Muthufucking militany lesbian boots too butch for me. I was thinking about a lesbian beauty night, complete with drag dress-up and gender identity swapping. Guess that settles that. Ill repaint my nails instead. What a shame to queers everywhere! Id better go out tonight and redeem myself. Or wait til tomorrow night when the gang hits Greystokes and there are actual lesbians around. Fucking marginalised sexuality.
Makes causing trouble so much harder! Bryans coming by with wine and an appropriately aged idea for the nights activities. Nothing. No going out, no scattered plans to meet up with five different people at five different bars between 9pm and two. Nothing ambitious. Unless you call watching Sex in the City reruns with a 37 year old man ambitious. What a pair, me and him. His brother Chris, dubbed low-stamina boy by all, can be thrown right in the mix without too many waves in our pool of inert stasis.
But tonight it looks like Chris ex-girlfriend Ali is in town, so hes occupado. Ali, the girl he had a child with and gave up for adoption. Ali, the first fuck of mine post-surgery. Me, still trying to be dominant as we frolicked naked in the wet sand in Solana Beach after hours. She lost her shoes. I lost my fears that I wouldnt be able to have any fun with the no-harness law instated by physicians in post-surgery cases such as mine.
And I thought having my tongue pierced required a relearning. Alright, alright tidying up before B comes by. Like it matters. Shit. Maybe there are some Curb Your Enthusiasm episodes about to rerun. Yep. Schools out, and its time to do absolutely /nothing/ with my time. Yay!
! 
