>My dear friend N. and I are going to this as-advertised “off the hook” shindig hosted by and attended by all the kinky little burner freaks we all know and love and held at this warehouse-esque structure formally known as the “Transcendent Church of Bass”.

Preparations are in order.

So far I’ve managed to take a bath. Interrupted twice by the ringing of my phone.

Sigh.

Ignored the first ring…I was in the tub.
It rang again, with the same 206 number, so I thought it might be important.
I answered it.
This resulted in a several-minute-long discussion with some whackjob chick on the phone over the fact that I was not Debbie.
No, I am not Debbie.
No, Debbie is not here.
No, I do not know any Debbies.

Actually, ma’am, now that I think about it, I have her tied up in a burlap sack filled with Scarab Beetles.

I’m sure she, even now, remains skeptical.

Gave a Satsuma to The Bug. The Bug is not a citrus fan. Yet The Bug inhaled 3 Satsumas within a space of ten minutes. Baby crack.

Wish I had some sort of “party prep chamber” which would get me lookin’ like I wanna look like for this shindig without all the work.
I don’t remember who sang the ditty “I enjoy being a girl” but she deserves to be backhanded into her vanity table.

Voulez-voulez-vous is this Debbie?