Updating my little happy journal.

I can't make art with someone reading over my shoulder. I'm so hooked, suddenly on this LJ stuff that I didn't even realize my favorite workout partner changed into the silky shirt I like to rub my face on. (Pause to rub face on WP's shirt much teasing ensues Rocket Queen resumes journal entry) Whee. Okay but um, seriously, um where was I going with this. I can't remember what I was going to write. I was distracted momentarialy. Okay a few momentarialies. I am crazy. I was calmly sitting at the Vogue last night waiting for the "I'm so gothic I'm dead" set to be over so I could do the Angry divorcee dance (It never really let up. I must spank the DJ.) when I was cought in the sights of a Pandering Eunich! Ack! Being in a corner, I couldn't run away. My posse was scattered about the vogue and the only person at the next table was one of the sadder uglier drag queens I've seen in a while. I could feel the slime shield coming towards me. I knew I was dealing with one of the HEY BABY battalion. I caught a whiff of cheap cologne as I realized I was the prime target. A simple "I'd like to be alone" was not going to cut it. A simple "I'd like to be alone because that's better than talking to you." Was not going to cut it. He moved in for the kill. I looked around for weapons. Realizing I was sunk, I resigned myself to the fact I was about to be HIT ON. I tried to prepare my cut down. I didn't have enough time. He gave me a smile reminiscent of Willem Dafoe in Wild at Heart. In a voice loud enough to carry over the drone of yet another song fit for only Tai Chi poses, dripping with cheese whiz and motor oil he said to me, "Hey! How are yew toniight?" to which, having to think on my feet I brandished my cigarette like a burning shield and cried out, "I HAVE FIRE! BACK AWAY!" and he still tried to talk to me. Having lost my faith in humanity (again), I said not a word but gathered my belongings and joined a group of people I knew on the couches near the front of the club where I heard the words, "Don't mind us, we're just talking about Jewish sex. Feel free to join in." This was far preferable to being slimed on. I never thought I'd be so happy to hear all about Jewish sex. Sometimes it's hard being a girl. The music never really got better so I went to the merc and danced to Karma Chameleon with a happy good-looking drag queen and lost a few games of pool. All's well that ends well. So sayeth the Bard.