I'm Burning For You, BOC.

This week is pretty much in the toilet for your old pal Brandy. But never fear: she doesn't remember most of it anyway. Wednesday night was the launch party for the newest issue of the ultra fab Playgirl Magazine, and I made a point of double fisting it up at the open bar which was hosted by Alchemy Polish Vodka. I asked for a vodka-cranberry (OK I asked for two) and was given ones made with some sort of fancypants chocolate-infused vodka. It is a testament to my overall stoic nature (RE: budding alcoholism) that I slurped them right down. And then I went after more. I think I was supposed to network and stuff, like how a big girl who's a professional acts. I was busy drunkenly sitting in the corner making eyes at the attractive DJ who, most likely, was gay. Then along came Thursday...I can't really go into that because honestly, my Mom reads this stupid blog even though I asked her not to anymore. Sara and I had a "meeting" (DRUG LINGO, KATHY BARBER!) I don't know how we made it out of the house, we were so obliterated. Staggering around the Village in a paranoid haze is always a delight. Yikes. Allocco at one point leaned over and whispered frantically to me, "That guys' balls are out! Look! Look!" I said I'd take a pass, as I had had my fill of checking out dudes' balls for the week- quota reached, LMOA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But she insisted I look and then took it a step farther and MADE EYE CONTACT with him. Allocco like to mess with the bull, homegirl is fucking fearless. Apparently he was marching and biting at air in addition to exposing himself. It brings me peace that our homeless sex offender has hand-eye coordination going for him. He's truly God's special angel. This debacle ended with us going to see Giulia do stand up and me having such a fit of snickering that was clearly not in response to the comic onstage at the time I had to put my head into one of my many gigantic handbags. And then I snorted like a pig because I was laughing so hard. Sophisticated single lady in the house, gents! Oink oink!

This was clearly a pattern of naughtiness. So after some deep subway reflection when I was finally sober, I rolled in to my apartment at about 1 pm Friday "morning" and decided to ease off the gas and put a lid on it and cool it with the monkeyshines young lady. I mean, it's getting bad when we have various iPod playlists for specific types of hangovers on certain days of the week, Brandy. Seems that this particular drunken trollop has graduated up from days of the week underpants. As Sara and I had a party to attend, we planned on exhibiting best behaviours. We ate a lovely supper together (parmesan cous cous and chicken & feta sausages- courtesy of Allocco, apparently the newest Food Network hostess) and planned to be there for approximately one (1) cocktail, some lighthearted chat, and then make a tasetfully executed exit. What professional-type young ladies! And then we arrived at our destination.
















WHAT. There was KARAOKE in progress. Uh-oh spaghetti-o.











The party invite mentioned some drink specials. These two love things of that nature. Sara asked what these drink specials were. Why, for $20 it was all-you-can-drink until 11 pm. Oh, dear.















This is were the train went off the tracks. I had about three beers in half an hour and then we began stockpiling them so that as we finished up with our harmonized version of "Hold The Line" at the stroke of 11, we each had about 3 full drinks awaiting us. This did not stop is from stealing the various beers of other people, because really, that type of thing is a sport for us.
















I was supposed to meet someone for a dignified late supper at 10ish. That would have been around about beer 4? 5? Also I think I was singing "Back For Good" at that point, poorly. I ended up strolling up to supper so drunk it was scary and trying to maintain. What about my partner in crime Allocco, you ask? Oh she was just fine, after ruining a game of pool and sticking her head out of a cab barking like a dog on the way home. The moral of the story: Brandy is a drunk? Sara & Brandy are a pair of good time Charleenas? Don't catch Cabin Fever? No, sires and madames. It's that life is too $hort and I refuse to apologize for enjoyng the fuck out of it. Life is a cock banquet and most poor fuckers are starving to death. What!? I don't know but I like it. It stays!!!!!