A Weekend Recap in February

Ummmm… I had one of the most random weekends ever. Let’s review:

I fucking fell Friday night.

I went to meet up with my Gaybors & Co., and I made a very grown-up decision to walk to the bar. Please remember: This is Texas. They don’t take kindly to pedestrians round these parts, but I was already a few beers in, and I knew there would be more to come so I sucked it up and hoofed it the entire TWO (somewhat shady)blocks.

Now, I don’t live in the ‘hood’ per se, but generally, if you see someone walking in my neighborhood; it’s because they don’t have an option.

FFWD: On my walk home I called my mom to be my ‘callthecopsincasethelinegoesdead’ friend and I was filling her in on the conversational high-points, then…

SPLAT!!.

I sh*t you not, I saw it happening before it happened. I could pick the crack that did me wrong out of a f*cking police line-up, and I can‘t remember what I ate for lunch last week.

Since I’ve been blessed enough to have borne witness to some pretty awesome “coordination catastrophes”; I knew my days were numbered.  Seriously…It’s the circle of eating sh*t.  I don’t feel bad laughing at people…because I know I’m going to get mine eventually, as will all of you.  I fully expect to be laughed at when I fall…Luckily though, between the boys at school who would repeatedly kick my feet out from underneath me while walking and me; actually falling multiple times at a high rate of speed from the back of a horse… I kind of get the physics of it.  If nothing:    I have ‘falling down’; DOWN.

Lesson:  If you start to fall…you need to jump into it a little. If you redirect the momentum, you can control what you fall on, which is actually the most under-rated part about falling. If it weren’t for me,  laughing like a goddamn dying cat, my mom wouldn’t have even known anything happened… until she asked how I got the hole in my jeans…

I walked 3 miles at Memorial Park.

It was gorgeous out Saturday. Sasha made me. I am intimidated by that park. I get lost every time I leave there. The people-watching makes it worth it, but she should have known that it would turn to drinking at lunch when I suggested we meet at Los Cucos and take one car.

I put the ‘GA’ in “GALA”.

I loooooove dressing up. I mean it…make whatever assumptions you want, because you’re probably right. Sasha & I went to a gala for the benefit of a school for autistic children and the dress code was black-tie OR come dressed as your favorite celebrity. Um.. EASY! Kim & Gaga can’t be denied dude…Who cares that I had a birthday party to go to after…

Lady Gaga shows up solo to a room full of PERUVIANS AT A SUSHI RESTAURANT.

Um, that costume is not one that you can add or subtract pieces to make it more socially acceptable. Once the hood & wig go on, they’re freaking ON. NO ONE takes Gaga home…because guess what? Her dark brown hair is shoved into a flesh-toned wig cap and without the belt, the onesie looks like a freaking bathing suit cover up. The wig doesn’t even look right without the sunglasses, which to be honest, are the most important element, because they really do make you invisible…-ish.

Lady Gaga goes salsa dancing.

After Jac made a formal announcement that her friend does not ‘normally’ go out dressed up as Lady Gaga and that I had actually had left a charity gala to come join in the birthday festivities… I figured I should try to milk out as many awkward social interactions as I could. Healthy right?

Well, it was the most entertaining night I’ve had in a long time. Considering how tight-knit South Americans tend to be, they sure were lovin them some Gaga.

I seriously danced so much I ended up being completely sober…and soaked in sweat, which is generally not my goal; but shit happens.

I felt completely vulnerable yet had nothing to lose…

After much self-reflection:   Everyone at some point has felt out of place. Growing as a person involves letting your guard down & opening yourself up to being under fire.

If you are so uppity that you can’t see past the fact that some poor girl might have a f*cking reason to be dressed up like a TRANNY-TRAINWRECK and you still can’t find it in your nature to still be hospitable or gracious…

Well… Truth be told: I don’t want to be friends with you.

Neither does Lady Gaga.

Peace.