Shhh! Drama.

Not much has happened the last few days—so thus my lack of updates. I mean, I have been busy, but my going-ons don’t really lend themselves to my outrageously overactive imagination.

Saturday night, Craig and I went to Michelle’s (Rachel’s little sister) party. We get a call half way there with an ominous pronouncement: “We have lingerie and jewelry.” Of course this whipped us into a frenzy, and by the time we arrived at Michelle’s doorstep, we were both salivating heavily.

Michelle and Dalton (her jazz piano playing bf) just moved back from NY, where Dalton finished school. Michelle decorated her house on a shoestring (and don’t laugh, I am *not* a queen)—it was absolutely gorgeous. Mirrors and colorful 1950’s advertisements lined the walls. And on the floor of the living room, was an enormous pile of Bonnie’s jewelry and lingerie, which she had willed to Michelle.

Bonnie is Dalton’s 40-something mother. She embodies all that is fab-u-lous. She has 7-inch tall, lacquered solid, Texas-cheerleader hair, she is a part-time cross-country coach, and a dance instructor. The first time I met her, she was bedecked in tight white sailor pants, a skin-tight jean jacket studded with rhinestones (made out of her grandfather’s overalls), huge gold-spangly high heels, and an abundance of charm bracelets and heavy, pendulous gold chains, and a matching bow perched jauntily on the side of her head. After several glasses of sweet wine, she couldn’t refrain from braking into dance steps at Rachel’s house (“5-6-7-8! And step. And back. And walk-the-dog. And brake it down. And hold!)

I never met anyone more over-the-top than Bonnie. She is ri-goddamn-diculous. And, we love her.

Anyway, we spent most of Saturday night drinking, avoiding the annoying queen Kevin (Craig was glad he was there—he made us look *so* straight), bedecked in gaudy jewelry, and marveling over how racy a 40+ year old’s panties could be.

The night ended with Craig getting the numbers of 2 very attractive and flirty straight girls who are dancers at Stephens. We promised to call them next weekend and go dancing with them at Shattered. I can’t wait.

I made my grand exit at 2:30 AM by hurtling two very unripe limes at the queen (who was wearing pearls that “did not suit madam well” and dancing to gawd-awful Britney Spears) and then stumbling to Craig’s car.

Sunday morning, Craig left just before my roommate, his sister, and their mother came to the apartment. I was still in my briefs…I shudder to think what would have happened if they had shown up 15 minutes earlier. Scandalous doesn’t begin to describe what would have ensued.

The rest of Sunday was spent lounging in my skivvies, eating grilled cheese and tomato soup, and a fruit platter. Yes, I said fruit platter. I read Harry Potter most of the day, and contemplated how good it was to finally have a day off—I had worked 13 days straight. Most of them I had to get up at <7AM for work.

Tonight I am going to read, practice, see Craiger, and play some fucking croquet. That’s right bitches! Bye. And Love!