Wiggled

When I woke up this morning, my hair was a nest of hairspray and cigarette smoke.  The eyeliner that I had lazily left on had migrated south of my cheekbones and there was a patina of glitter on my pillow.  And when I got into the shower I noticed very angry-looking red rings forming little halos around my nipples.

True. This does sound exactly like any given Tuesday morning when I was in college.  But last night I did not revert back to sophomore year (the absence of a waifish girl in a Sleater-Kinney t-shirt next to me being proof.)  Last night, I wiggled.

Oh, I was so looking forward to performing at Wiggle Room.  Don’t know it?  Go here.  Learning the opening trio number was weighing heavily on my sanity and it felt just delicious to finally get out there and perform it.  And Speakeasy performances notwithstanding, I hadn’t performed a solo since December.  I admit that I had lost my sea legs a little (B legs, perhaps?) but last night I saddled up the old g-strings and took ’em for a ride.  It was great, great fun.

I love this show series.  Love it.  I don’t get out to a lot of comedy shows.  Or any, rather.  Watching Louie on FX is about as close as I usually get.  But these guys have made me want to change that situation tout suite.  The host, Adam Burke, is as kind as he is fucking hilarious, and his line-ups have been stellar.  Plus, I’m a sucker for a guy in a suit who knows his way around a dictionary.  The man has some vocabulary.  I’m officially a big fan. (I couldn’t find a website, but here’s his twitter thingy.  That’s a thing, right?)

And speaking of being a fan, I feel the need to slip into a bit of a fawny, gushy, crushy state.  Cameron Esposito.  She’s just super deluxe.  Love her.  I was so pleased that she did a set last night.  If you ever have a chance to see her, jump on it like a beast.  She kills me.  And she’s fucking adorably hot with that trendy side-mullet and all. (Here’s her website.)

Was it a great night?  It was.  Was it worth the pastie tape burn on my nips?  Yep.  And do I deserve the whole week off from posing in front of awkward freshman art students who render my boobs to look like two mismatched tube socks with pacifiers stuck on them?

You bet your sweet twat I do.  It’s vacation time.  Hello, couch and dog and Street Fighter X Tekken.  Let’s do this.

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