I went to my friend Johnny's 21st last night, and am now suffering the self-inflicted aftereffects. The party was deliciously chaotic, filled with catfights, break-ups, over-the-top public displays of affection, and overall riffraff. While everyone else stressed over the surrounding bedlam, I sat back with my cocktail and just observed, in hopes of obtaining some blogging material, and humorous anecdotes to tell my grandchildren in 50 years time. Of course, I received plenty of said material, but regrettably, I was so intoxicated that I cannot remember any of it today.
Speaking of bedlam, the Tantrum Theatre schedule arrived in the mail yesterday. Coincidently, two of the four productions lined up for next year, involve mental patients. Obviously, this means I will fit in quite nicely.
I appologise if this post has not been of quality, or humor, however I have an inkling the dead braincells have taken my funny bone hostage. Let's hope all negotiations go well, and everything is returned to its rightful place, unharmed, as soon as possible.
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