If you spiritual, got a good heart, can make me laugh, AND can fuck? You can get with Queen Bee.

My Monday morning post has been delayed by several hours, in part because I actually took the time to read lots of the fabulous entries on my livejournal friends page from the weekend, and even took the time to comment a few times. I'm not someone who feels compelled to respond to every comment left in my journal, not because I don't appreciate them, but just because it seems lame to just type "thanks!" and clog your e-mail inbox. Instead, I prefer to return the favor by commenting on others' journals, but that doesn't always happen as often as I'd like.

But that's not why we're here today.

This weekend was strange and delicate and robust and beautiful and alive and dreamsome. And in moments when I stop and think "no, none of that was a dream", I feel even happier about the events of my life. Which is not to say my weekend was all pretty ponies and rainbows and cute fuzzy things -- there were certainly occasional moments of crankyness and boredom and frustration and awkardness and "oh my god, did this person really propose that?" which are known to pop up on any given day in my life. But that was just life in all it's grand tedium and I loved it because in-between where moments of excitement and erotic fun and laughter and fucking and love and good food. (That last item is important on any weekend agenda.)

The middle of the weekend was occupied with the Burlesque show, which I knew beforehand I would love and I wasn't disappointed. In fact, I surpassed my own expectations for the evening. I was in a strange state of mind, not sure I was feeling extroverted enough to interact in a satisfactory way with all of the hot individuals in the club. But sometimes I properly use alcohol as a social lubricant, including that evening -- a couple drinks before and than a couple rounds with Damon since he bought the tickets. I sobered up near the end of the performances, but I was enjoying myself immensely then switched to non-spiked beverages and kept smoking cigarettes. I was, at one point near the midnight hour, ready to go home and go to bed, but I stuck it out and started to dancing to get my energy level up, and oooh boy, am I glad I did.

I was a tramp. After seeing a sexy spanking at the Peep Show, having a hot makeout session with freakysparks and drooling over various performers' and their outfits, I thought I was done for the evening. Oh no. More making out was done on the dance floor, not only more hot fun with freakysparks and dommeyourass, but also with Nurse Delicious and a drag king who I don't have a clever name for but DAMN was he a great kisser and I got a little enthused and ended up with part of his moustache coming off in my mouth. Oops. The night was capped off with a mindblowing possibly-drunken-though-I-think-it-will-still-stand-in-the-sober-light-of-day proposition from a friend. As all nights out should end, don't you think? More on that later. Maybe. No, probably not.

But now it's a new week. This morning while leisurely drinking coffee and going through the routines, I decided tonight would involve several loads of laundry and lots of sweeping/vacuuming/Swiffer(TM)-ing. I read my horoscope and it said something about "this is a good day to clean your house!" I was so frustrated -- yes, I know. Tell me something I don't.

Addendum to the last post and the Burlesque show.

1) I forgot to also mention meeting and chatting and dancing with girlfop, another person in Chicago that is friends with seemingly dozens of my friend but we've never officially met. So I'm glad that's out of the way and we can get down to business.

2) More on the topic of kissing Sparky. Nearly a year ago, I unexpectedly bumped into Sparky at IML, who was sporting a fabulous leather collar. I was completely distracted the entire time with the metal ring dangling right off the larynx, and when we parted ways to continue shopping, I immediately regretted not threading my finger through the ring and pulling the collar (and the neck and head) towards my own mouth. Since then, whenever I see Sparky in the collar, I make good on that desire. Saturday was no exception to this new rule of mine. Rawr.

Also, while on the dance floor, Sparky kept the beat quite well. I was pleased and impressed.

3) I learned she only wants me for my pimp juice. I'm onto her. But I didn't mind this a bit when she was dancing with me. Nor do I mind that she really wants to put her feet on my rug -- I might let her touch it.