Last night was Decadence Ball, among other savoury items of entertainment. Patti has renewed her deity card in my book for making me go to this thing. (I was about to opt out. My disco-nap had me in her dubious clutches.)
Halloween was certainly a fun night n’ all, but it’s obvious people have been saving their real energy and costumes for last night’s Decadence Ball, which took place outdoors in the 9th Ward in a field/parking lot backed up against the Mississippi River. Stage set up with a band, bar tent, portable toilets, etc.
Don’t you love how it’s several days into November and you can still walk around naked with nothing but cold steel girding your loins?
Note to non-NOLA’ers: Ha ha. I win. I bet you’re cold. Ha ha, suckahz.
Started the evening out by going to Patti’s to get dressed since she so conveniently lives three blocks from the field/lot. Of course, we couldn’t make it the three blocks without finding another party going on and stopping in for drinks and kibbles.
I happen to have this Big Hair fetish. There were four women at this house party who had visited a hair dresser who works in a retirement home (perfect!) to get beehived. (“Beehove?”) I was in great danger of being compromised. High Hair gets me hot, and I was not wearing the right outfit for conceling such “pointed enthusiasm.”
Onto the Ball where a lascivious and friendly mood pervaded all. One of those wonderful events where everyone just wants to go up to anyone, touch them and chat them up flirtatiously.
So there were a few hours of that, then I went off to Glitter Night at the Shim Sham Club to meet up with Melusine. Almost immediately, she breathless told me that “my boy” was there.
I have a high school crush, ladies and germs. On a boy, even. Who exudes such mammoth loveliness that it causes my stomach to cramp and my quipping to dry up like a neglected fern. A coked-up-butterflies-in-stomach crush which are usually reserved for the lovely ladies like Patti who seem to leave a trail of stars in their wake.
I generally have no problem approaching desirable people and quipping till dawn as I steal the occasional innocent brush of my hand against their thigh. But Cute-Boy (whose name I have yet to discern) causes me to fold up and giggle like a schoolgirl.
I saw him last week at the same club, impeccably dressed in a white button-down and loosened, thin black tie. Dancing like water. Undulating to 80’s music like my swimming mind. I assumed he was a tourist, which is a fair enough assumption in the French Quarter. Imagine my surprise and glee when Melusine informed me of his presence again last night. Silver pants, white tux shirt unbuttoned, his graceful dance to T-Rex and the Stones. And just a touch of black eye shadow. Not draggy. Glam.
Ohhhhh m’gawd.
Melusine likewise has a crush on another Cute-Boy whom we encounter frequently at the Shim Sham. Like me, she generally has no problem stalking and approaching her prey, but this boy sends her into paroxysms of apathy (if I may coin a paradox). So all night long, we giggled to each other:
Tee-hee! Titter-titter!
… as we longing watched the objects of our desire waft about the club.
I asked Patti for the dirt on my Cute-Boy since she pretty much knows about everything and everyone going on there. She could tell me nothing.
Hmmm! Mystery! To escape Patti’s library of dirt is a tricky thing.
(Tee-hee! Titter-titter!)
I announced to both Melusine and Patti that I hope I never actually speak to Cute-Boy, because I am convinced he has to be a moron and I cannot bear to have my ideals crushed.
Shortly after my announcement, he approached me.
(Tee-hee! Titter-titter!)
Melusine backed off a couple of feet, signaling all sorts of things with her eyes as Cute-Boy leaned in close to my face (O! sweet stolen moments of heaven!) and spoke.
To me! Cute-Boy was speaking to me!
(Tee-hee! Titter-titter!)
I could hardly breathe. My quipping faculties went south for the winter.
“That is one hot outfit. Where did you find all that stuff?”
My heart forgot to beat for a moment. Cute-Boy has approached me and said I looked “hot,” which is a pretty common and trashy term, but who am I to quibble with semantics when I’m having a cardiac arrest?
When the blood was flowing once again, I lamely replied, “Oh, I just found it lurking around in the closet,” or some such inanity.
Moron Marquis! Eros gotcher tongue?
(Tee-hee! Titter-titter!)
A delicious and brief conversation ensued. Something about how he hadn’t paid for a drink all night because, he speculated, he left his shirt open. Hmmm! Cute-Boy seems aware of his moniker. And Vanity is not necessarily an ugly trait.
Just as I was about to fall to my knees and embrace his thighs and weep, “Come onna my house you fucking flawless THING, you!” he dashed off to the dance floor and resumed his liquid manœuvres.
Melusine rushed up to me again, excited: “What did he say? What did he say?!”
“Oh my GOD!” I fell into her arms nearly weeping.
“He is rillly cute,” she approbated. Which means more to me than it should, her ratification. It is gasoline on the flames of my desire.
The world is beautiful when you’re in love.
Tee-hee! Titter-titter!
I spent the rest of the night catching his eye when I could and smiling, enjoying the favour of the countenance being returned to me. I approached people I didn’t know very well (like Ambrosia the drag dancer over there on the right), announcing breathlessly, “I have a crushhhhhh!”
“Mmm-hmm, great, Marquis. That’s just lovely.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was in luvvvvvv!”
“Yah, wonderful. Excuse me, I have to go away from you now.”
Tee-hee! Titter-titter!
What a sappy, useless cunt this crush-thing has turned me into.
And I fucking love it.
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