drag queens and margaritas and whitney–oh my!

listening: Love Generation, Bob Sinclair (via the blue room @ bbc)

Good morning! And it is really morning. I can’t believe I dragged my raggedy ass out of bed before noon today.

What a lovely time last night. Nick and Jim (who is JUST the nicest guy on the face of the planet, really, really) got me out of the house for dinner at Cactus Jacks and then on a little barhopping tour of Manchester. We ended up at the Breezeway, which is an uberfab dive bar on a side street off of Elm. Jim was worried I would be uncomfortable(please, I’ve been to worse). Good DJ, nice shot boys. Pitcher of beer. Shot from the shot boy (poor kiddo…I hope in January they let him where something more than skivvies). We were rushed out by “the gayest fire alarm ever”, as apparently the laundromat at the front of the block was on fire. I called it the biggest outing ever. Now, I’ve heard of flamers but this is…ok, I’ll stop.

We started walking towards where I THOUGHT the Wild Rover was (I still have no idea where the bar went off to). We ended up at Margaritas (heaven help us) and had three or four pitchers of Margaritas (“hey, can I have one of these with alcohol in it”) and attempted to get drunk. I don’t know if there was tequila in those margaritas, but we got silly. Headed back down Elm towards the car and went BACK to the Breezeway, which had grown increasingly more busy in our absence (and I say it’s always good when you can air kiss the shot boy on the way in). Another pitcher of beer and some good dancing (there’s a great DJ there BTW). And I’m the only girl (real girl) who gets asked to dance at a gay club. I didn’t. I didn’t have good dancing shoes on anyway.

Anyway, it was a good time. I went to bed at 4am and woke up at 930. Going over to see my mum at college this afternoon, hoping I don’t get lost.

OMG, I know this is a stupid question, but does anyone else find it inexplicably impossible to look away from the train wreck from hell that is Being Bobby Brown? Hell to the NO!

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