Bigger than Anime Hair and Twice as Awesome
G'morning!
I say "morning", in the face of all hard evidence to the contrary, because I've been up and about maybe three hours. My sloth is however not my usual sloth, the sloth of a woman with irregular work hours and a nightowl circadian rhythm, but the sloth of a woman who spent the better part of last night dancing, drinking and generally having a ripping time. I trundled myself out to the Facination Street Ball last night. I'd been looking forward to it for ages, even to the point of getting today off work so I could have maximum funnage. I went out on my own, and was adopted almost immediately by a flogged young woman named Laurie who decided that I had "mystique" and that I had to share it with her and her friends, which meant I got to meet a pretty nifty spread of people that I probably wouldn't have got to chat with otherwise. I also met bitter_moss, chatted to drjon and his awesome friend Virgil, had many tasty gins (to the point where the barstaff would just pour me one on seeing me approach the bar - ten points for them!) and wallowed about in glorious musics. I also took the opportunity to dress up as much as possible, even cracking out the whiteface and the big hair for the occasion. The big hair is a rare and wonderful thing, requiring a half a can of maximum hold hairspray, a helper and at least two hours prep time. I could have hid a wombat in it. In fact, the high level of detail in this post is one more distraction helping me put off the inevitable horror that will befall me when I try to comb it all out. I started it last night and gave up after about five minutes, taking another five to disentagle the brush.
However, the prize for Most Fantastic Person Present goes to the bogan fellow in the chinos and XXXX Gold straw cowboy hat. He'd clearly wandered in from some beer tent at the Ekka, and took but a few moments to acclimatise to the dramatic environmental differences between the former and the dedicated Olde Schoole goth club he's wandered into before he was out on the dance floor, gallantly grooving away to Joy Division and the Cure like a man born to it. I'd have bought him a pint if it weren't for the chance he'd have mistaken it for a come-on. That's the sort of Total Radness I can fully appreiciate, and may he be blessed with a small hangover and perfect recollection.
I say "morning", in the face of all hard evidence to the contrary, because I've been up and about maybe three hours. My sloth is however not my usual sloth, the sloth of a woman with irregular work hours and a nightowl circadian rhythm, but the sloth of a woman who spent the better part of last night dancing, drinking and generally having a ripping time. I trundled myself out to the Facination Street Ball last night. I'd been looking forward to it for ages, even to the point of getting today off work so I could have maximum funnage. I went out on my own, and was adopted almost immediately by a flogged young woman named Laurie who decided that I had "mystique" and that I had to share it with her and her friends, which meant I got to meet a pretty nifty spread of people that I probably wouldn't have got to chat with otherwise. I also met bitter_moss, chatted to drjon and his awesome friend Virgil, had many tasty gins (to the point where the barstaff would just pour me one on seeing me approach the bar - ten points for them!) and wallowed about in glorious musics. I also took the opportunity to dress up as much as possible, even cracking out the whiteface and the big hair for the occasion. The big hair is a rare and wonderful thing, requiring a half a can of maximum hold hairspray, a helper and at least two hours prep time. I could have hid a wombat in it. In fact, the high level of detail in this post is one more distraction helping me put off the inevitable horror that will befall me when I try to comb it all out. I started it last night and gave up after about five minutes, taking another five to disentagle the brush.
However, the prize for Most Fantastic Person Present goes to the bogan fellow in the chinos and XXXX Gold straw cowboy hat. He'd clearly wandered in from some beer tent at the Ekka, and took but a few moments to acclimatise to the dramatic environmental differences between the former and the dedicated Olde Schoole goth club he's wandered into before he was out on the dance floor, gallantly grooving away to Joy Division and the Cure like a man born to it. I'd have bought him a pint if it weren't for the chance he'd have mistaken it for a come-on. That's the sort of Total Radness I can fully appreiciate, and may he be blessed with a small hangover and perfect recollection.