Sad But True

So I've decided - and I know I've said this before, but this time I really mean it - that I'm not having any more parties. Seriously. First of all, I easily dropped over $3,000 on this party. It was just a party at my house, but god damn, strippers are expensive. I spent what is roughly equivalent to a week's salary. I had an especially grueling and stressful week of work just prior to this party. So the whole time I am swiping my debit card for party favors and adding up how much this little shindig is going to cost me in my head, I am struggling with the realization that I got up at the ass crack of dawn, worked my ass off and stayed in a perpetual state of stress and anxiety for 7 days just to throw Big Daddy a dumb birthday party. Yeah, it was kind of hard to swallow.

Then there is always such a strange mix of people at my larger parties. There are a couple of people I work with, a couple of people that Big Daddy works with, a couple of my life long friends, a couple of Big Daddy's life long friends, a couple of neighbors, a couple of people from here, a couple of people from there. And really, none of them know each other from anywhere except for always seeing each other at my parties. As a result, I feel like (and okay, this might have a tiny bit to do with the fact that I am an obsessive micromanager) like I need to constantly be checking on everyone, going from person to person to person making sure everyone is having a good time and no one feels left out. So I never get to spend a lot of time with any one person. I'm on the go the whole time making sure everyone is mingling to my satisfaction.

Also, there is the little problem with my wild streak and complete inability to sensor myself in such a social atmosphere. Now, I think I behave myself a little bit better at other people's houses, but when I am in my own home, I pretty much do and say anything and everything. Of course this wouldn't be a problem if everyone there was as retarded as me. But no, I always have to, against my better judgement, invite at least a couple of people that are fairly conservative (read: uptight) and who, I am sure, leave completely appalled by my behavior. Like when the male stripper shows up dressed like a fireman and I start screaming Help! My pussy's on fire! Help! Or when all the ladies are upstairs with the stripper and he rips my shirt off, frees my breasts from my bra, covers them in whipped cream and begins to lick all the whipped cream off and ends up suckling my nipples for the next 2 to 3 minutes for all the world to see. And hey, look, I'm proud enough of my breasts that that really isn't a problem. But there were a couple of forty-something ladies I work with there watching it all aghast that caused me to wake this morning with that what-the-fuck-have-I-done feeling.

Seriously, what the fuck have I done?

So with that, I am officially dethroning myself as the hostess with the mostess and leaving the title up for grabs. Everyone is going to have to get themselves drunk and entertained from now on, 'cause Hot Lips is leaving the business.

I hadn't thought of it before, but Arcturus brought up a good point. If you are at work or just don't otherwise want to see a great big black penis, don't scroll down any further. Thank you.