Everyone please, pull up a chair. You may have the sudden urge to nap.
Comfortable? Great - welcome to ann-frank’s pity party. Glad you could join me.
But what about the good times, ann-frank?
Yeah, I know I was bouncing off the walls with joy yesterday – but like any child all hopped up the sugary goodness of Sweet Tarts being surrounded by the messed up fun of my favorite people for four days straight – once the party’s over and reality sets in – it’s time to get back to work – time to hit the dentist to survey the damage.
Hey man, don’t get me wrong, it’s good to know just about everyone else on the planet ‘cept me hooked up for some lovin’ this weekend. That makes me happy.
So, don’t you worry loves, I am all right. It’s a momentary melancholy - and I’m still laughing.
But mostly I am laughing because last night … last night I had a dreamof all things that Britney Spears was in town and for some reason me and my friends dressed her down and all took her to out for some good old fashioned regular folk fun at a dive bar we frequent.
And there we were.
Johnny Cash’s “Boy Named Sue” was playing on the juke box and at the end of the ancient chipped and battered bar, Britney was perched up on her wobbly stool, torn red pleather holding up her perky money making ass. Her new subtle stick-straight dishwater blonde ‘do was shining under the smoky track lighting, and she was tugging at her larger than normal black titty-tee and sporting the regular old Levi’s she’d borrowed from my friend Jen for our night out.
She was looking around, looking disoriented and uncomfortable, not quite sure what to do in the company of normal folk.
And then, after a few minutes, like the master of ceremonies she is – my best friend Jen swung by and scooted a stool right on up next to Britney. She set at bottle of Rolling Rock in front of her - then got in her face and asked “what’s the matter, Brit? Scared someone’s gonna recognize you?”
Britney didn’t say a word, only stared at the lot of us.
Then Jen took a Marlboro out of her pack, struck a match on the soggy book, took a drag and blew the smoke so it billowed in a perfect cloud right by the princess of pop’s face and said:
“Don’t worry Brit – ain’t nobody gonna recognize you here without your glitter pants.”
Then she bummed some quarters from the Pop Princess and we all headed to the pool table for a game or two like we’d all been friends for years.
Yeah, I know.
But that’s not even the craziest part.
Because for a minute there - after I woke up and after I walked across my cold hardwood floor – I felt a salty grime underneath my feet. I looked down and saw that I was standing in a thin layer of body glitter – and for a moment – it was like the dream could have been real.
I could have been standing in a pool of Britney Spear’s body glitter.
But then I realized I wore a boatload of the stuff over the weekend and anyone who’s used body glitterknows you’ll find that crap on the floor, in the carpet, in the shower, in your hair and on your clothes for weeks after you use it.
And you know, after four days straight of nothin’ but good times - the best part’s never being left to sweep up the body glitter shaken off dancing bodies having too much fun.
p.s. I will never listen to top 40 radio before bed ever again.