novaslim.com

This might be quite the lengthy post. I expected to simply recount certain events that went down while I was in Atlanta, but it just so happens that there is a thread between what happened there and what just happened at home. I’ll try to be as brief and to the point as possible, but there are several things that I need to cover right now.
Remember when nOva used to get sloshed and spill the hellified cookies at house parties? Well, two particular queens have stolen that thunder and I cannot even say I’m mad.

Picture it. Atlanta. The D.I.C. New Year’s Party. You know how I am and you know how he is. People already had preconceived notions of how things would go down at this party with the two of us present, including myself, The Slim One. Long story short, we both got drunk. He was social drunk, the man of the hour, and I was chatty, pathetic drunk. He met an interesting character and established a rapport while I remained the poor man’s Joan Rivers (ain’t Joan Rivers the poor man’s Joan Rivers?). My melody that night went a little something like this:

I need a date tonight.
Lame joke.
Oh he’s cute. (a loud whisper that the “cute” one can hear)
Prime, I’m drunk.
More lame jokes.
Whining about Tiger and why he and I still haven’t jumped the broom.
No, Prime, serious, I am massively fucked up right now.
Tired, lame jokes.
Etc.
Now, if you are stumbling upon this post having not read Krash’s (yes, I called him “Krash” because Wood thinks that’s cute), lemme break it down for you so it will forever and consistently be broke:
I’m allowed to spill this tea because we all cleared it with one another. Krash and this child got friendly (in my goddamn sleeping quarters) and were thick as thieves. Confused? It gets better.
Krash’s newfound Honey “Bunny” unleashed a vomitous wrath all over the sofa in D.I.C.’s family room. By all accounts, this should have been me. No one ups a better chuck than The Slim One. I’m not sure if Krash was sporting the infamous carcass that Upchuckula dashed in with by the time this happened, because, again, I was pretty drizzunk myself. At some point I basically told Upchuckula that if he got into his car and his face ended up wrapped around a pole (!) I’d certainly lose no sleep. This was my shady way of asking him if he was okay to drive. But I ain’t like his ass, so that’s how it came out. I didn’t like the Mammoth-ass fur he rolled in with (I think furs on gay men screams pretention) and I didn’t like that he blew chunks in front of God and everybody at the house. Fucker.
After they cleaned it up, Upchuckula decides (after hurling, remember) to sit on the edge of the large glass coffee table in the family room. They have nice shit at D.I.C. Upchuckula didn’t know the fam as he claimed to, and even if he did he had no business planting his swarmy arse on the table. So my Pops kindly reminded him that he needed to un-ass himself from the glass. Upchuckula tried to justify it in some stupid drunk way, basically coming across like “I have no intention of moving” and Pops’ left eye begins twiching. Somehow he was convinced to move before Pops dislocated a shoulder.
Just as I am spilling downstairs to get some sleep, Upchuckula apologizes for his behavior at Krash’s behest. Pops smiled and nodded while Father had to force himself not to look in the jerk’s general direction for fear of committing manslaughter.
The next day Upchuckula returns with a card saying that he was sorry for the damage and he was willing to cover it. He didn’t come alone. His boyfriend was in the car with him. Yes, girls. Upchuckula Dumbfuckula, who was all over Krash the previous night, conveniently forgot to mention he was involved in some shape or form. So ends Krash’s story in true Krash fashion.
I returned home on Saturday, January 3rd, 2004 and immediately set about compiling some mixes for a good friend’s birthday party that was to go down later that night. I was armed with the beats courtesy of D.I.C.’s unfuckwitable collection. So I arrive at this party (keep in mind I don’t sleep) and already I see shades of Upchuckula. The kids all decided it would be a good idea to play a little drinking game and this slimmer, severely less attractive and more randy version of Upchuckula is basically glued to the Tequila bottle because he cannot quit fucking himself over in the game. He was pouring his own shots too, and they weren’t tiny.
He passes out, blows massive chunks, passes out again, more chunks, passes out yet again, and unleashes a third round of stomach sewage. Luckily, they had propped a trashcan near him, so he didn’t hit any furniture or carpet like the one that preceded him. After he finally passed out for the long run, a good Judy at the party decided it would be a nice idea to stuff the child’s pants with brocoli from the snack tray as he slept. We took pictures and video.
So here’s the twist for me. Birthday Boy’s best friend got a little friendly with me in the kitchen while I was packing my to-go plate(s). One minute, he’s telling me how they all try to look out for me because I’m family and how we’re good Judies and whatnot. Then his hand suddenly finds it’s way to my rear. I wasn’t wearing my pow-pow-power-jeans, but he was fixated. So fixated that he stuffed his hand in my pants to get a nice grab. He didn’t pass the briefs, but he did pass the demin and that’s a no-no. Here’s what makes it worse. I used to sorta date Birthday Boy, and the three of us always formed a cute little group during the Pride festivities and other functions. Even after I stopped officially dating Birthday Boy we were all good friends. And this fella that just grabbed my ass is very married.
This is the person that had to take me home since we both live in the same area. I’ll spare you the details of what he wanted to do with my cakes. Coming from someone else, it would’ve been on. He’s a fine brotha, but he’s more like a brother. Hands off, shawty.
So now I am here reflecting on all this madness. The girls vomiting all over people’s parties, friends of friends wanting to become more than friends but not quite lovers, and the fact that I actually met a nice guy while I was down in Atlanta. Kind, polite, respectful and super-sweet. I’ll keep you posted.