The Tale of the Fried Buttocks

As my mentality grows ever more indolent and my body increasingly reacquaints itself with the intriguing, beautiful yet frighteningly ordinary place I call home: Bergen, I've felt myself distancing from disconcerting realities. The reality of a skipped exam, an apartment situation in dire need of change, a selective mobile whom chooses the recipients of texts for me without asking my permission, an unsavoury expectancy towards the future. I might not have the mental aplomb to change any of these realities yet, but I have managed to get myself into yet another situation worth mentioning in the bloggiverse as the title of this post leads you to believe.

On Saturday night I had, with the help of a fellow Goddess planned a shindig of mediocre proportions. It had not been long since the yearly day of my own personal New Years Eve and I was ready to blissfully drink the night away. I painted on my face, put on my best crushed velvet body/onesie on, left my bra at home and let the drinking commence at my friends house. We laughed, we drank and I opened some wicked presents.
(Coincidentally, I found that you can give me basically anything as a gift if the reasoning behind it is that I'm Catwoman)
Later in the glorious evening of Bergen styled tomfoolery I felt the need to smoke a cigarette and as I was carried out and the unreasonable events started to unfold.

It is an easily noticeable fact that I do not look nor feel comfortable or unperturbed standing right up and down whilst talking to people. Some exceptions apply, but still.. Therefore I found myself fleeing towards a railing on the patio on which to lean for a James Dean look with my cigarette seductively placed between my lips. Instead of this, I found myself leaning up against something sticky; yes my friend, the inhabitant of the house had neglected to mention that there was wet paint on that railing.
My hands and the bum-bum area of my pants where now grey. "Not to worry!" My friend exclaimed, "I can fix it." She took me by the hand and led me to a back room, where she delicately rubbed the paint off me with a cloth soaked in White Spirit or Stoddard solvent. I have never had a woman rub White Spirit on my ass before...

Needless to say she got the paint off and I was relieved. As we gigglingly walked back into the living room I suddenly realised that White Spirit is quite strong and therefore I cannot sit down on the couch any more. I still did, but what I don't understand is why I didn't think It might be bad for my jeans as well and not to mention my skin.

As we sat in the taxi on our way into town I felt a slight discomfort on my buttocks. I quickly put it out of my head and resumed the impossible mission of trying request a song from the grumpy taxi man when we clearly where listening to the radio.

As we hit the cue at Scotsman (a place I would not recommend to an enemy)I suddenly felt a growing burning sensation on my ass. It got so bad that I had to leave the cue, run to Burger King, reluctantly enter the disgusting bathrooms and take my pants off.

My bum is completely red today, and quite sore. Thank God I was drinking or I would have been a lot more traumatized today than I am.

In conclusion: DON'T RUB YOUR BUTT WITH WHITE SPIRIT!

Mobile picture from the house of painted asses!

Hare Krishna

Siren