TMI

Another thing I have not quite decided on for this blog is: what qualifies as too much information? Exactly how much of myself am I willing to give away for this thing?

On the one side I think: Hell with it! Finally, you've found a place where you should be able to be yourself. Don't censor! Just BE!

On the other side I think: Yeah, but...but...

So there are the two sides. Both valid points. Today I'm going to venture out and err on the side of TMI.

So I mentioned earlier that we went out to a drag show for my friend, Maggie's birthday. Now, I've never been to a drag show of any sorts. But if I've learned anything from the movies (and boy have I) I think many drag shows feature multiple manladies. And they have a stage, to show off their gloriousnness in all their glory.

Wellll this drag show was more classy than that. Ish. It takes place at the Kit Kat Lounge in Boystown. Basically, you walk into this place and it seems like any marginally classy restaurant. Minimal menu, tablecloths, etc etc. You sit, you order a strawberry daquiri because they have no beer on the menu and dagnabbit, what the hell are kids ordering these days??

And then at some magical hour, which I believe is every 30 minutes, a woman comes out decked to the nines (that's a phrase, right?) in sparkles and twelve different colors of eyeshadow and she lip syncs to something Beyonce-ish. Occasionally she rubs her voluptuousness up against the poor souls sitting on the inside seats until they put dollar bills into her hand/cleavage.

So, naturally, while the drag queen is changing into her next number, me and my friends practice slipping ones smoothly into each other's nether regions. Erin slips one into my shirt and immediately begins commenting on my cleavage. So, since the night has basically been filled with boobs (real or supplemented) I feel comfortable enough to comment back. Now, I'm the kind of girl who talks with her hands. Even on the phone. So whilst discussing my lovelies, I begin demonstrating. I'm looking down and doing a bit of push, release, push, release. Suddenly Maggie lets out a snort and I look up.

I realize that not only am I doing a cleavage show for two of my best college friends, I'm doing it for the entire table. And the one over. And the drag queen. And her two friends.

I hope she didn't think I was trying to make her jealous.