Clumsy Ass In The House!

That's right, bitch, I'm hero support and proud of it!

I'm clumsy. So clumsy, especially lately, that I think I have a secret death wish. Maybe not a death wish, maybe just a seriously injured wish, or a partially burned across 1/3 of his body wish. I don't know what's going on, but it's just Clumsy City up in here.

I don't remember being clumsy as a little boy. I mean, I've made stupid decisions. So yeah, between bad decisions and clumsiness, I am just itching to go to heaven these days.

Take for example, this misadventure.

I was living in Birmingham at the time and had come home from a night out. It was okay. I mean, there were some good local celebrity sightings like Queen Apollo who wasn't blowing me up with any love. In fact, she was sitting on my borrowed jacket and she knocked over my hat that had all my shit in it. Its belongings, you ask? Oh, those were under the table getting trampled on by Air Force Ones. My cell phone, my credit card, all under a nasty table where some people decided to dispose of their still burning cigarettes. Yes, I was fully crouched under the table smacking folks' legs up collecting my belongings. DJ Tank was there on the mic talking about, "Get your fat ass on the dance floor" and some drag queen I had never heard of was there with a great tan. Harpo, who that drag queen is?

So, yeah, I get home and I am starving. Starving my head off. I, being the classy gay of twenty-three years, decided to bake a little pizza. They were 4 for $5, can't beat that. So, I baked one. Ate it. And damn it, I was still hungry. So, I was about to bake another one! Piggy boy. See, baking a pizza is great. I highly recommend it, but don't bake it if one or both of the following has or will occur:

1. If G2 has dismantled your fire alarm a couple days before, don't bake a pizza. We were baking cookies and the fire alarm went off and he snatched that thing off the wall so fast and threw it across the room. I didn't discover its whereabouts until after I really needed it to save my life. Plus, it's all fun and games; it's hysterical (Not really). G2 just snatched my fire alarm off the wall and threw it! And I had no reason to look for it. I mean, that would mean I was being a responsible person who wants to live.

2. If you are about to fall asleep, don't go baking a pizza, okay.

So, yeah, I put that second pizza in the oven and set the time for 11 minutes. How was I to know that I'd fall asleep before those 11 minutes were up? How was I to know how strong those drinks were? I only had a few sips of this horrid champagne (Tell you that story in a second) and a fruity lemon drink that was in a small container meaning not that much alcohol. Well, somebody lied to me. I was definitely down for the night. Plus, I read somewhere that some people lack an enzyme to break down alcohol meaning, you could get loaded from just smelling that cranberry vodka. Gross. This is why drinking is bad. Don't do it. Not even casually. This is also why I never go out. What's the point?

Well, I don't know how much time passed when I woke up to quite a fog. I rubbed my eyes and I said, "Damn, it's foggy up in here. Shit." So then, casually, I remembered the pizza. Because I was unable to know how much time passed (Silly me, what's a clock?) I went into the kitchen thinking I was about to eat a semi-burnt pizza. I mean, rubbing my grubby little hands together and possibly salivating. I would have eaten it had it been salvageable. It wasn't. I opened the oven door, and the pizza was a small black kidney stone, just a tiny little shell of its former self. I was too tired to realize that I was suffocating on gas fumes and smoke, so I simply turned the oven off and hopped into bed.

The next morning, I looked at the pizza again. Judging by the looks of the blackness, I could have died. I am saving that pizza. I am getting it framed in a shadow box, with just the word LIFE engraved on it.

On to the champagne story. This is another reason why I will never leave the house again. Boys are so rude. There was this alcohol table in the “VIP section” of the club. I was standing in the “VIP section” (Hey, somebody official looking told me to go over there), minding my own business when someone put an empty champagne glass in my hand. I assumed this meant that we were to help ourselves to the drinks. I had my empty glass in my hand for a long time before I decided to actually have a drink. I didn't want to rush in while all the greedy jackasses at the table were getting theirs. So, finally, I took the bottle of gross alcohol fluid nasty flavor, and I started pouring it into the glass of this lesbian standing next me who also had her glass up. It's rude to pour for yourself if someone else has her cup up. So, I poured hers and as I proceeded to pour mine, this fool took the bottle out of my hand, poured some for himself, handed the bottle to his homie, and he poured some for himself and then tried to hand the EMPTY bottle back to me. Rudest shit I've ever experienced in my life. In my life. I left that dumb “VIP section”, especially after one lesbian appeared in it wearing a white turtleneck dress and high heel hiking boots (Not the Manolo Blahniks, which I find to be repulsive as well, a hiking boot high heel?, That's like wearing a rain boot flip flop) with a fuzzy pink purse. Turtleneck mini dress? Her friend was wearing an all-denim (That gross dark denim with the sandblasting) airbrushed outfit, a mini and a small jacket with silver glitter on her eyes to match her silver glitter ponytail holder. I was waiting for the third party to the poor man's 3LW to appear, but to no avail. I decided I had had enough, but everywhere I turned there was a fashion casualty.

Speaking of casualty, since I'm not one, I'm glad I lived to tell the story. Take my advice, stay inside and don't touch anything.