Parties are like rollercoasters and Hellraiser movies; I used to have a greater tolerance, dare I say, an attraction to the gore of it all – now I’m just not sure they’re worth the extra eyeliner.
But when an invitation goes out for a Porn Star party, I just can’t help but find the personal motivation.
As was usual, I felt inspired by such a challenge to go for my personal best. This often includes a sense that I have out-wigged the competition, out-ruffled the cheerleaders, out-feathered even the drag queens. This is an expensive pursuit, requiring hours of online shopping and gobs of glue. Frankly, it tends to result in me alone in a corner – overdressed, forgoing a cocktail due to my sticky lipstick, but I stay the course nonetheless.
The Porn Star party was different.
I decided to go Rollergirl.
As the character, not only was I embraced by all (the world, as I now know, LOVES Rollergirl), but I was on wheels. San Francisco on roller skates added that special spice to an otherwise dull commute and a party in motion is better than a party standing still.
Thus the lesson.
So, my legal council advises me that I should caveat this entry with the sincere recommendation that you should not try this without a special license or whatever it is they give to people attempting to self-inflict bodily harm, but me – I’m going Rollergirl from here on in.
I'll keep you posted.