This past Saturday brought me the honor of being invited to a “nasty woman” party. I’ve since come to learn there are innumerable variations on the theme. Feel free to do a quick web search after reading this column. (AFTER READING THIS COLUMN!)
This particular nasty woman party was held at a friend’s house and included a raffle to raise funds for Planned Parenthood, because everyone I know is loyal to the Portland brand. Of course, when I say a “friend’s house,” I mean “friend” in the Facebook sense—meaning this was our first introduction. She was a lovely (nasty) woman with a radiant air about her.
The only attendees present when I arrived were our host, one of her friends, and Church the porn store cat. The two women were the image your mind creates when someone says “Sunday school teacher,” with the exception of rolling blunts at a dining room table laden with homemade buttons and symbolic party broccoli. (As we all know, if pizza rolls are served at a party, the broccoli is garnish.) The two discussed their favorite gay pornos like scholars of contemporary art; both possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre. I would later learn they were both porn store clerks, thus Church the porn store cat.
Church was a delightful chap—friendly, hospitable, and he wasted no time before bonding with my wool coat and faux fur wrap. Those who have seen me in person know the wrap of which I speak—the fluffy, adorable one you can’t help but caress. As it turns out, it works its charms equally well on feline hosts.
Slowly but surely, the living room filled with a fabulous and diverse gathering of mostly women, ranging in age from early 20s to I-dare-not-wager. Given the risk any one of them might read this: All of them were radiant and jolly. Perhaps “jolly” isn’t the best descriptor for our host’s housemate, who entered the party with all the flare of a Las Vegas diva possessed by the spirit of RuPaul in an outfit perfectly suited for cocaine-era Stevie Nicks. She was clearly better rested than the rest of us and geared up to talk politics. I’ll go ahead and spare you the details of the political portion of the evening, with the exception of “Conspiracy Time.”
As the political discussion revved up, one guest offered the quaint recommendation that we all switch to flip phones “to avoid surveillance.” No irony was lost on me as I jotted that note on my phablet, and the conversation took a turn for the... how do I put this?
“So who besides Bernie isn’t a lizard?”
“I’m sorry. Is there a general consensus here that there are, in fact, lizard people?” interjected one party-goer.
“No,” I replied. “No there is not.”
I can’t state with any degree of confidence the accuracy of my statement, but I figured it was worth lying for the sake of solidarity. (To be continued.)