Last night, I treated myself to a low-carb ice cream bar and TiVo-ed episode of Bravo's Flipping Out. Now, If you have yet to see this summer small screen smash, you just must tune in! It's simply homo-fabulous, and I'm kinda... really... totally... crushingly in lust-love with the lead guy's ex-BF!!!!! He gets my domesticated panties in a OCD-appropriate bunch! (But I digress...)
Not but 30-minutes into my celeb-reality fix does the TV screen twitter, the lights a'flicker, the A/C sputters... And then silence. An utter black, gaping silence. Our power had ceased to surge; we were victims of a SoCal rolling black out!
Quickly, I lit candles. (Of course we had candles on hand; come on, we're gay!) Within seconds, the condo was enveloped in the warm glow of flickeringly brilliant proportions... And within minutes, the the condo was reeking in the faux-fresh fragrance of perfumed Fresh Wick on a stick. (Of course all of our on-hand candles were scented; come on, we're gay!)
Candle in hand (oh, how Amish I must have looked!), I crawled up onto the roof and scanned the cityscape. A 10-block by 10-block stretch was (un)illuminated in utter blackness, our condo in the eye of the abyss. And then it began...
First a "Wooo!", followed by a "Woo-hoo!", and then an "Omigod, wooooah!", which finally erupted into all-out shouts of indiscernible stupidity: "Party!" "Let's get fucked up!" "Wooooo!" "I'm horny!" "Let's riot!"
The screaming voices punctuated the silent sky. Flash light induced flickers that danced across blackened rooftops. Animal shadow puppets annoyingly jaunted upon the sides of buildings. What is it about an hour without electricity that turns mid-20's urbanites into chromosomally-deficient idiocites?!
My guess? MTV is to blame.
WeLCuM 2...
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