ramona neale

25 Jun

I had been working at ********* for several months before my co-worker, Gabby Donovan, invited me over to a pool party at her home. Her roommate, Ramona Neale, was very particular, and I was the only person Gabby had invited. I should have felt honored, but after only ten minutes, and a half bottle of white in, I realized that there were no men at this party. I had known going in that Ramona was a lesbian. I had even suspected that Gabby might occasionally lean that way. What hadn’t even dawned on me was that I was invited as potential fresh meat to this pool of incestuous, cynical, The L-Word loving hikers.

It was soon made very clear to these ladies that I was not interested in seeing anyone’s vagina. This clarity was arrived at by my drunkenly gleeful announcement in the swimming pool that, “I love cock!” followed by a fit of giggles (my own), and a ruffie paranoia so fierce that I not only poured all my own drinks, but refused to dip my head underwater in fear that I would miss someone slipping something into my drink. Yes, people, I am that irresistible.

What my caution didn’t protect me from was my own drunkeness. In (relatively) rare form, I ended up blacking out. The only thing I remember after my second bottle of wine, is locking myself in the bathroom for several hours and only letting in one particular orange bikini-clad lesbian with a bucket of fried chicken. I’m almost positive I let her in because of the chicken, not the bikini. Almost.

I survived the shameful stories that Gabby told at work on Monday, but I was never invited back to another party at her house. I was surprised when Ramona friend requested me, but I guess she was at least a little amused, because every time I head for the restroom at a work-related party, she asks me if she’s gonna have to send a lesbian with a bucket of chicken in after me.

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