Es war spass. Long story short…I had a rave, and a raging fire (don’t put entire table tops on fire pits, kids) and a yard full of EL wire and blinky lights.

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One guest exclaimed, “I want a prom photo!” I, of course, thanks to my magic house, complied:

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Dress, tiara and bowtie.

Tattoo parlor on the blanket:

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One “friend” got me…well, ahem, a bag of er, personal items (requiring batteries and lube). And, glow-in-the-dark erotic dice. In Spanish. Everyone left with something sexy – and Spanish – tattoo’d on ’em.

AND…le piece de resistance,

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Zoot alors!

See, that’s French, like they talk in fancy Middle Eastern countries, where they smoke these shits. Sadly, it did not come with sheesha, so I will be finding recipes today…let’s read Camus, listen to Dead Can Dance and talk about art.


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