Good news! I ain't got junk funk.
Man was I sweating as I waited for the STD test results. I was doin' that thing where you keep pickin' up the phone to make sure the dialtone is workin', which is damn stupid if you think about it. I'd slam the receiver back down all quick, but then get paranoid that I'd slammed it down TOO hard and check again.
Anyhow, Doc Andretti finally called (on my cell, actually) with the results of the test and they were all negative. I ain't got gonorrhea, I ain't got syphilis, I ain't got the 'chlam, and nor does Mr. Ray suffer from the big grand-daddy, the Hi-Five. Phew. Man, I always get so worked up over medical tests. I always think that the same day I get any sort of test done, they're gonna realize I only have fifteen minutes to live and ask if I've made any arrangements. I watch too much ER, is what it is.
In celebration of of my sparkly-clean blood and urine, tonight's party had the theme of Sexual Health Awareness. I had big bowls of contraceptives and lubes and plugs and stuff, and I hired the Trojan Girls, a crew of models in these awesome clear bodysuits. They went around and passed out Jäger shots and pamphlets about STDs that are asymptomatic. A spoonful of sugar, you know. I've always said that.
I couldn't really think up a food and beverage theme that went along with the safe sex concept, so I just had a burger bar and a sushi guy and a Belgian french fry stand. Real creative, I know. Big counter with about twelve of our brews on tap and six gals pullin'. Just a normal straightforward party. Got some local Neil Diamond cover band called Neil Before Us, folks dug that alright. No major incidents, a real pleasant time. I'm gonna watch some ESPN and hit the hay. Got a big day tomorrow: I'm cookin' my practice turkeys for Thanksgiving!