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Happy Birthday, Darling

One of the first people I befriended after moving back here oh so long ago is to this day a complete bitch, a dear friend, someone I can rely on, a helping hand, and is single handedly responsible for helping me become the fabulous nobody I claim to be today. My local popularity status is nothing compared to this one's.

I could bore you to tears with the stories I have. I won't. Save for one, and the highlights will be enough: Frankie becomes drag slave and helps Rozz dress for the evening. Show goes well. Frankie and Rozz get drunk. Drink, Frankie and Rozz, drink. Oh look! A young street walker needs a ride home. Stop and pick him up drunk Rozz, stop and pick him up.

The evening ended with Rozz and myself consuming all of the young man's tequila. We then took a self guided tour of his apartment bouncing a blue kickball off the walls of every single room we entered.

Did I mention this was a complete stranger's home? And that Rozz just didn't care? I can't recall if I was frightened or not; for the amount of alcohol we both consumed that fine evening pretty much blocked out our ability to feel anything. Except when a fit of laughter was going to come on.

When that happened we'd just gaze at one another and completely lose control.

That was then, it's still like that now.

Happy Birthday, Bradley. And Rozz.

Rozz is the bitch everyone loves.

And quite honestly, bears an uncanny resemblance to the new Pete Burns. Only Rozz's pouty puss and overly siliconed cheekbones wash off at the end of the evening.

Update: Someone wasn't too happy with me directly linking to the image, which I shouldn't have done. The above link is now repaired and the image is in a nice, new, well hosted location. My bad.

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