John Kerry needs more CAKE

Last night, I took Curly to her first CAKE party. It was at Crash Mansion (LOVE that name) on the Bowery, and it was politically themed, pro-Kerry to be exact. They showed the debate, and then Apocalypstik and Lez Zeppelin played. I got more action at that party then I've had in months.

First, the girl who pinned the "make CAKE not war" sticker on me totally groped my boob. Then, I was getting my 8th or 9th glass of wine at the bar and someone lovingly stroked my hair. I asked Curly who it was and she pointed to a girl that was standing behind me. I told Curly that CAKE parties were the gayest straight girl parties ever. She wasn't paying attention, though -- she was too busy watching the CAKE dancers grind on each other.

I was dancing like a madwoman, and a man started dancing with me. Which was fine, until he upped the creep factor by about 10 thousand. He told me he saw me the minute I walked in and fell in love with me. He told me he wanted to take me out to dinner Saturday night, and that I should cancel my plans. He told me he always gets what he wants. At that point, I decided to run away and avoid him for the rest of the night. He cornered me once after that, but I got away mostly unscathed.

I usually slut it up for the CAKE parties. As I walked to the bar last night in my "My Bush would make a better president" tank top, my denim mini, my fishnets, my fuchsia flower flats and glittery eye shadow, a dude in a car asked me how much I charge. Yup, the cavefish was mistaken for a hooker. Good times.