cursed valentine, patron saint of wretchedness
love in the air. spiced rum. ryan as nick cave. dancing. broken glass. a raging hangover. all in all, a lovely valentine's. i was expecting a more subdued evening, one of gentle swaying, drink in hand, to songs so overly romantic that they've reached a state of perfection, sublime sorrow, like being wrapped in a beautiful warm blanket that happens to be all bloodstained and you don't know why cause you got it secondhand, you just know that it's warm and sad and you could spend your whole life wrapped in it's mystery. yep, that woulda been a good valentine's. but mine was alright. i dressed to the nines, good lord, so at least i could entertain myself. hair full of glitter and glue, lipstick so red it stained my face and the faces of several other girls and boys, as well as shirts, beards, glasses, cigarettes, necks, and other tenders. sorry about the pillow and the sheets. the glamourous effect of glitter and makeup turns into a wretched mess when things like drunkeness and needs and sleep get in the way. i keep forgetting that.
so, i get myself in drag, preparing for a night i thought would most likely end with me feeling friendless and loveless and decrepit but all in all pretty good, and i get myself out the door, heading for the bus stop. i realize too late that i'd forgotten to raid my mom's liquor cabinet, and i thought briefly but intensely of going back, but i decided against it cause i don't think that's the kind of person i want to be. an alcoholic, that is. it's ok to drink as long as you don't NEED to drink, i tell myself. so i get to the bus stop just in time. it's a double decker. i step on, am immediately overwhelmed by the noise of a thousand drunken teenagers, and head straight for the staircase. but when i get upstairs, more drunken teenagers! criminy! plus the horror of riding upstairs on a double decker bus, all i could think was how this was probably the worst possible situation in which to die. surrounded by imbeciles and various degenerates, imagining a renegade bus driver who'd been pushed a little too far this particular evening, just a little too far, and has now decided to get his revenge by taking us all down in flames. maybe his lady dumped him on st. valentine's day, and a suicide mission seems like a pretty good idea, not bad at all in fact. take that world! look at all of you, sitting there, varying only in the degree of your desperation. you should thank me for relieving you of your terrible human burden!
oh if only i'd gone back to get liquored up and taken a later bus!
but it didn't happen that way at all. his lady is in fact waiting for him in her new red lingerie, the kids are with his folks, all in all things are looking pretty good for this fella and he gets me to my destination, alive, a little mental bruising but no physical injuries. (i'll get to those later...)
so on my way to the show i walked by josh's but the lights were off so i kept going. i wanted to see how laura's doing, i said i'd stop in to see her at work in the afternoon but i didn't, and i felt kinda bad and wanted to know if she'd talked to gramms and how things were. i hope she's doing ok. friday the 13th IS evil when mixed with hardcore christianity. but i think she'll be fine with josh lookin' out for her. then again...
anyway, so i keep walking down kings and decide to stop by jeff and leenie's. i was determined to round me up a posse. all of them declined, but no one can resist my charms for long. or rather, in the rum and rowdiness, the spirit of adventure spread like venereal disease and before you know it (but not before leenie got out the accordion, oh how i must have one!) a veritable posse headed for the bar. yay! when i arrive ryan is playing this nick cave song that i learned just last week and have been playing over and over all week, 'and no more shall we part'. i was very happy. i danced to 'death is not the end' with Hank Henry, then headed to the patio to consume ridiculous amounts of other people's beer and cigarettes. saw stevie and brandon and all the brokenhearts. had a girl moment with lori in the bathroom, who i hadn't seen in so long. shared lipstick with remi. what's cool is that despite my drunk drunkeness, there was no druggery. meaning, i didn't give the idea a second thought. just, no. usually, that is, always, every time without fail, it's when i get that drunk that i get into trouble, but not this time. i'm exceedingly proud. missed the rest of the show really. i asked leenie if she'd dance the next slow song with me and to my delight she said yes, but the show ended instead.
curses! but the night was young. we adopted stevie and headed back to the house.
*note to self: get op ivy shirt from gali or dylan.
i don't really remember that part, any of the getting home part. i never remember that part. i remember dancing clumsily with leenie in the kitchen, it was beautiful. but of course, being an awkward clumsy buffoon, all my attempts to impress the ladies backfire: i dipped leenie at the end of the song and somehow managed to break the glass on the door of her dish cabinet into a million pieces. i really can't say how it happened or what part of me struck the glass. did i dip leenie into it? i can say there was a bit of blood but i felt no pain. til i got up today. the cuts on the arms are no big deal, but i have mysterious lumps and bruises in odd places. only on the right side of my body. on my knee. on the back of my upper arm. on the front of my lower arm. they're pretty nasty and swollen and painful. how strange. shit, i felt so bad for breaking that. "I'm so awkward!". and one of my favourite gloves is in shreds, my red and black uberwhore fingerless brothel gloves that i love and will never be able to replace. i hope i can shoddily repair them. oh look, a glaringly obvious metaphor for my life, oh she's ever so weary and torn red and black, pretty once perhaps, before she got all wrecked, what a shame, a crying shame, a damn awful shame. dealt a bad hand i reckon. ah well, what can you do? somebody's gotta populate the prisons and asylums.
by the way, if anyone is taking that bit there seriously, let me know when your birthday is and i'll buy you a sense of humour.
back to my oh-so-engaging story. oh, it's done really. i broke shit, there was good times, i crashed there, scotty watchin' to make sure i didn't take advantage of jason. it was a valiant effort.
apparently stevie slept on the cold hard glass-littered kitchen floor. he hobbled away this afternoon all brokenbacked, only to be treated to the scorn of coby the little pug pup who apparently didn't like the looks of this bearded and disheveled, hungover, slept-on-the-floor little man. poor guy. then coby laid into me, that cute little fucker. kathy said he did the same thing to kyle. maybe he's can smell the satanism. i was hurt. more hurt than if it had been a person barking at me and giving me that evil eye. i have nothing but love for the four-legged friends, why do you hate me so, coby, why?
so i left.
i was dreading the walk. it's only a half hour or so, but still. my feet hurt because as far as footwear goes, it's looks before comfort when you're in drag. i could've taken the bus but there was no way i was gonna stumble down the aisle, doing the walk of shame in my smeared makeup and red pantaloons, stinking like beer and cigarettes and corruption. i walked by hillside mall and thought about going in to look for half-price cinnamon hearts, but i just couldn't face the sunday shoppers. then this crazy lady said some crazy stuff to me, it went like this:
she points to this sad-faced dog.
"Aw, that's how my husband used to look when i refused him sex." she says.
somehow, i manage to recall some semblance of social skill, and smile.
i say "Aw, how could you refuse that?" (meaning, the dog was really cute, y'know).
she says, emphatically, without a hint of humour, "Easy, believe me."
i thought, why are you doing this to me? for what reason did you single me out for this disturbing exchange? i felt like i was in a dream.
so i left.
came to my mom's. never have i wanted pot so badly. i mean, that's the best part of the hangover day. otherwise it's just a regular sucky day. but there was no way i was gonna go downtown to buy some, fuck that. so, much to my chagrin, i have to do without. probably for the best.
i'm gonna watch homestarrunner and happy tree friends. happy birthday evan, you is great.
so, i get myself in drag, preparing for a night i thought would most likely end with me feeling friendless and loveless and decrepit but all in all pretty good, and i get myself out the door, heading for the bus stop. i realize too late that i'd forgotten to raid my mom's liquor cabinet, and i thought briefly but intensely of going back, but i decided against it cause i don't think that's the kind of person i want to be. an alcoholic, that is. it's ok to drink as long as you don't NEED to drink, i tell myself. so i get to the bus stop just in time. it's a double decker. i step on, am immediately overwhelmed by the noise of a thousand drunken teenagers, and head straight for the staircase. but when i get upstairs, more drunken teenagers! criminy! plus the horror of riding upstairs on a double decker bus, all i could think was how this was probably the worst possible situation in which to die. surrounded by imbeciles and various degenerates, imagining a renegade bus driver who'd been pushed a little too far this particular evening, just a little too far, and has now decided to get his revenge by taking us all down in flames. maybe his lady dumped him on st. valentine's day, and a suicide mission seems like a pretty good idea, not bad at all in fact. take that world! look at all of you, sitting there, varying only in the degree of your desperation. you should thank me for relieving you of your terrible human burden!
oh if only i'd gone back to get liquored up and taken a later bus!
but it didn't happen that way at all. his lady is in fact waiting for him in her new red lingerie, the kids are with his folks, all in all things are looking pretty good for this fella and he gets me to my destination, alive, a little mental bruising but no physical injuries. (i'll get to those later...)
so on my way to the show i walked by josh's but the lights were off so i kept going. i wanted to see how laura's doing, i said i'd stop in to see her at work in the afternoon but i didn't, and i felt kinda bad and wanted to know if she'd talked to gramms and how things were. i hope she's doing ok. friday the 13th IS evil when mixed with hardcore christianity. but i think she'll be fine with josh lookin' out for her. then again...
anyway, so i keep walking down kings and decide to stop by jeff and leenie's. i was determined to round me up a posse. all of them declined, but no one can resist my charms for long. or rather, in the rum and rowdiness, the spirit of adventure spread like venereal disease and before you know it (but not before leenie got out the accordion, oh how i must have one!) a veritable posse headed for the bar. yay! when i arrive ryan is playing this nick cave song that i learned just last week and have been playing over and over all week, 'and no more shall we part'. i was very happy. i danced to 'death is not the end' with Hank Henry, then headed to the patio to consume ridiculous amounts of other people's beer and cigarettes. saw stevie and brandon and all the brokenhearts. had a girl moment with lori in the bathroom, who i hadn't seen in so long. shared lipstick with remi. what's cool is that despite my drunk drunkeness, there was no druggery. meaning, i didn't give the idea a second thought. just, no. usually, that is, always, every time without fail, it's when i get that drunk that i get into trouble, but not this time. i'm exceedingly proud. missed the rest of the show really. i asked leenie if she'd dance the next slow song with me and to my delight she said yes, but the show ended instead.
curses! but the night was young. we adopted stevie and headed back to the house.
*note to self: get op ivy shirt from gali or dylan.
i don't really remember that part, any of the getting home part. i never remember that part. i remember dancing clumsily with leenie in the kitchen, it was beautiful. but of course, being an awkward clumsy buffoon, all my attempts to impress the ladies backfire: i dipped leenie at the end of the song and somehow managed to break the glass on the door of her dish cabinet into a million pieces. i really can't say how it happened or what part of me struck the glass. did i dip leenie into it? i can say there was a bit of blood but i felt no pain. til i got up today. the cuts on the arms are no big deal, but i have mysterious lumps and bruises in odd places. only on the right side of my body. on my knee. on the back of my upper arm. on the front of my lower arm. they're pretty nasty and swollen and painful. how strange. shit, i felt so bad for breaking that. "I'm so awkward!". and one of my favourite gloves is in shreds, my red and black uberwhore fingerless brothel gloves that i love and will never be able to replace. i hope i can shoddily repair them. oh look, a glaringly obvious metaphor for my life, oh she's ever so weary and torn red and black, pretty once perhaps, before she got all wrecked, what a shame, a crying shame, a damn awful shame. dealt a bad hand i reckon. ah well, what can you do? somebody's gotta populate the prisons and asylums.
by the way, if anyone is taking that bit there seriously, let me know when your birthday is and i'll buy you a sense of humour.
back to my oh-so-engaging story. oh, it's done really. i broke shit, there was good times, i crashed there, scotty watchin' to make sure i didn't take advantage of jason. it was a valiant effort.
apparently stevie slept on the cold hard glass-littered kitchen floor. he hobbled away this afternoon all brokenbacked, only to be treated to the scorn of coby the little pug pup who apparently didn't like the looks of this bearded and disheveled, hungover, slept-on-the-floor little man. poor guy. then coby laid into me, that cute little fucker. kathy said he did the same thing to kyle. maybe he's can smell the satanism. i was hurt. more hurt than if it had been a person barking at me and giving me that evil eye. i have nothing but love for the four-legged friends, why do you hate me so, coby, why?
so i left.
i was dreading the walk. it's only a half hour or so, but still. my feet hurt because as far as footwear goes, it's looks before comfort when you're in drag. i could've taken the bus but there was no way i was gonna stumble down the aisle, doing the walk of shame in my smeared makeup and red pantaloons, stinking like beer and cigarettes and corruption. i walked by hillside mall and thought about going in to look for half-price cinnamon hearts, but i just couldn't face the sunday shoppers. then this crazy lady said some crazy stuff to me, it went like this:
she points to this sad-faced dog.
"Aw, that's how my husband used to look when i refused him sex." she says.
somehow, i manage to recall some semblance of social skill, and smile.
i say "Aw, how could you refuse that?" (meaning, the dog was really cute, y'know).
she says, emphatically, without a hint of humour, "Easy, believe me."
i thought, why are you doing this to me? for what reason did you single me out for this disturbing exchange? i felt like i was in a dream.
so i left.
came to my mom's. never have i wanted pot so badly. i mean, that's the best part of the hangover day. otherwise it's just a regular sucky day. but there was no way i was gonna go downtown to buy some, fuck that. so, much to my chagrin, i have to do without. probably for the best.
i'm gonna watch homestarrunner and happy tree friends. happy birthday evan, you is great.