How I spent Valentines Day... with a drunk russian stripper
"How I spent Valentine's day with a Drunken Russian stripper">
Remember in my last post, when I said “With any luck I’ll get back at some horrible hour of the morning and be completely exhausted?,” well…I shoulda listened to my father when he told me “Son, be careful what you wish for… you might get it.”
So, I went to poi practice as planned and spun lots and it was great, except for the blisters on my fingers from not practicing enough...SIGH. Then after that, I and some friends headed on over to Ceremony.
I had never been to Ceremony before… it was OK. They really could use some help in the Special Effects/Atmosphere department; but I had not heard the Marine Corps marching chant turned into a dance number before, so that was fun. Also, they were showing Shaun of the Dead, which is a highly amusing movie, if you are a fan of zombie films. I ran into a few friends there, most notably Laurie from Lucretia’s Daggers, and we did what Goths tend to do...either dance, or sit around and make snarky comments about other Goths.
Well, while we were doing this, a very attractive lady with long black hair who was doing some amazing things on the dance floor, would occasionally sweep by us, smile and wave…sometimes tousling our hair, or running her long fingers down our arms as she danced by. Laurie and I looked at each other and silently said in the Secret Eyebrow Language That Only Elder Goths Can Know… “Do you know her?” and we both shrugged our shoulders indicating that neither of us knew who this woman was. Then, in the same fashion, we further asked each other “Which one of us do you think she is coming on to?” Again, shrugged shoulders indicating we did not know, and could not figure it out. We then spent the rest of the night chatting, snarking and occasionally dancing.
So, the night ended and the club closed. I said good bye to the folks I knew and headed down Beacon st. hoping to catch a cab by the time I got to Kendall sq. Now, after walking only a block or two, who did I see, but the amazing black-haired dancer. She was staggering badly, obviously very, very drunk. I was about to cross the street to avoid her when I saw that she had a set of car keys in her hand, and was headed towards a car, a Jaguar no less.
!*&#@#@!^!!!
I looked around for a cop… no sign of one; nor cab either for that matter. SIGH. I hate it when the universe gives you tests like this! For I knew, I just knew that if I let her get into that car and drive, she was gonna kill herself, and probably take one or two innocent folks with her.
*!#@%#!!!
So, with many a curse words in my head, I approached her and started up a conversation. I can be charming if I want to be, and she is a chatty drunk, so this was not a problem. It was also amusing that she kept slipping in and out of Russian while talking to me. That’s when I found out she was an exotic dancer by trade… which explained many of the dance moves I’d seen her doing on the floor.
I figured that if I talked with her long enough, some cop car was bound to cruise by and I could flag it down. Nope, no such luck. Oh how I long for the days of Man-Ray when, as the club closed, cop cars and cabs vied with each other for double-parking space! I have no idea how long I stood there and talked with her… it seemed a long while. Eventually, she wanted to get in the car and go home, and was getting rather adamant about it. So, I did the only thing I could think of to keep her from driving… I offered to drive her home.
I figured that I could take a cab from Cambridge (where she said she lived) just as easily as from where I was now. (When I go out clubbing by my-self, I take a cab home, rather than have to leave at midnight to catch the last T train, or risk driving drunk). Well, some light must have gone on in her head… because she agreed that I was probably more able to drive than she was. Halleluiah! So, she got in the passengers seat, and I in the drivers. I took a minute to familiarize myself with the controls, and then we were off.
Well, she of course was still in the mood to party, and so turned the stereo up VERY loud. So, there I was, driving a Jag toward Cambridge with a gorgeous woman next to me and loud music blasting on the stereo… every man’s dream, right? NOT!
For this woman seemed to not be able to remember exactly where in Cambridge she lived. We would cruise around a bit, and every now and then she’d yell out “Here! Turn here!” and I would, knowing full well that we had been down that road several times before. Also, as the evening progressed, and the alcohol caught up with her, she seemed to lose the ability to speak English. Eventually, she started crying and saying something in Russian, and then passed out altogether. Great!
So, I drove around a bit more, just ‘cause driving a Jag feels Real Good, and I doubt I’ll get the opportunity again any day soon. But, eventually that lost its amusement value, and I turned my attention to what to do about this… situation. I found her wallet and looked at her driver’s license; it gave an address in Florida. Now, I may like driving a v12 Jag, but not all the way to Florida!
So, I did the thing that seemed reasonable to me, I headed home. At this point, it was about 5 am, and I just wanted this night to end. Marti was up in New Hampshire, taking care of House Stuff that needed doing up there, so it was just me, the cats, snakes and various animal remains that inhabited this amazing 10 room Victorian house.
Well, that hour of the morning is usually inspirational to me. And in this case, my inspiration was that, if the police would not come to me, I’d go to them! I live not 5 blocks from a police station, and as I have mentioned previously, I am on good terms with the local law enforcement officials. They have a hell of a job; I mean, they have to put up with people like me. So, I pull up in front of the station and walk into the lobby. There is an older black woman sitting behind the desk… not someone I know. In retrospect, I guess it is probably a good thing I am not well acquainted with the police-folk that work the 5 am shift. She’s giving me a major hairy eyeball, and I can understand why, I mean, I am still dressed from the club… purple silk, black lace and gold skulls.
I explain the situation to her, and then ask if they have a “drunk tank,” that they can put this woman in?
This cop then explains to me that while DUI is indeed a crime, “Attempting to DUI” is not. They could not arrest her for being drunk and disorderly either, as she was drunk and passed out in her own car, not on public property… and being passed out, she was not a danger to herself or anyone else.
When I asked if just good old “public drunkenness” was sufficient grounds, this woman said that yes, it was, but that right now their holding cells ( for both men and women) were full of gang members who had actually been trying to shoot each other, and she did not feel that putting a scantily clad, unconscious woman in their midst was a good idea.
And then, as if reading my mind, this officer told me that if I dumped this woman on the sidewalk in front of the police station, or even just left her in her parked car, they might have to arrest me for endangerment. So, after counting to ten in my head, slowly, I headed home.
Now, as I was driving homeward, I got to thinking that it would be just like Marti to drive down from N.H and surprise me with a visit on Valentines Day! I had a (brief) moment of amusement when I imagined the look on her face as, on a Valentine’s Day when she is expected to not be home, I arrive home at 5 am, in a Jag with a drunken stripper. While it would not be the WORST looking situation I have had to explain to Marti (Or she to me… we are equal opportunity oddballs), it would easily rank in the top 5.
But no, Marti was still in N.H, probably blissfully asleep. So, I got this woman up the steps and into my house. I pulled out a futon in a room that was heated but empty except for a few boxes and a table. I put a large glass of water and a bottle of aspirin next to her, and then I went to bed. The dark sadistic part of me (not a small part, that one), hoped that she was allergic to cats.
Of course, it was 6 am, and I always wake up around 6:30 AM, no matter what time I go to sleep, so in retrospect, sleeping was probably not the best of ideas. In my experience, if you cannot reasonably expect to sleep for at least 4 hours (1 sleep cycle), and then you are better off not even bothering.
So, I continued to do what I have been doing for quite some time now… packing things away in boxes. Eventually this woman woke up, looked around, noticed the large number of cats and such around and said. “So, do you make a habit of taking in strays with less than four legs?” When I replied that no, I did not… she said “Well, thank you for taking this one in. I guess I strayed pretty far last night, huh?” I gave her a brief rundown of the evening and she looked appropriately abashed.
So, for much of the day, she drank water, eventually graduating to coffee, and we talked some. The odd thing was that in spite of suffering what must have been a hangover of legendary proportions, this woman was charming, insightful and very, very comfortable to be around. She would watch me for a long time with out saying anything; which as far as I am concerned, was a blessing. Far too many people are uncomfortable with lengthy silences; this woman seemed to realize that silence is as much a part of any conversation as words are. Then she would make some comment or ask some question that would actually make me stop and think for a bit. Also, I was still pretty pissed at her, so silence was a good option. It was very odd.
Perhaps because I have been pretty much by myself these last weeks in the big old house, I found her company at first tolerable, then pleasant, and then actually quite delightful. We both had the same taste in authors, and although our tastes in music differ, there was some degree of overlap. We talked about life in general… hers has been amazingly hard, and she freely admitted, most of the major screw ups in her life were of her own doing.
It was as we were discussing my moving, and I was telling her about Marti and the house and such, and she was telling me about her boyfriend, and her time in the military, that I glanced up and caught her watching me over the rim of the coffee mug that I got that “twang”… you know, that cosmic bitch-slap that is the universe’s way of saying “Pay Attention! This one’s important!” Well, as the day wore on, I got less and less packing done, and more and more talking, and then talking while holding hands.
Eventually, she felt well enough to go back out into the world, and she asked if she could take me out to dinner as a way to say thank you for the favor I had done her. I of course, said “sure.”
Once we got to the restaurant, the first thing she did was order a glass of wine. Now, after drinking the amount she had drunk the previous night, even the thought of alcohol would be enough to make me nauseous for at least a week, let alone actually drink the stuff. But, she downed the wine like it was water, and then ordered another.
We were at dinner for just a little over an hour, and during that time, she had four glasses of wine. And during that time, it was as if I had been given a glimpse of something wondrous, beautiful, and terribly ephemeral… and now the curtain was closing. For as she drank her wine, the wonderful, witty and charming person I had been talking with for the day, was replaced by the chatty, overly gregarious, party-girl I had met outside the club. It was as if with each glass of wine she drank, someone turned the dimmer switch on her personality down another notch or two, until by the end of the dinner...there was so very little light left, it was hardly worth looking at.
Now, I’ve been down that road before. I have, and still have several friends who are alcoholics; very few of them are still drinking at all, 2 of them wised up and quit, and four of them are dead. And so, as I watched the wonderful woman drown herself in wine, it was with great sadness that I realized, that I did not have the strength to go down that road yet again, no matter if this woman was holding my hand or not.
And so, we exchanged numbers and parted company, and I watched her drive off into the night…“one of the true children of the night, under the care of a harsh and unforgiving mother.”… to quote myself. I somehow doubt I’ll ever see her again.
Remember in my last post, when I said “With any luck I’ll get back at some horrible hour of the morning and be completely exhausted?,” well…I shoulda listened to my father when he told me “Son, be careful what you wish for… you might get it.”
So, I went to poi practice as planned and spun lots and it was great, except for the blisters on my fingers from not practicing enough...SIGH. Then after that, I and some friends headed on over to Ceremony.
I had never been to Ceremony before… it was OK. They really could use some help in the Special Effects/Atmosphere department; but I had not heard the Marine Corps marching chant turned into a dance number before, so that was fun. Also, they were showing Shaun of the Dead, which is a highly amusing movie, if you are a fan of zombie films. I ran into a few friends there, most notably Laurie from Lucretia’s Daggers, and we did what Goths tend to do...either dance, or sit around and make snarky comments about other Goths.
Well, while we were doing this, a very attractive lady with long black hair who was doing some amazing things on the dance floor, would occasionally sweep by us, smile and wave…sometimes tousling our hair, or running her long fingers down our arms as she danced by. Laurie and I looked at each other and silently said in the Secret Eyebrow Language That Only Elder Goths Can Know… “Do you know her?” and we both shrugged our shoulders indicating that neither of us knew who this woman was. Then, in the same fashion, we further asked each other “Which one of us do you think she is coming on to?” Again, shrugged shoulders indicating we did not know, and could not figure it out. We then spent the rest of the night chatting, snarking and occasionally dancing.
So, the night ended and the club closed. I said good bye to the folks I knew and headed down Beacon st. hoping to catch a cab by the time I got to Kendall sq. Now, after walking only a block or two, who did I see, but the amazing black-haired dancer. She was staggering badly, obviously very, very drunk. I was about to cross the street to avoid her when I saw that she had a set of car keys in her hand, and was headed towards a car, a Jaguar no less.
!*&#@#@!^!!!
I looked around for a cop… no sign of one; nor cab either for that matter. SIGH. I hate it when the universe gives you tests like this! For I knew, I just knew that if I let her get into that car and drive, she was gonna kill herself, and probably take one or two innocent folks with her.
*!#@%#!!!
So, with many a curse words in my head, I approached her and started up a conversation. I can be charming if I want to be, and she is a chatty drunk, so this was not a problem. It was also amusing that she kept slipping in and out of Russian while talking to me. That’s when I found out she was an exotic dancer by trade… which explained many of the dance moves I’d seen her doing on the floor.
I figured that if I talked with her long enough, some cop car was bound to cruise by and I could flag it down. Nope, no such luck. Oh how I long for the days of Man-Ray when, as the club closed, cop cars and cabs vied with each other for double-parking space! I have no idea how long I stood there and talked with her… it seemed a long while. Eventually, she wanted to get in the car and go home, and was getting rather adamant about it. So, I did the only thing I could think of to keep her from driving… I offered to drive her home.
I figured that I could take a cab from Cambridge (where she said she lived) just as easily as from where I was now. (When I go out clubbing by my-self, I take a cab home, rather than have to leave at midnight to catch the last T train, or risk driving drunk). Well, some light must have gone on in her head… because she agreed that I was probably more able to drive than she was. Halleluiah! So, she got in the passengers seat, and I in the drivers. I took a minute to familiarize myself with the controls, and then we were off.
Well, she of course was still in the mood to party, and so turned the stereo up VERY loud. So, there I was, driving a Jag toward Cambridge with a gorgeous woman next to me and loud music blasting on the stereo… every man’s dream, right? NOT!
For this woman seemed to not be able to remember exactly where in Cambridge she lived. We would cruise around a bit, and every now and then she’d yell out “Here! Turn here!” and I would, knowing full well that we had been down that road several times before. Also, as the evening progressed, and the alcohol caught up with her, she seemed to lose the ability to speak English. Eventually, she started crying and saying something in Russian, and then passed out altogether. Great!
So, I drove around a bit more, just ‘cause driving a Jag feels Real Good, and I doubt I’ll get the opportunity again any day soon. But, eventually that lost its amusement value, and I turned my attention to what to do about this… situation. I found her wallet and looked at her driver’s license; it gave an address in Florida. Now, I may like driving a v12 Jag, but not all the way to Florida!
So, I did the thing that seemed reasonable to me, I headed home. At this point, it was about 5 am, and I just wanted this night to end. Marti was up in New Hampshire, taking care of House Stuff that needed doing up there, so it was just me, the cats, snakes and various animal remains that inhabited this amazing 10 room Victorian house.
Well, that hour of the morning is usually inspirational to me. And in this case, my inspiration was that, if the police would not come to me, I’d go to them! I live not 5 blocks from a police station, and as I have mentioned previously, I am on good terms with the local law enforcement officials. They have a hell of a job; I mean, they have to put up with people like me. So, I pull up in front of the station and walk into the lobby. There is an older black woman sitting behind the desk… not someone I know. In retrospect, I guess it is probably a good thing I am not well acquainted with the police-folk that work the 5 am shift. She’s giving me a major hairy eyeball, and I can understand why, I mean, I am still dressed from the club… purple silk, black lace and gold skulls.
I explain the situation to her, and then ask if they have a “drunk tank,” that they can put this woman in?
This cop then explains to me that while DUI is indeed a crime, “Attempting to DUI” is not. They could not arrest her for being drunk and disorderly either, as she was drunk and passed out in her own car, not on public property… and being passed out, she was not a danger to herself or anyone else.
When I asked if just good old “public drunkenness” was sufficient grounds, this woman said that yes, it was, but that right now their holding cells ( for both men and women) were full of gang members who had actually been trying to shoot each other, and she did not feel that putting a scantily clad, unconscious woman in their midst was a good idea.
And then, as if reading my mind, this officer told me that if I dumped this woman on the sidewalk in front of the police station, or even just left her in her parked car, they might have to arrest me for endangerment. So, after counting to ten in my head, slowly, I headed home.
Now, as I was driving homeward, I got to thinking that it would be just like Marti to drive down from N.H and surprise me with a visit on Valentines Day! I had a (brief) moment of amusement when I imagined the look on her face as, on a Valentine’s Day when she is expected to not be home, I arrive home at 5 am, in a Jag with a drunken stripper. While it would not be the WORST looking situation I have had to explain to Marti (Or she to me… we are equal opportunity oddballs), it would easily rank in the top 5.
But no, Marti was still in N.H, probably blissfully asleep. So, I got this woman up the steps and into my house. I pulled out a futon in a room that was heated but empty except for a few boxes and a table. I put a large glass of water and a bottle of aspirin next to her, and then I went to bed. The dark sadistic part of me (not a small part, that one), hoped that she was allergic to cats.
Of course, it was 6 am, and I always wake up around 6:30 AM, no matter what time I go to sleep, so in retrospect, sleeping was probably not the best of ideas. In my experience, if you cannot reasonably expect to sleep for at least 4 hours (1 sleep cycle), and then you are better off not even bothering.
So, I continued to do what I have been doing for quite some time now… packing things away in boxes. Eventually this woman woke up, looked around, noticed the large number of cats and such around and said. “So, do you make a habit of taking in strays with less than four legs?” When I replied that no, I did not… she said “Well, thank you for taking this one in. I guess I strayed pretty far last night, huh?” I gave her a brief rundown of the evening and she looked appropriately abashed.
So, for much of the day, she drank water, eventually graduating to coffee, and we talked some. The odd thing was that in spite of suffering what must have been a hangover of legendary proportions, this woman was charming, insightful and very, very comfortable to be around. She would watch me for a long time with out saying anything; which as far as I am concerned, was a blessing. Far too many people are uncomfortable with lengthy silences; this woman seemed to realize that silence is as much a part of any conversation as words are. Then she would make some comment or ask some question that would actually make me stop and think for a bit. Also, I was still pretty pissed at her, so silence was a good option. It was very odd.
Perhaps because I have been pretty much by myself these last weeks in the big old house, I found her company at first tolerable, then pleasant, and then actually quite delightful. We both had the same taste in authors, and although our tastes in music differ, there was some degree of overlap. We talked about life in general… hers has been amazingly hard, and she freely admitted, most of the major screw ups in her life were of her own doing.
It was as we were discussing my moving, and I was telling her about Marti and the house and such, and she was telling me about her boyfriend, and her time in the military, that I glanced up and caught her watching me over the rim of the coffee mug that I got that “twang”… you know, that cosmic bitch-slap that is the universe’s way of saying “Pay Attention! This one’s important!” Well, as the day wore on, I got less and less packing done, and more and more talking, and then talking while holding hands.
Eventually, she felt well enough to go back out into the world, and she asked if she could take me out to dinner as a way to say thank you for the favor I had done her. I of course, said “sure.”
Once we got to the restaurant, the first thing she did was order a glass of wine. Now, after drinking the amount she had drunk the previous night, even the thought of alcohol would be enough to make me nauseous for at least a week, let alone actually drink the stuff. But, she downed the wine like it was water, and then ordered another.
We were at dinner for just a little over an hour, and during that time, she had four glasses of wine. And during that time, it was as if I had been given a glimpse of something wondrous, beautiful, and terribly ephemeral… and now the curtain was closing. For as she drank her wine, the wonderful, witty and charming person I had been talking with for the day, was replaced by the chatty, overly gregarious, party-girl I had met outside the club. It was as if with each glass of wine she drank, someone turned the dimmer switch on her personality down another notch or two, until by the end of the dinner...there was so very little light left, it was hardly worth looking at.
Now, I’ve been down that road before. I have, and still have several friends who are alcoholics; very few of them are still drinking at all, 2 of them wised up and quit, and four of them are dead. And so, as I watched the wonderful woman drown herself in wine, it was with great sadness that I realized, that I did not have the strength to go down that road yet again, no matter if this woman was holding my hand or not.
And so, we exchanged numbers and parted company, and I watched her drive off into the night…“one of the true children of the night, under the care of a harsh and unforgiving mother.”… to quote myself. I somehow doubt I’ll ever see her again.