12.11.04

Friday didn't begin for me until 12:30 in the afternoon. It was a treat to sleep through my hangover; though I staggered up at 8:30 to feed HellKitty.

Yes. A hangover and, here's the shameful part, off of one margarita and one Pabst Blue Ribbon. Note to self: do not slam a tequila cocktail followed by beer when I haven't eaten all day. Oops.

A bit wiser, and I got a windfall check, so it was back down to Holocene Friday evening (the site of the Nuclear Winter Formal) to see an emo band, the Deloreans. They were a pleasant respite after an improvisational jazz combo. Sorry, I'm not sophisticated enough to enjoy improvisational jazz. Or I wasn't in the right mood. *laugh* I'm not sure what would be an improv jazz mood for me....

I got to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine (a decent pinot noir) and that was my drink all evening. No, I didn't continue to order wine. I mean that was my lone drink of the evening. What a clever girl.

Clever, clever, clever.

I wandered around, looking for Mlle.E., Binkie, Treluv, or anyone else familiar. I found the foursome (Mlle. E., Binkie, Treluv, and Amity) in the performance room. That is, the immunity boosting room of the night before.

Red velvet drapes cover the walls, there's a narrow stage with a screen behind it. Projected onto the screen all evening were double-exposures and self-consciously arty video of grass bending in the wind. At one point a leaf twisted in the breeze. Or it was a dead chicken. Hmm.

We ran to the tiny smoking room periodically; 3X3 meters, with one, tiny, bathroom ventilation fan to disperse the smoke through the ceiling. Though the fan laboured mightily, 15 people smoking is too much. The doorway is blocked by heavy, clear plastic drapes--like the ones in front of an often-used meat locker. There is no way to look cool while wrestling with the stuff.You either whap yourself across the head, or you bean someone else in the room or out in the hall. It's kind of funny, all the would-be club kids trying to maintain that world-weary mien while wrasslin' plastic.

At one point, the fantabulous Mlle. E. and I were in the smoking room. (The emo was too much.) I overheard a girl complimenting both of our hair and, as I'm trying to learn how to gracefully accept a compliment, I turned and said thank you. Oh dear. That lead to a conversation in which Mlle. E. wished that a man would pay her such compliments, and the girl volunteered that she had a strap-on.
"Well," I said, "There's an option," and laughed. I had no idea that Mlle. E. was in the no inhibitions stage of the evening, and the girl invited us to a party. The girl extolled the virtues of her cute, or was it hot?, Polish roommate, and said that we'd make a music video at the party, drink wine and watch foreign movies. The girl got Mlle.E.'s phone number, then blew kisses at me for a while, and said she'd make me a star. Yeah. Right. Ach, the joys of alcohol-induced bravado.

Still, it was a nice compliment.

Mlle.E. and I did a couple of turns around the bar. I'm certain she broke more than a few hearts. *grin* Imagine two tallish women, one with startling magenta-red hair, both dressed in black, promenading arm in arm around a dark bar. Even as unsteady as we were (I stink at walking in heels), we were fabulous. *snork*

After Holocene, we (Binkie, Treluv, Amity, and Mlle.E.) went to the Bonfire and listened to very drunk boys do the drunk-boys-trying-to-impress-girls shouting thing. We ordered food and, as we ate, the last call lights came on. Can there be a more unpleasant way to end an evening? It's like a cop's flashlight glaring in the car window during a traffic stop. Ugh.

For me, it was back out to the 'burbs, and time to start a poem, then blessed sleep.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Tonight? It's me, HellKitty, my notebook, a really good pen (because it's lovely to write with a pen that dances over the page and doesn't stick or drag) and a pile of trashy romance novels.

I am so looking forward to it.

Be fabulous.

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