proud of myself, fat and happy
or "unnecessary weekend party wrap up, pt. deux"
1:10: I love you but I must bid you ado. The wonderful people are trickling from the Glamarchist Benefit. The rum is gone.
1:15: Why is my phone not working> I always pay my bill. Can I use yours?
1:30: The Twinkie Party looks like it was a thing not to be missed. Nevertheless, it ended promptly at one. The only people I know are the only people under thirty. They are poets, all three of them. They are also the only blacks and hispanics at this cavernous place, and they were kicked out more harshly than I.
1:45: Hi Ramon, what's up? You're at a party, where at? Oh, the people are assholes? Maybe I'll see you there. I'll call you if there are better things to do.
1:46: There are better things to do.
2:00: We arrive at the Monkey Haus, or what once was the Monkey Haus. Never trust a place with bouncers that look different than the rest of the crowd.
2:01: I decide to play with them.
Bouncer: Show me your hands [the nails are bitten, they are unmarked}
Me: What's goin on in here?
Bouncer: Five bucks.
Me: [coy] What for?
Bouncer: What do you think? [the last time I paid five bucks, it was for an Anarchist legal defense fund, and also beer. I don't think that's the case here]
Me: Well. I want to know if it's worth it. [I want a sales pitch]
Bouncer: Look... [and he's looking mean] I'm not here to accomodate you.
Me: [Wondering how close I am to getting hit] What an odd thing to say. Am I going to have fun?
Bouncer: Look [he is defeated?] it's crowded and sweaty, there's good music, beautiful women, and shitty beer that 'll cost too much because you don't know anyone.
Me: Here's five.
2:05: Alex is here. This is nearly a given.
2:07: His name isn't Marat?
2:08: This is an afterparty for some band called The Gaylords which features suckbags from lameass bands Kill Hannah, Local H, and the Smashing Pumpkins. I do not see any local celebrities I know/hate/recognize, they are probably all doing blow at the VIP party downstairs.
2:10: A cute, boyish lesbian type nods to me on the dance floor. I nod back.
2:12: Cute, boyish lesbian type is really trying to work my dick with her ass on the dance floor. Uh oh, I think.
2:13: Cute boyish lesbian type starts kissing my neck.
Me: Umm, I gotta go. I'll be right back.
2:14: Me: So, what's the deal with drinks.
Bartender: We got beer left.
Me: Cool, I'll have one.
Bartender: [pouring already] That's three bucks.
Me: I don't have it.
Bartender: Well ya gotta give me something if you wanna drink.
Me: What's the least I can give you?
Bartender: Three dollars.
Me: Lady, I ain't never had a beer at a house party worth three dollars [technically, this is a loft]
Bartender: Really?
2:17: I walk in a small circle, Cute Boyish Lesbian Type finds me.
Me: Drinks are fuckin expensive here.
CBLT: Yeah, you wanna go fuck?
Me: Um, I can't.
CBLT: Why not?
Me: I'm trying to be monotonous. It' like, a trial thing I need to see if I can do [Why do I say this instead of something like, 'I'm in love' or 'I'm really not into you'? I think I'm trying to sound cool and noncomittal. I hate that I do that. Also, it's the same answer I give when people ask me why I'm not eating red meat this month]
CBLT: That sucks.
Me: Yeah, I guess, but not really. What's you're name?
CBLT: Mike.
Me: Nice to meet you, Mike [perhaps Cute Boyish Lesbian Type is actually Cute Girlish Gay Guy Type. It doesn't matter]
2:25: Fight between two very tall, pretty effeminite hipster boys wih bad haircuts. It is broken up too quickly for my tastes.
2:26: Dance awkwardly.
3:10: DJ plays "Sex on Wheels (Motor City Remix)" by My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult. I dance awkwardly but with much more force.
3:15: D.J. Demchuk rolls me a cigarette. As a nonsmoker I have had very few cigarettes and the ones I've had were of the mass produced variety. This tastes plain and harsh in comparison.
3:20: So long suckers.
3:30: I am a much better tipper when my girlfriend is in the car. I'm not a bad tipper, but as a former waitress and dater of Indian men, she respects cab drivers and people who rely on tips for a living more than I do. At the same time, I am not a shitty tipper and have him drop me off a few blocks from home so I can give him that much extra money.
3:35: Nick is looking for typewriter stores in the phonebook. I like living with him.
4:00 Write blog, dick around online, go to bed.
I am happy with this evening. I am proud of myself for my restraint but I expect that I will get some shit for letting Mike get close enough to kiss me. I have had a wonderful friendfilled week. It is somewhere around my tenth annversary of writing and for two shows this week, I broke out a dusty old book of poems spanning the many phases I've gone through. I'd like to thank Chris Basaraba, Christian Duckworth, Meshell, Sam, Deanna and Breanna for coming out to the In One Ear on Wednesday, anyone who took the time to actually look at my photos at Inventive Expression yesterday or listen to my poems at A Cold Day in the City tonight, all the people I just met, anyone who reads my blog, and especially Sarah for dragging her ass out to nearly every performance I have. I know that a lot of what I do isn't particularly most of your cup(s) of tea, but I spend a lot of time working on it and I feel really good about myself when you give it a chance. Namaste.
1:10: I love you but I must bid you ado. The wonderful people are trickling from the Glamarchist Benefit. The rum is gone.
1:15: Why is my phone not working> I always pay my bill. Can I use yours?
1:30: The Twinkie Party looks like it was a thing not to be missed. Nevertheless, it ended promptly at one. The only people I know are the only people under thirty. They are poets, all three of them. They are also the only blacks and hispanics at this cavernous place, and they were kicked out more harshly than I.
1:45: Hi Ramon, what's up? You're at a party, where at? Oh, the people are assholes? Maybe I'll see you there. I'll call you if there are better things to do.
1:46: There are better things to do.
2:00: We arrive at the Monkey Haus, or what once was the Monkey Haus. Never trust a place with bouncers that look different than the rest of the crowd.
2:01: I decide to play with them.
Bouncer: Show me your hands [the nails are bitten, they are unmarked}
Me: What's goin on in here?
Bouncer: Five bucks.
Me: [coy] What for?
Bouncer: What do you think? [the last time I paid five bucks, it was for an Anarchist legal defense fund, and also beer. I don't think that's the case here]
Me: Well. I want to know if it's worth it. [I want a sales pitch]
Bouncer: Look... [and he's looking mean] I'm not here to accomodate you.
Me: [Wondering how close I am to getting hit] What an odd thing to say. Am I going to have fun?
Bouncer: Look [he is defeated?] it's crowded and sweaty, there's good music, beautiful women, and shitty beer that 'll cost too much because you don't know anyone.
Me: Here's five.
2:05: Alex is here. This is nearly a given.
2:07: His name isn't Marat?
2:08: This is an afterparty for some band called The Gaylords which features suckbags from lameass bands Kill Hannah, Local H, and the Smashing Pumpkins. I do not see any local celebrities I know/hate/recognize, they are probably all doing blow at the VIP party downstairs.
2:10: A cute, boyish lesbian type nods to me on the dance floor. I nod back.
2:12: Cute, boyish lesbian type is really trying to work my dick with her ass on the dance floor. Uh oh, I think.
2:13: Cute boyish lesbian type starts kissing my neck.
Me: Umm, I gotta go. I'll be right back.
2:14: Me: So, what's the deal with drinks.
Bartender: We got beer left.
Me: Cool, I'll have one.
Bartender: [pouring already] That's three bucks.
Me: I don't have it.
Bartender: Well ya gotta give me something if you wanna drink.
Me: What's the least I can give you?
Bartender: Three dollars.
Me: Lady, I ain't never had a beer at a house party worth three dollars [technically, this is a loft]
Bartender: Really?
2:17: I walk in a small circle, Cute Boyish Lesbian Type finds me.
Me: Drinks are fuckin expensive here.
CBLT: Yeah, you wanna go fuck?
Me: Um, I can't.
CBLT: Why not?
Me: I'm trying to be monotonous. It' like, a trial thing I need to see if I can do [Why do I say this instead of something like, 'I'm in love' or 'I'm really not into you'? I think I'm trying to sound cool and noncomittal. I hate that I do that. Also, it's the same answer I give when people ask me why I'm not eating red meat this month]
CBLT: That sucks.
Me: Yeah, I guess, but not really. What's you're name?
CBLT: Mike.
Me: Nice to meet you, Mike [perhaps Cute Boyish Lesbian Type is actually Cute Girlish Gay Guy Type. It doesn't matter]
2:25: Fight between two very tall, pretty effeminite hipster boys wih bad haircuts. It is broken up too quickly for my tastes.
2:26: Dance awkwardly.
3:10: DJ plays "Sex on Wheels (Motor City Remix)" by My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult. I dance awkwardly but with much more force.
3:15: D.J. Demchuk rolls me a cigarette. As a nonsmoker I have had very few cigarettes and the ones I've had were of the mass produced variety. This tastes plain and harsh in comparison.
3:20: So long suckers.
3:30: I am a much better tipper when my girlfriend is in the car. I'm not a bad tipper, but as a former waitress and dater of Indian men, she respects cab drivers and people who rely on tips for a living more than I do. At the same time, I am not a shitty tipper and have him drop me off a few blocks from home so I can give him that much extra money.
3:35: Nick is looking for typewriter stores in the phonebook. I like living with him.
4:00 Write blog, dick around online, go to bed.
I am happy with this evening. I am proud of myself for my restraint but I expect that I will get some shit for letting Mike get close enough to kiss me. I have had a wonderful friendfilled week. It is somewhere around my tenth annversary of writing and for two shows this week, I broke out a dusty old book of poems spanning the many phases I've gone through. I'd like to thank Chris Basaraba, Christian Duckworth, Meshell, Sam, Deanna and Breanna for coming out to the In One Ear on Wednesday, anyone who took the time to actually look at my photos at Inventive Expression yesterday or listen to my poems at A Cold Day in the City tonight, all the people I just met, anyone who reads my blog, and especially Sarah for dragging her ass out to nearly every performance I have. I know that a lot of what I do isn't particularly most of your cup(s) of tea, but I spend a lot of time working on it and I feel really good about myself when you give it a chance. Namaste.
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