Friday, January 21, 2005

Tales of a Twenty-Nothing

One amongst you, my dear readers, asked for something more personal from me. The observations and commentary are all well and good and oftimes entertaining but tell us more about the real you, s/he said. It's all about the journey friend, but since mine eyes have seen the glory (review title of this blob) and my brain is fried, I'll share a little something about my nothing days. Shhh, but don't tell anybody.

Journal entry Sat., 12.16.90 Detroit

The day began normal enough. I woke up pretty early, having gone to bed around 9:30 the night before. Fri. night was a night of pure frustration (lost a contact, lost an earring, etc.) Anyway Chris called, and we chatted for app. 2 hrs., during which time negative thoughts took over my mind. R. came over we proceeded to "bicker" in the usual fashion, meaning that I spewed irrationalities until she was on the verge of tears and got up to go. However, I physically held her back. I don't know what happened, but suddenly all was resolved, and I handed her her Christmas gift, which she seemed pleased with. She left to go about her business, and I spent the next portion of the day with Richard.

He picked me up, and we spent a few hours at the Gibralter Trade Center in Taylortucky which was interesting and kind of fun. [For you non-Detroiters, Taylor is a suburb in Michigan that some people call Taylortucky 'cause it's pretty redneck.] Then he took me to Red Lobster. I had the Shrimp, Shrimp, and Shrimp and a key lime margarita. Then we stopped at KMart and home. Somehow I feel bad, but what can I say? I kind of rushed him out—I mean, I didn't invite him to stay. R. arrived two minutes after he left. Phew.

We watched Twin Peaks, and then Chris picked us up. Mary-Chris and Malcolm were already at his place. After a while, Chris suggested we all split a dose. Mary-Chris and I reluctantly gave in, and we all took a quarter hit. After a half hour, we went to Jerome's new club, the Wax Fruit Rhythm Cafe. The ambience got mixed reviews from all of us. I dunno, I guess it was just too "trendy"/"hip" for me. Fuckin' Jerome prancing around. The physicality of the place was really nice, though. Anyway, we didn't stay too long—opted for The Shelter, which was awful. We decided to try Heaven, but when we got there it was still early yet (2:30 AM) so we went to City Club for an hour, and that's when the doses started to take effect. Pam, Rob, and some others were there, and coincidentally, they were all all tripping too.

We all went back to Heaven, and that's where things got bizarre. At City Club I'd only felt it in my left arm and that weird tension in my back, but 10 min. after we got to into Heaven it crept into my legs big time. I got to the point where my legs felt like rubber. My left leg was completely numb. Just by watching everyone else move, I felt like I was moving. It was funny at first because I didn't realize I wasn't moving until R. grabbed me and started moving me to the music. I should note that we did find Brian and his "new boy" on the dance floor.

After they played "Strings of Life," R. and I went into the bathroom, where R. talked to Greg, Kim, and Kelly—none of whom I recognized 'till later thanks to the acid. Back in the club, I kept sliding off the chair in the chillout room. Then I was a monkey. Then I thought I was crying, but I wasn't. Then I was a statue.

So I'm sittin' there trippin' out and in walks the monster girl—three big fat dreads, hooded pullover shirt hanging off shoulders revealing a filthy pink brassiere, sporting a very amateurish looking tatoo of a rose, an enormous albeit tight butt encased in form-fitting jeans. She was dancing directly in front of us, as her male "posse" looked on. At some point, to further her theatrics, she whipped out a toothbrush and started "combing" her eyebrows with it. Enter a Flip Wilson look alike transvestite, dressed in a nice suit.

Flip and monster get into a serious dance off. The tension is mounting in the room as the two factions of dancing warriors prepare for violence. Chris, Mary-Chris, R., and I were entranced—dangerously so. The air felt charged as with static electricity. Everyone in the venue got jittery; some laughed nervously, maniacally, which only made the dancers hurl themselves around more energetically. I kept hoping The Godfather would put "Strings" on again. That would have calmed everyone for sure since it's everybody's song. "Strings" = Detroit. The collective anxiety in the room became absolutely unbearable. The monster girl was SO hideous that I was mesmerized with repulsion. Flip Wilson confused me. I got to point that I couldn't blink and wondered if I was drooling on myself. I wasn't sure if I was a monkey, but I hoped I might be so that I could wrap my tail around myself for comfort. Just when I thought I might scream to release my own tension, Chris snapped out of it and with three words—"C'MON LET'S GO—we all came back to reality and ran pell mell for the door. In that tiny moment I knew that even though I wasn't sure if I was a monkey, I knew everything else was real. I'm learning to trust my instincts about violence in the city. Who knows what might have happened if we'd stayed. I've been telling everyone that I saw "the flash of a blade," which is not true. But I do remember R. repeating over and over, "That was bad you guys. Something wasn't right" as we made our great escape.

Blog Log 1.21.05 San Francisco

And that my children was once a day in the life of she who has become your blobber. And the others? Well, we did later here that there was indeed a stabbing at Heaven that night, but stabbings—though not a regular occurence—did happen there from time to time, and we had no way of knowing if the victim was anyone we'd seen. Chris later skipped the city with personal belongings of almost everyone we knew. (Among other things he took my guitar, Brian's Herb Ritts collection, and I don't remember what else from other people, but we all griped and moaned about it for years afterward.) Mary-Chris was his accomplice, never to be seen again. Brian drives for FedEx in Denver and loves it. R. is Head of Children's Services at a public library in Denver and has a five-yr.-old son. And I, dear reader, am your blobber. That must be enough of me for you now.

If you have similar tales to share, please do, and if not, then bugger off. You can't allow yourself to be satisfied to live life vicariously through me. Go out and DO something, then report back here when you've gathered your thoughts. This business of me doing all the work is rubbish, you hear? Pure rubbish.


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