Dancing Like My Mother

It starts two days earlier at 7 am in the San Francisco airport. My travel pills are kicking in already but we haven’t boarded the plane yet, I force my eyes to focus on a brief and superficial cover article about Fergie Ferg in the most recent Paper magazine.

I wake up an hour and half after the take off. I sleep and read. Then find an empty row on my way to the restroom, and spread out for the rest of the flight. We land in NYC. I grab a bagel with turkey then stake it out at my gate even though I am two hours early for the connecting flight to Dublin. Before flight 112 there’s a flight to Moscow. Russian guys are decidedly hot and some are for defs gay. My gaydar is working over time. It’s some kind of overcompensation for the hyperstraight/closeted environment I’m flying into. Or maybe I’m horny. No one seems decidedly gay after the Russian flight leaves. The Irish slowly gather, spreading out on the pleather seats, and raising accented voices in familial laughter or anger. I stop in the bathroom a few times. I read some short stories. We board. I force myself to stay awake through the travel pill haze because we get an actual meal on this flight. I don’t realize I’m sitting in first class till we are off the ground. The Devil Wears Prada starts then stops 15 minutes in, right when it picks up. I watch The Break Up, Half of the Devil Wears Prada, the second half, then the first half.

Dublin. I take a bus to a train, it proves difficult to maneuver carrying a coffe, garment bag, shoulder bag, and rolling suitcase. The train allows boarding early, which satisfies because I want to settle in and the station is rather chilly. There's a balck woman with bright red hair in my car, and two white families. The one right by me is having trouble securing their previously booked hotel reservations, the son has a mohawk. The other hasd an father type figure, fattish, redfaced no chin. The mother is thin with no chin dishwater short hair pulled up and teased in the back and flattened in the front like an Ohio lesbian. I press on the crown of my head out of self conciousness. The daughter is prettyish. She is dressed trendly, like an Urban Outfitters shopper. Long blond hair, tight jeans and all, but I can see too much of her mother and father in her. She might be nice now, but she'll age badly, and soon too I think.

Ireland seems more and more like an American place everytime I come. I don’t feel like I’m in Ireland till I smell burning tires and cowshit on the train to Killdare. I step off the train into a rich thick dark farm odor and a thin rain, which only gets worse as my father drives me to Mountmellick, to Aunt Martha’s house.

I wake at 5 a.m. Excited for the wedding. I go back to bed at 9 a.m. and rise again at 11 a.m. My cousins lounge around the house, we put off getting dressed till 12:50, though the ceremony starts at 1:30. There’s some trouble pinning roses to lapels and thin materialed dresses. Amo’s dress is very tropical, very teal and pink toulle, very cruise ship.
Twinjob looks very mafia. I look decidedly very GAY with my thin cut suit, purple tie, vintage broach and cropped yet still present bangs.
The ceremony is Catholic. I wince when it’s mentioned that God’s love is manifest through the love a man feels for a woman and a woman for a man, and also by their commitment to each other in God’s love, and that they must have Catholic children to continue the love of God.
In Europe, at least in Ireland, at least at this wedding, many men appear gay, on further inspection they appear Metrosexual, which I quickly remember is synonymous with European.
There are tight dresses, a favorite is a pink corsetted top with lacing down the back and a tight skirt part. Absolutely slut pretty. She's pretty enough though. Most of the young ones (20's) are. But agin I can see the age in them the way they'll get old, it seems the Irish carries their future bad looks with them, it's there behind the small eyes weak chins, and ruddy cheeks, waiting to expose them. I think of Agent's evaluation of certain celebrities of having White Trash bone structure. They might be pretty but it's there. Yes.
We get in cars and head to the castle.

The castle is a CASTLE. Originally built in 1118, by Norman invaders. Then maintained for 700 years by the Sullivan family as they waivered in and out of poverty for 7 centuries. It’s stone and tall. Twinjob and I share a room with two beds high cielings, and alcove a fancy wardrobe and a view of the gardens. I want alcohol. I want desperately to dance my ass off, I want desperately to find a secret dyke or faggot to sit with and judge everyone’s clothing and manner relentlessly, raising ourselves up with each biting stinging Irishgayirish witty observation. There’s Twinjob but it won’t satifsy.
Dinner is beef or salmon. Beef. It’s Twinjob me and 6 shy cousins. I’m two glasses of wine in, and one Jameson.

I’m three Jameson in. The wedding band plays the love song from Robin Hood Prince of Thieves for the first dance. Then onto a magical montage of 50’s and 60’s, some Irish traditional party songs, some country. I’m four Jameson in when they play Blondie
so I’m on the floor, but it quickly changes into something less pleasing. The whole dance floor forms a large dance circle, different folks take chances embarrassing themselves in the center. Son of the Bride’s Father is absolutely mad, jumping around like crazy, grabbing different women and pulling them in. The circle all grabs hand and dances toward the center and back out repeatedly.

They all seem so unselfconcious. Not in a proud way, as much as a naïve way, as if there were no reason to be selfcouncious about being less than drunk and terrible dancers. Twinjob is all
The Irish have no rhythm
Some people clap double time some exactly on the beat but most aren’t even clapping a counter rhythm or a rhythm at all. There seems to be no sex here. No desire. The woman are wearing tight dresses, they look pretty, the men are dressed handsomely, but no one is grinding, dancing close, pinching each other, the songs are unsexy.
That I-WOULD-WALK-500-MILES-AND-I-WOULD-WALK-500-MORE-JUST-TO-BE-THE-MAN…The dancers go mad, I go for Jameson.
There’s a dj at midnight. I get my cousin to request Missy Elliot even though she doesn’t know who she is and all I can remember the words to is Gossip Folks. I go for support, the dj makes a face at us and asks us to repeat ourselves. He doesn’t know who she is. He has an infiniti light bos and some disco accesories hanging off his kit.

I rip my sweater when I try to take it off. My shirt too. My broach was pinned clear through apparently.
My older second cousin collects on the dance I promised her, with a fierce grip on my wrist dragging me to the dance floor she pushes me to the middle of the large arythmic circle of relatives and in laws toward the bride who links her elbow into mine so we can spin, her train nearly tripping me, I hop weirdly so as not to step on it and pull her to the ground.
I dance with the older cousin some, but then it’s more technoized country, so I simply walk away which feels like a true act of cruelty.

Jameson.
Sandwiches and coffee and tea are put out. I take severeal ham sandwiches: white bread, butter and a thin layer of rough ham, also coffee with no milk and lots of sugar.
The dj plays and ABBA medley so I hit the floor as gay as possible, Twinjob dances like he has a scolioses brace on, he says
I’m trying to seem straight
I wonder if I dance like him. But he can’t imitate me so I guess I’m fine.
Amo comes over to me all cruiseship and tealpinksequiness she’s all
You’re hardly moving
I break out the I’M-JUST-TRYING-TO-EMBARRASS-YOU-WITH-MY-DANCING moves. Everyone is definitely impressed. Actually impressed.

My step mother is still up at 1am, she shuffles over to me on the dance floor and says
I haven’t danced with you since MY wedding
That was maybe 16 years ago.
I turn in a circle and dance, she gets the hint and shuffles off.
It’s more technocountry, and more. Then a great medley of 50’s and 60’s rock
I go mad, so does Twinjob. So does everyone. I can’t figure out if cousin keating is laughing at me or with joy in dancing with me. Suddenly it’s That I-WOULD-WALK-500-MILES-AND-I-WOULD-WALK-500-MORE-JUST-TO-BE-THE-MAN…again. No really. I mosh with everyone because that’s what is done. Aren’t the boys who sing this scottish?

We stumble to our room to change. Tight girl jeans might not go over well with this crowd but I’m 8 Jameson in now.
Down to the residents’ pub. But I only last till 4a.m. It’s been nearly 16 hours.

Posted by Johnny at 4:06 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm sitting on the big trashed brown chair. Waiting for the clock to say 4:30.
Nickleback is on the tv.
Boyf is passed out on the couch from a fun time at The makeoutroon desperation Monday night with Richrhd Oh and Cupcake.
I'm totally jel that I won't be on the door for 90's night at Hold Yr Horses.
Family obligations outweigh party commitments this week.

My flight leaves SFO at 7:30 AM.

If I'd partied this past week instead of recuped from devilcold I'd be more settled with going, but I'm leaving after alredy being gone.

Posted by Johnny at 4:22 AM | Permalink | Comments

It's the hairshow for the salon. I just stuffed a puppy sized burrito into my body, making picking out an outfit a little uncomfortable.
I choose:
TIGHT grey jeans
White racer back tank
Long black sleeveless cardigan with a vintage shield brooch
brown vintage boots
Totally witchy. Totally Halloweentown.

I pull on the jeans and can barely button them. Total muffin top. The tank is almost too small. I sew a button back on the cardigan.
Blow Dry.
Flat Iron.
Wax. Shine Spray.

I scoot to Rchrd Oh's to drop off some bandanas for www.this.bigstereo.net. He's cooking. Claims that his house is all the Ring today. His tub started seeping a black substance up the drain and he heard a strange sound. I tell him about Marie Antoinette, the movie and the Queen.

I scoot to Mezzanine, there's no parking so I have to ride up on the sidewalk.
There's two lines outside and a red carpet. Literally.
Meager steps up, she's looking beautiful in a black party dress with a wide purple belt. She ushers me past the line.
Free coat check.
Everyone is all cheek kisses and half hugs.
I go backstage. Hair central. Hot models with hot hair, my coworkers teasing furiously: back comb, spray, smooth over. Jojo wears all red, a skirt, a top and cardigan, all tight, with her hair picked out huge.
Jojo
"Hey honey..."
Cheek kiss, half hug.
I see Sailor, tell her her brooch will be here soon, I left it home, but Pony is headed over. She's in an amazing all denim, military inspired vintage dress, skin tight, what a waist.

Back through the velvet ropes and there's Debbie and Hera. Cheek kiss, half hug. I'm too awkward to stand. My weeklong illness has robbed me of partyability. I hoof it to the bar. There are five bars. Now I have to pick a bar.
Panic.
The closest one.
Jameson rocks.
I don't have to drive till later.
The bartender looks familiar.

Debbie tells me about the show, all the music they are using, what the models are like. Her job today was sitting with the models' bags for five hours.
"At least I'm not clean up crew," she says/screams.
I'm going horse already from screaming over the subpar music.
The dj, a 30-ish woman, lipsinchs to the song, her nostril ring glinting. She bops her head from side to side.
It makes me lonely.

I'm off to call Pony, tell him how to get in without a hassle. I run into Girly. He's all, "Honey, how are you?Honey, would you like some of my diet coke? Honey, hoow about some drink tickets"
I like Girly out of work, he's more relaxed, less bossy. Less of a boss, more of a gay, which seems impossible, but he does it.
Three drink tickets.
I flirt with the girls at the door. They give me more tickets.
Pony shows up. Brooch in hand.
I hurry backstage and hook Sailor up.
It's more crowded. A photographer has a model up against a red wall. She is working that wall, that hair, that open shirt. Is that a boy? No she's a girl. I wish she was a boy for just a second. But she's a better girl. The photographer won't stop taking pictures of her. There's a line of people trying to get out. I push through.
I'm a receptionist and I deserve RESPECT!
To the bar with a drink ticket, one for me, one for Pony. Big tip to the familiar tender.
I stake out a spot near the runway with Pony, Jojo joins us.
The salon owners get up there with a Line rep. The guy owner says some stuff than the lady owner. I'm all
I LOVE HAIR. LET'S SEE SOME HAIR!!
Pony cracks up, Jojo too. People turn and give me a dirty look.
I ignore them, they are ugly and old.

The show starts. It's hot. Good hair.
Good models. Most of the guy models are stiff. They walk like they just shit their pants or they don't want to look gay, so they look bored, and stupid. Mentally stupid.

Whenever a black model comes out the crowd goes crazy. They go crazy for wild updos too. But with every single black model it's madness.
Pony drops his drink. All over my feet. Jojo's too. She slides him a dirty look.
He's all
"oops..." with a cute shrug.

After the show it's more drink ticket drinks, the bartender is all
"You look familiar"
You do too!! Where do you live?
"I just moved out of the mission"
I live there!
"I used to live at 16th and Valencia"
Oh, I live far from there, oh well. It's a mystery
I tip a little smaller because i have a five and a single.
Girly shows up with four drink tickets and four dollars.
"Honey, do you want more tickets?"
OK
"Just get two vodka tonics for the door girls then keep the other two."
I bring the door their drinks, someone else shows up with two vodka tonics at the same time. They'll have to double fist it.

We head to the restroom. I break the code and start a convo in the bathroom with Pony. It's dead silent otherwise. Come on we are all faggots, let's chat it up. Even Pony is breif with his words.
He jets to Double Dutch Disco. Boyf calls, he's out of band practice early. I wish I didn't have the drink because I'd leave now to see him. I try to get him to go to Double Dutch Disco so we can meet up. But he's in for the night.
I hit the dancefloor with Gaga and Jewelry. It's all 80's then it turns into 70's. I dare Gaga to ask the lipsynch dj for some Missy Elliot or something
But none of that remix crap.
A few songs later and Missy's on.
Jewelry dances her ass off. Jayla comes over and dances real low to the ground. He looks like a grown up kid. Big smile, glasses crooked, oversized striped shirt. I wish I could have fun like that.
I dance like my mother.
Like my mother dancing too Missy Elliot.
So does Gaga.
There's a crowd of assistants dancing nearby.

The party is happening. For a song. I dare Manny to get up on the runway.
He dissappears then comes through the curtains all Ethel Merman, Girly follows, and some girls. Girly dances like THAT guy. It's awesome.
Manny jumps down. He's sweating.
We go outside and Eve and Surly say I'm one of their favorites. I'm all
Come on guys, stop it.
I want them to get specific. Why am I one of your favorites? Who else is a favorite? I want context. They've moved on.
No-No is here. She's the HBIC. She's an owner. I tell her I love her. She laughs. I know I look drunk so I grab her hand and look her in the eye
No really. I love you. You're be best.
She believes me.
Her brother hits on Sailor, I think.
I meet Donatella, she is a major colorist with the Salon. I chat her up about nothing for a minute.
I tell Manny that the guy behind him is the only goodlooking boy model. He's all
"Him?!"
Did I stutter
"Him?! I know that guy"
My face gets hot. Totally embars then. Manny sounds dissappointed. But the guy IS goodlooking...ish.
All the smoke is getting to me so I head inside. No one.
NO ONE AT ALL is dancing.
It's tumbleweed empty. Sailor walks by. I chuck my bag in the middle of the floor.
Manny walks up with MaleModel.
Totally Embars. My face gets red. I can feel it. But it's club lighting, no one can see.
I cut at Manny with my eyes. He walks away.
MaleModel introduces himself. We half dance, and talk about the show. I scamper to the restroom. Manny's walking out the front door, I grab his wrist
That was NOT cool
He's all doe eyes and
"What?"
You dragged that guy over to me...
"I did not."
I believe him even though he is lying, we walk to his car, he drives me back to the club I grab my bag. Everyone is splitting up. Some art show, some after party at Surly's. I want to see his new apartment. I want to do something embarrassing and drunkworthy with my coworkers. It's midnight. I think.
I get on the scooter.
Home happens fast.

I shouldn't drive in this state. But I don't realize that till I'm parked on the pavement outside the house.

Posted by Johnny at 10:42 AM | Permalink | Comments

Part I

I'm watching DVD on TV with Agent and Jameson. It's season one, second disc, Desperate Housewives.
I've been sick for days, fever and fatigue.
2am. Wondering where Boyf is. He went to 22nd and Mish for the Makeout Room's monday night desperation, with Pony bc he turned 21 at midnight.
There's a loud stomping on the stoop and someone fiddling with keys, the door slams open and Boyf is all, "Someone help"
He's got his arms around Pony, who's barely standing. We get him to the couch, he drops, eyes half open and rolling.
What happened?
"It's his 21 birthday..." Boyf tries to catch his breath
You've only been gone for 2 hours!
"I know, let's get him some water"
I wash out a tall tall plastic cup and fill it with cold water.
Pony can barely hold it.
We pull him off the couch and I half carry half walk him to the stairs.
Boyf and I push him up the stairs, one at a time.
I hold him standing at the door of his room while Boyf clears his bed and all.
We dump him, pull of his shoes, negotiate with his coat.
I empty the bathroom trash so he has something to puke in if he needs it, and give him a towel in case he spills water or something.
Boyf says everyone at the bar bought him drinks, and shots. Boyf had to practically carry him home 5 blocks.
You only turn 21 once.

Part II
No fever all day and too much Law and Order. Boyf comes home right when Agent and I start to watch the second in the Disney channel's Halloweentown franchise. Fucking amazing. I wish I was on drugs.
I wish I was not wearing these jeans for two days and nights.
Pony's at the Eagle, so when all is resolved in Halloweentown we all rush upstairs to change. I pick a total outfit repeat, dark jeans, striped tank, grey sleeveless sweatshirt. My hair is hot though.
Agent's hair needs some tightening on the sides so I give him some B+B sumotech and it fixes him up right good.
My neck is crinked on the right side, totally annoying.
I tie a brown bandana round my neck to keep the cold out on the scooter.
Boyf and Agent work on Agent's bike, I quit it, hop on the scooter and speed off.
It's nice to be back on the road after 56 hours in the house.
I park it outside the Eagle, two guys check me out as I head in, I thought I was too skinny to get looks here, maybe it's my jacket or helmet that catches their eyes.
I head straight to the bar,
Hot Toddy
"What kind of place do you think this is?"
I've had one here before...
"Damn, ok scotch or burboun?"
I don't actually know the difference...
Burboun
Pony and his crew is by the firepit, I know only two of them and loop them both into quick convos.
First it's Mac. We talk about eyebrows. How did this convo even start? The whiskey starts working me over
I feel feverish and it's not the firepit, I'm too far away.
I tell him about my High School Senior Photo, How I forgot it was foto day and I was growing out a bad cut and color, with drag queen eyebrows and I hurriedly wiped the eyeliner off. Awful. He tells me about a woman who he sold makeup to who had had her sideburns waxed, Harsh.
I buy Pony a drink, because he's not drunk yet.
Should I put my bandana in my pocket? I've been holding it in my hand because it's not part of the outfit, I don't need a necksessory with this top. I'll be flagging scat bottom. I take the chance.
I sit with Keki. He's got a tiny pompadour and a tiny pony tail, sock garters a tiny neck tie and huge scarf. Totally cute.
He tells me about grad school. Photography. I'm all questions but I squint and look away so that I don't seem TOO interested, I'm interested but mostly uncomfortable, I keep interrupting him by accident, I can tell he notices. His eyes seem watery, he seems flighty, maybe high, maybe drunk.
Agent and Boyf show up.
We form a tight triangle.
Agent tells this joke:
3 vampires walk into a bar
the first one asks for a shot of A-
the second one is all, "I'll have the same but O+"
the last one asks for a cup of hot water, and pulls out a tampon
he says "I'm sick, I'm just having some tea"
I don't really laugh, Boyf too, and he's stoned.
Agent says "I like it, but mostly how awkward it is afterwards."
Awkwardbot: MILDLY AWKWARD.

Pony rounds everyone up for Trannyshack. I'm headed home for more Law and Order. Awesome.
Agent and Boyf head to Hole in the Wall and Keki heads home.
Mac predicts tequila shots at the shack.

Riding home I'm cold. I start to doubt my outfit choice, not for warmth just aesthetics. I pass some friends on bikes headed in the opposite direction. They don't recognize me with my helmet.

My wardrobe is giving me anxiety.

Posted by Johnny at 11:01 PM | Permalink | Comments

After work I go across the street with the work crew.
One frenet with a ginger back, and a handful of amazing fries.
I scoot home and read some of the Crucible and half nap with the dogs.
Agent is going out to a party that Anderson told him about. It's at 18th and Lexington
there's a mural on a wall, and in the mural there's a doorway and through the door there's a party.
I shower blowdry and flatiron. No product.
Yellow tank top black Levi's vintage boots, sleeveless coca-cola sweatshirt.
My hair is sticking up funny, but I prefer it without the greasy product.
Step outside while Semantic's in the can, Agent seems a little hyped up.
He's too high to be so sober, we're going to have to stop at a liquor store, and I need whiskey anyway.
Pony is coming too, he got home from work when I was in the shower.
So it's Pony, Semantic, Sparrow, Agent and me, going up the alley in the mist, my hair will deinitely curl, without product.
Semantic made her outfit, a rad little striped dress that cuts out right where her titties are, with a pink "blouse" and extra tall tube socks with her heels. Hot hot.
We stop at a corner store, Pony and I share some whiskey, one shot per block. after three blocks he wusses out but I keep it going. I joke with Agent about awkwardness. He starts talking in a robot voice, and asks in the voice, what we'd do if he did it all night. Sometimes I wish he was crazy enough to do shit like that.
At 22 we run into Anderson, she's waiting for Sparky. Sparky is driving and doesn't want to show up by herself,
Agent and Sparrow wait with her, Semantic and Pony and I hoof it.
I tell Semantic she should try out for ProjRun. She'd be good tv. She'd sew some decent shit then after a challenge she'd be all, "Bitches let's get WASTED." I keep it up for three blocks. Some guy cat calls her.
Turns out Semantic doesn't really know where the party is
Just that we have to go through a door in a mural
I'm all, We'll have to find the mural and beneath the mural there will be a gnome and he will ask us three riddles, then he will reveal the location of the party. I try to think of some practice riddles. I can't remember any.
We find the mural and there's a gnome under it, no really. or rather a homeless man sleeping on a mattress, I sit on a pyramid of rocks. It's totally that magical night.
We peek through the door and there's a little courtyard with about three people in it, and no music, and no crowds.
We wait.
Pony talks about dropping out of school, Semantic talks about clothes. She's really stoned. When Pony gives me the whiskey the lid isn't on tight so it spills all over the inside of my purse, but just gets my keys wet.
Someone Semantic knows comes up, we talk about TMJ, and migraines, and surgery and headaches. Semantic gets upset, so we stop. We go inside. There's a sign on the steps leading up to the apartment "These steps are dangerous, don't fall and break your lezzy face, or die."
In the kitchen there's a sign that says, "Take a shot and take off your pants"
I'm all, where's the shots.
We go through the kitchen into the living room which is painted all deep red, with a leather couch and loud music, but empty.
Right then Agent and Sparky and Anderson and Sparrow come in.
Now it's a party.
Anderson and I get into a convo about the word Bitch.
More people come in, Pony's ex roomie is there, with a different haircut.
The whiskey is out, I sit on Agent's lap so that I can share with Pony, but my butt's too bony.
People start dancing and I stand with Sparky. We talk about my twin, that the hospital was understaffed when I was born, that my mom didn't know she had two babies in her, I weave into a group of people dancing. Totally awkwardbot.
Anderson says me and Twinjob have to be identical, bc we look too similar.
Agent and everyone goes outside for a cigarette, I follow, through the crowded kitchen where Pony's exroomie shows me how to open a beer bogttle with a lighter. I squeeze through a crowd on the death stairs, and stand next to a giant metal tub in the courtyard.
We go back inside and dance for a minute, Agent and I go to the bathroom, me for piss, him for coke.
Pony and I quit it, he works early and I have shit to do tommorow.
First we walk to 16th for his drunkout pizza. On our way back down Valencia we run into Agent and Semantic, he's going home and she's going for more booze, then we see other people from the party.
Awkwardbot.
We stop at a liquor store so that Pony can get some crackers, there's 5 cops arresting some guy across from LaRondalla. Totally sobering. Total downer.
Back at the house Glasses is asleep on the couch so I sneak to the kitchen for water and take soem sleeping pills.

When I get up, I'm sick, and it sucks.

Posted by Johnny at 8:25 PM | Permalink | Comments

Miami
Twinjob

Its 8:30. I’m out the door and in the mildew car on my way to Sweat Record to hang out with Nicole. Sweat (in a back room at churchhills bar) is warm inside and quiet. The bad punk band from the bar is pounding against the walls. Nicole is studying with two friends. W e hug like its been two weeks. It has.

We sit in the hall and suck down a few cigarettes. Her study partner comes out. We talk political science. They are bleary-eyed from the books and I am lazy from the one beer I had at home.

Nicole tells some 12 year old she like her boots. She is so good, building up little girls. What a sweetheart.

Superstar calls me. Shes on her way into the city. I head home to meet her. We sit around. Look at my photo album, talk. I am rallying her over the hump of sleepiness that keeps her home. I change into going out clothes. Tighter jeans, blacker shoes, stenciled shirt. I fix my hair. Superstar says it disappeared. Pomade, the wonders.

My shirt shrank or I got big. I feel like a football player. I cant tell if its cute. Susperstar says not to worry. I do anyway.

She drives. We head to a block party for a gallery opening Superstar heard about. There are bottles in the street, the dj is breaking down and a few cops rolling around.

We go to dunkin donuts for iced coffee.

Still sober. I text with Magic from the other night. He wont be coming out tonight. He must be so much deeper than me to stay in on a Saturday night. I feel shallow. I pinch myself and rally.

We go to the liquor store and stand in line behind this white girl who stands really far from the black folks in front of her. We wait a while for the store guy to run around the store and get peoples orders. You pay through a little sliding metal tray and he puts your liquor down in this metal box with two doors.

When the white girl gets to the window she asks for a bottle of grey goose. I almost ask for her to marry me. But I am still sober so I hold it in I swallow it. My shirt is squeezing the fun from me with each breath.

She pays $45 for the bottle. I decide to meet a rich lady. She’ll buy me expensive liquor and I’ll tell her she is really beautiful.

We get our vodka and head home for the front loading.

The redbull is over powering the vodka. Now I am just nervous. My leg wont stop tapping. My apartment is a mess. I cant do this.

Superstar’s sister, Perfect, and brother, Action come by. We drink quick. I am still too sober for the club. I smoke too much. I feel sick. But I tuck a bandanna into my pocket. I’m ready.

My name on the list and +1 still means we pay $5 each. It is packed. The music is some terrible techno that usually doesn’t come on until after 2 am at Pop Life. It should be indy electro stuff. I apologize to the fam for the bad music. We stand in the courtyard and laugh at some kids and their dancing.

Some faggot is dressed like Liberacie and I am jealous of his gall. I make fun of him. I want to shave his ironic mustache and pull out his terrible braided rat tail. My shirt is way too tight.

I run inside to say hello to Dance Floor Make Out (DFMO). He is drunk-a-dunk-dunk. He wants me to rescue him. I mumble something and walk away.

HISTORY
Dance Floor Make out and I went on a date once. I met him my first night out at Plastik Fantastik. He stared at me. We made out on the dance floor. We all make mistakes. I wasn’t into it. I told him. I was honest and clear. I think it is all good.

I go back to the fam. Superstar is entertained. Action and Perfect look unhappy. We make more jokes about the music, The jokes are getting sadder and sadder. I lost my humor. Superstar is kind and laughs. When did I become a parody of myself?

I run inside to say hello to Jailbait and Sucka. Suacka has a tall lanky boy with straight edge tattoos with her. They met on myspace, He came down from Boston. Poor kid.

Outside again and it is getting time for the fam to leave. I hang tough. I am cute, there are people to work. But really I am not drunk enough for this. I find Jailbait and Sucka and Boy. Sucka is wasted. We see A. Three words no more. Sucka gets introduced by A. to a friend as “the girl from LA.” I have no name. I get no intro. My shirt is definitely too tight tonight.

We go to the bar. No one has money. Jailbait and Sucka work me. I order drinks. Sucka and Jailbait grope my ass because I am “gay and like that sort of thing.” I try to pay with my credit card, cause I am rich or something. Drinks are made, sitting in front of me.

Bartender: $30 minimum on cards.
Me: Ummmmmmm
Bartender: Stare
I take the drinks and eat the limes because I’m not eating much else this week.

We take terrible photos. They try to get me to turn out Boy. I am not their pet. But really I am. Without them I would be alone. I would have no one to hold up in front of me. I would be at home reading a book and not caring.

I run into DFMO in the bathroom line. I tell him his necklace keeps getting bigger. He says he is getting smaller. He tells me I am a bitch. I smile and look away. Whatevs. Not my drama. He follows me back to the dance floor.

We dance. Jailbait conducts some grinding to techno. I turn and dance with Dance Floor Makeout.

I buy two more drinks.
I am finally drunk enough to be here.
And it doesn’t matter.
The music doesn’t move me.
I start hating all of it.
I decide to never go out again.
I want to change my shrit.

Sucka says it’s time to go to another club She is still wasted. I go to close out my tab.
DFMO stands next to me at the bar and:

DFMO: you’re a bitch
Me: What? I cant hear you. The music is too loud.
DFMO: You are a bitch you are playing games with me
Me: No I am not.
DFMO: The games you are playing are why I am still here.
Me: No games. Go home.

He grabs an empty bottle from the counter. He looks into my eyes. And he drops the fucking bottle. It shatters at my feet. He stares at me. I turn my shoulder. This is not my drama.

DFMO: You are playing games. You don’t call me back.
Me: Is that games or is that clarity? I told you, I’m not in to it.

Jailbait comes up behind me. She tries to rescue me like I have rescued her from too many older drunk sleaze balls. She puts her arm around me and tries to pretend we are “together” together. DFMO slits her throat with his eyes. Sucka comes up to intervene. Boy is freaked out standing back.

I wave them back.

Where is the goddamn bartender. I need to get out of here. This is NOT my drama.

DFMO: Those are the games I am talking about.
Me: Her, them?…

Another bottle raised high into the air. It shatters at my feet. I wish for a bouncer. I wish for a thug. I turn from him. I pretend he isn’t there. I am not this mean. I don’t want him to ruin me, here, now, in this shirt.

Finally the bartender. The card. I sign and ignore the price.

No goodbye. We fall out of the crowd and the club. Me, Jailbait, Sucka and Boy.

I tell them I need to go home. They tell me DFMO is crazy. We walk around back to the lot. Some boy is standing with a girl by a car. He shouts out that we shouldn’t leave. Sucka says too bad it sucks inside. The girl next to the boy is the host of the night. Fuck broken bottles. Ruined. I am burning this shirt when I get home.

Drive to another club. $15even when you are on the list my ass. Back to Pop Life. In the car and home.

Posted by Johnny at 4:50 PM | Permalink | Comments

My GAY brother goes out too. But in Miami. He doesn't do the door but he works the list over.

I present Twinjob:


Its 11:30 pm and I am still at home. I’m drinking mug after mug of Echinacea Honey Lemonade mixed with Smirnoff. I’m trying to banish the beginnings of a fever and front load for the club. Roommate and Young-Long-Term-Houseguest are there. He is doing homework. I tell him to go to bed. Roommate laughs when I show her what I am drinking. Whatevs. It’s 11:40 and I am out the door, The night is nice, like it could be summer in Brooklyn. My car smells like mildew, left the window open in the storm today. I head to a club where next to my name on the guest list is a +2.


I am alone. The vodka battles anxiety as I get closer. I struggle to not turn around.
Fuck it. I am hott, Tight grey t-shirt, tight black jeans, my black sambas. Simple and stunning. I did 200 crunches before I left the house.

I park on the street give some dude on a bike a dollar to watch my car. A guy in an orange vest snorts at me, and I turn to give him a dollar too but he’s gone.

They ID me at the door. The girl with the list makes me say my name like eight times because she cant hear me over the music, and is eastern European or something. She tells me loudly I have a +2. The party host is sitting next to her. Thanks.
But it’s all good because around the wall and into the club and….its empty. E-M-P-T-Y. Tumble weeds empty. The music echoes into the bathrooms and back. I look at my phone: 11:55. I hate being early.

I step up to the bar and the bartenders fight each other for my service. The one who wins tries to charge me $7 for a vod/cran.
“Ahem… that should be four dollars.”
No, he explains, $7.
But there is a drink special.
Nope.
I return it. That’s right take it back. If I’m gonna throw down make me a dirty martini.
“But that’s ten.” He doesn’t get it..
No shit if I am PAYING for a drink than I might as well PAY (I could use the olive because I’m not eating the rest weekend with my lunch money all spent on stupid drinks). He makes it dry and I throw up in my mouth a little when I first smell it. I said dirty.

But enough with him I need to look intelligent and engaged. I pull out my phone. With my belly swirling with licorice nastiness I sloppy text Nicole. She’s in the cave, studying for midterms.
Save me I tell her.
How she writes back.
Um… anything.
Half my drink gone and its been ten minutes. I smile at the little bartender lady. I should have bought cigarettes because the guy in the bathroom wants six bucks for a pack. I'm trying to look uninterested and jaded texting crap on my phone, I complain to everybody who cares about the suckiness of the club. I even write to Smarty, up in Mass, to let her know what she’s missing.

Nicole shouts me out. Why are you there if it is so bad?
Because I need to accomplish something, because I want someone to buy me drink, someone to take me home. I want elbows crashing elbows and backs on backs.
I tell her she’s right I should leave.
After this drink, after I get it down.
The bartender asks how the drink is as I choke down a mouthful. I wave him off.

People start to show up.

L is spinning some good songs but no one is moving on the floor. Katherine, Twiggy’s friend, comes in and graciously says hello. We chat how we miss Twiggy, how she is moving to New York, how art part-time is rough. She bums a cigarette for me from a gaggle of girls wearing dresses, and she is off with her BF. A comes in, I thank her for putting me on the list. We say no more than three words to each other. That’s OK I am hott and alone in this club and my drink sucks, and I did it all to myself.

The band goes on. They are the pre-teens from the couch. They sound like Murder City Devils. I tell that to A who has come back for a drink. She says something but the synth cuts through her words and I nod like I know, and feel old because I listened to MCD 7 years ago.

I text Jailbait and Sucka. They tell me to go to Pawn Shop.
I’m lazy. Its far. Come here.
They do. Its 12:45, the band is still on. They fall into me. Jailbait is stumble drunk already. Sucka says we’re leaving. They paid $5 to get into Studio A to rescue me. Angels.
I am saved.

We hit the street. We walk to Pawn Shop…a block away, Who knew? We slide through the velvet ropes on someone’s list (like celebrities).
Inside front room is packed with university looking straights and bad decor. We go to the back room. It’s a mix of electro/indie/hiphop. WHAT?! Thank god for dance loving DJ’s. The three of us are a drunken mess of grinding to every song. Jailbait is the conductor of it all. Sucka told me when I first met her that people think they are lesbians. I wonder why.

The night goes on.
I buy a canned Budweiser for five dollars and the bartender is wearing The Ultimate Warrior makeup from the 80’s I don’t like him right away.

People form Studio A start to come in. People I saw there. Some hott guy with big arms and tattoos thankfully gives me a cigarette when I ask. By the way you’re hott I whisper at him as I light up.

The owner of Studio A walks in.
THE OWNER.
That is bad news.

They play MIA, they play Pitbull, they play Missy Elliot, they play the Faint, they play all these songs I only know from the clubs that make me dance and clap. Rick Ross comes on and I almost fall over.
We are dancing.
Its after 2.
We are dancing.
More people from Studio A. Some girl is dancing on the bar. She is little and muscley and I want to hug her. Suddenly she is behind me tugging on my ears.
They are big, (or something like that) she says.
Thanks, I say, smile and turn away.
Its after 3. Jailbait is laying down on the bed thing. Jackie and I are going strong.

There is a boy, He is cute. He is drunk and he won't dance with me.

He walks by and I stare. I lean on the wall. He is near by. I stare some more, He turns to me. I stare.
“How are you.”
Good.
He asks if I am a good dancer.
You tell me.
We dance,
We bump foreheads a little. He is hospital drunk, OK maybe just primary care waiting room drunk. We are head to head. We kiss and I try to cut it short because making out the dance floor is so eighth grade.
I tell him I need to go home.
I have work in the morning.
Its 3:30.
He asks me to take him home.

I do.

Posted by Johnny at 10:45 AM | Permalink | Comments

Work lets out early so I go across the street for some drinks with the work crew.
Jerrica buys me a frenet and ginger. Everyone is like "that is so San Francisco." It's like the theme for the weekend.
They quit it quick and head to Solstice for dinner, and I go back to the salon and call Rocco to figure out what we're doing.
I call Diabolical and get her husband, she's not even home yet so we're clearly not going to her birthday party for a while.
I head to Rocco's bro's house.
It's Rocco, his brother Mr., Mr.'s boyfriend Jo, their housemate, Nana, and Horse (Rocco's boyfriend).
We watch Donna Summer and Stevie Nick's playing music on the tv, then some VH1 clip show. I feel stupider everytime I watch one. This one is Awesomely Bad Best Week Ever Amazing Life of One Hit Wonders.
Awesome.
I take out my bandanas, Horse and Rocco each get one, and I'm psyched because they are psyched.
They take showers, I curl my eyelashes twice, apply mascara, and eye gloss.
I'm wearing a striped tank top under a sleeveless grey hoody that's ripped at the neck, a broach, tight jeans and my gold and black Puma hightops. Like it matters.
We go.
I try to start my scooter, and everyone is waiting, leaning on the car, watching, while my shit won't start, just won't start.
I definitley flood the engine. They take pictures of each other. They chat. Then it starts, we're off, once I realize where we're going I speed away from the car, Rocco keeps taking pictures of me. I get nervous when people watch me drive, if I make a fatal error that gets me killed or hurt, I don't want anyone I know watching, that way if it's TOTALLY my fault I can play it down and seem more sympathetic.
I stop for oil and to put my gloves on and arrive at Dioabolical's after the rest of them.
It is undoubtedly a grown up party. There is a spread of ordervs. Thank god bc I am so hungry and too sober. I need to put something in my mouth to feel less uncomfortable.
Then there's jameson on the rocks. Diabolical is wearing tall black boots, pink fence net stockings, a black skirt and pinkish top.
Her cousin's girlfriend comes by and we make jokes about her sitting on my shoulder and being a parrot, I'll feed you cheese and crakcers! "I'll repeat whatever you say" she says. She doesn't have shoes on. Maybe I over dressed. Maybe I should have worn my crappy vans. Less mascara.
Then it's quiet. again.
I eat more hummus, and some baklavah. Olives. Olives are an awkward party food. They require not only putting food into your mouth buy working it around, maybe chipping a tooth then spitting out the rat-turd like center. I could do better. I could eat something a little more attractive. I drop my plastic fork on the floor, and everyone notices so I can't pick it up and use it again. Diabolical gives me a new one, but I mix the two up, so now I can't use either.
I give half my booze to Horse. He resists at first, but I give him the desperate look of someone falling into a deep hole of social awkwardness, which probably just comes out as squinting.
Horse looks just as awkward as I feel, when he jets outside for a cigarette I follow close behind. It's cold with no sleeves.
We chat about Long Island because Horse is from Long Island just like me and Rocco. He's from the south shore about 4 towns over from where I grew up. It's different in the south as compared to the north shore where I moved at 13. There were no sidewalks in my new neighborhood, no gas stations. barely a corner market. We lived so far from the highway. The south shore is much trashier.
Rocco joins us, then we go back inside.
Wine+Jameson+Lime?
Horse and I stake it out next to the unlit fireplace. Diabolical asks him to play dj. She has Clor on her iPod. Totally weird.
There's alot of DVD's here.
Diabolical's swedish cousin comes by and warns us he might sing soon. He's drinking alot. Rocco and Mr. start to sing some chrismtas songs in swedish or dutch or something. The weirdness is not lost on me and Horse.
We go outside again, I think.
Or back to the buffet.
Outside first. Jokes are made. There are more of us now. Others from Long Island. Diabolical's husband too. he seems really, not goth. And she used to be so goth. Maybe he was but San Francisco got to him. They talk about pot and some boy who's here for the party but I'm stuck in a text message/voicemail attempt to make plans for after the party. Pony is at the Stud and I want to go. Boyf might, but he wants to stay in. I am too drunk to leave. But I keep drinking.
My first girlfriend in High School is here . She edits a videogame design magazine. She just got in from London.
We go inside.
Rocco or Horse makes a joke about shitting on someone, right at that moment the room goes quiet so all you hear is the drunk loud punch line about shitting on someone. Hilarity ensues. Mr. and Jo lose it. Totally lose it. Someone references Folsom Street fair.
We talk about coming out, and faggots sleeping with ladies. Jo relates some story about watching baseball in college and his girlfriend trying to break up with him. He just wants to watch the game. Horse and I are on the same step. He keeps laughing at my jokes, I'm totally on a roll. Totally the cool funny guy, with nice clothes too. But maybe he's laughing at me. Rocco always laughs at my jokes. But maybe he's just really nice because I know he's discerning and I'm not that funny.
I go to the bathroom, and half expect to find an orgy going on. I don't know why. It's Diabolical's birthday, anything can happen. Or you could convince me that anything did happen. Later.
I leave.

It's so cold on the way home I grind my teeth. I think my wrists are getting frost bite. I'm hungry.
I get home and Boyf and I fight, just a little bit but I'm drunk/sober enough that I just swallow the sleeping pills and lie down, Hoping they'll take me under soon.






Pics by Rocco

Posted by Johnny at 10:01 PM | Permalink | Comments

At home I drink a bit of whiskey and try to work out the appropriate attire. Something to impress my High School Best Friend (visiting from NY), and maybe show off my arms. I pick an American Apparel "flesh toned" girls racer back tank, denim vintage vest with broach, and some black jeans, also my crappy vans. Curl eyelashes, 2 times, Shu Uemura culer, some black mascara and eye gloss.
Scoot to SOMA, but it's only 9 o'clock and Rocco's brother lives on some weird little alley between Howard and Mission, or Folsom and Howard, or Howard and God then 8th and 9th I think. Despite the standard nylon jacket I'm shivering through my skin tight jeans.
SKIN TIGHT.
I ring the door bell, and get inside then out. Rocco's boyfriend, Horse, is dark and a little shorter than Rocco with good looks a little more mature than Rocco's boyishness. I like his hair. I like his all black attire. So New York. So understated. So distinctly indistinct.
We walk around the corner to Hole in the Wall.
HISTORY************
The first time I lived in SF (Fall of 2002) I went to the Hole in the Wall during my first week, with some radical slut friends. We drank till blurry and some guy in the bathroom checked out my dick in the mirror above the trough in the bathroom, we made out and I stuck my hand down his pants. He was absolutely hideous, curly bleach blond growing out hair, button down GAY shirt with pit stains. He was rolling, and I was DESPERATE.
*********************
At Hole in the Wall Rocco and Horse marvel at the $3 drinks, I shrug and play it cool.
Agent and JJ show up, totally weird. They are headed to 1984, I make fun of them for it, and they tease me for going to Tubesteak.
Rocco and I catch up till Horse goes to the bathroom, when he comes back he seems jarred a bit. A man had ejaculated into the toilet in the stall while he was peeing, he heard it plop.
Awesome. This is SOMA. This is San Francisco. "What does that mean?" asks Rocco....
SOMA, I say, is historically dirty, its where S+M happens, dirty bars with backrooms.
We reminisce about the Cock in NY when it had a backroom.
A dirty backroom.
Rocco and I pull our drinks down real fast so we can hoof it to the TL to AC's for Tubesteak.
I'd been at AC's just days earlier for BB's night.
Tubesteak is empty when we get there. I take a porn page off the bar for use in art later.
ART GUYS, ART.
The music isn't as awful as I thought it would be. It's disco but not bad disco.
More drinks, thank you Horse.
I realize that disco is really similar to House music.
People start to fill it in, till it's crowded. Really crowded. Then Diabolical shows up.
In High School she was the ultimate goth chick, and I was OBSESSED. She's still special,
when she's around I feel like I might tumble out of my skin, and like I might end up giving head
to some stranger while she calls all our friends to relate the hilarity of the situation.
Everyone goes to smok, cept me and Diabolical, and Horse gives me a 20 and says "buy as much as you can"
so I get everyone a new drink. Diabolical and I relate about the past.
It's a catching up kind of night.
She tells me about her married life now. The house she owns, and her first time at AC's.
She used to come every Saturday for a while.

Diabolical leaves, so Rocco and Horse and Me hit the dance floor.
The disco is fun to dance too. The floor is so crowded that it's less dancing and more bouncing, jumping, and elbowing.
Some guy grabs me from behind. Around my waist and chest. I make a weird face at the New Yorkers and break out of it for a minute but he does it again. I jump back into him and ram him a little bit. He rams back. Come on Guy are you forreal!?
I dont mind being grabbed and groped by anyone, everyone dancing but it's just we are so close they can't possibly seem my outfit/haircut/arms/TIGHT JEANS, so it's kind of like a general groping. It totally takes away from the specialness of being groped.
I like the vibe. The general need to touch someone and bang into them to some vintage disco that sounds vaguely like house. Here are all these fags seemingly delving into and rolling around in the irony of disco, of faggotry, of the faggotry of disco, and in fact it's just a strange impersonation of exactly what is going on in some bar in the Castro. Even as specifcially as The Bar on Castro. But who says it's irony? I'm leaning toward sincerity, unselfconcious sincerity.
Rocco and Horse say irony like this doesn't fly like this in NY anymore, the time has passed. This is San Francisco, This IS the TL. "What does that mean?" asks Rocco. "The TL is historically crackheads and Trannies and hooker..." wait is this even true?
Does every neighborhood in SF have some lineage of Queer dirtiness? Am I making shit up?
I'm drunk.
Rocco and Horsse keep making out. But it's really cute. Not diminutively cute but goodlooking cute without the dirty voyeristic aspect that seems to permeate the rest of the club. They're just so seemingly inlove, and all about being around each other.
I get groped. Awesome.
The bathroom isn't as cruisy as I'd hoped.
We leave but I left my scarf somewhere in there.
Horse goes in and leaves my number, and his too bc "That scarf is too amazing to lose"
I've had it forever. It was linty, really linty.
We walk back to the Hole in the Wall for end of the Night drinks.
On the way we stop by Rocco's bro's house so he can show me pics of him dressed as many different women from some play. He's proud of how good looking he is. It is impressive. But how could he not be goodlooking.
Agent shows up again. Totally wasted. But me too. He just went to King's Diner.
My stomach turns. King's Diner seems like just the dirtiest all night diner. Just too dirty, too small, too bright, too drug deals, too right near burger king and nothing else, too too.
"They oversalt their burgers" he says.
The Ugly Lights come on so we quit it.
Back at Rocco's bro's house when I turn on my scooter Rocco goes, "that is so hot" no really he did, and it filled me with joy.
Horse says that he thought I'd be a drag queen from my myspace profile.
I guess now I'm passing as 'not a drag queen' or maybe 'manly'?
eyegloss, mascara, broach.
I go home
on the scooter.
and drink more beers while the roomies coke it up on a person length mirror.


the only pic from the night. and it's your lovely Host.
Pic by Rocco

Posted by Johnny at 9:26 PM | Permalink | Comments

I get to the bar at 10pm exactly and Cupcake has already put out the cupcakes, they turned out nice, half chocolate cupcake, top half cheesecake with a balled mango piece on top so they look like fried eggs. Bartender asks me if I'm circumsized and if I'm a top or a bottom, both of which are apparently "jokes". He won't give me the money until we have sex, I'm like "We WILL NOT have sex, until you give me the money." I ask him how he's doing, "Horny, now that you are here."
There's new guidlines, everyone must be ID-D. Now I'm a bouncer too.
Starts slow. Everyone sits near the door with me. Brandicorn and Pony are chatting it up. BB talks to me, alot, says he thinks we met three years ago, says he drinks to feel sexy, comments on the 80's dance murder horror film we're watching tonight. Cupcake comes by and restocks the cupcakes.
Rchrd Oh plays as per usual despite the low attendance.
The clock reads 11pm, which means 10:45, I'm one frenet, and one jameson rocks in.
Rosie shows up, all stylee. She has an interview at the new Juicy Cotoure in a week. JUICY COTOURE. I said she should be all, "hey bitch those sweats look so good on you, I want to eat your pussy, if my boy friend would let me" the joke goes on for a while.
Vanderbuilt, Lucy and Nasy are here.
Cupcake comes around with the camera.
BB leaves to go to Hole in the Wall, I get a special kiss goodbye after we chat about my twin for just a moment.
Alice and Scooter show up. Alice is all blond blond blond. Way blonder than before. It's cute.
The girls come, but Rock got egged on the way over so she went home and won't be coming out. I chat with Bangs about my bandanas and painting at the Seventh Heart. She tells me about her job.
It's slow slow slow tonight,
some really drunk dude comes in and questions me about the cover "Porque?" I'm all, "for the dj, para el DJ" he gets mad and steals a cupcake on his way out, Cupcake follows him out and yells at him
Pony eats his 4th cupcake then bounces.
Struthers shows up, and thank god bc that bitch can and will dance, the crowd moves back from the door to the floor, and I'm by myself again, and something weird is on the tv, is it when tv attacks? or something....
Rchrd Oh mixes it up and plays some classics that aren't commong to HYH but classics anyway.
I fill a basket of popcorn for Brandicorn and we chat about coming out of the closet and bing gay in San Francisco and new relationships, and wanting to just make out even though it might be dirty. He's going on tour with Finest Dearest and I'm the tiniest bit jel. they got a van so tour will be nicer than when I went with them to L.A.
Jameson rocks.
Jameson rocks,
I try to bounce a crack head but I'm too nice so Bartender's friend has to come get her, I'm all "why didnt she listne to me?" he's all, "That was the fourth time I tried, it wasn't your fault."
Now the clock says 1am, which means 12:45 but Rchrd Oh doesnt seem to mind. Alice and I talk about how much we like each other on the edge of the floor, I'm checking myself out in the mirrors and scanning the floor for Boyf. He's missing, maybe he's making out in the bathroom. Phyllis shows up and the party really starts.
There's Boyf dancing really low on the ground, actually on the ground. How many beers did he have?
There's cupcake with the camera, Lucy and I make dirty poses on the prize game machine. Your lovely hosts, Bartender gets an eyeful.
Back on the floor Boyf is giving Scooter's beer bottle total head. TOTAL HEAD, later they dirty dance some more, and I'm all "Alice what's up with our boyfriends tonight? Mine's gay but what about yours?"
No one tries to kiss me in the bathroom.
Nasty says that when I was at H+M today all her gay male friends were like "who's that hot guy?" I am like "Do you mean Pony?" and she's all "No, You."
I'm hot.
It's totally the haircut. All the boys like the haircut.
I can't wait to go back for my gament bag, I'll wear hotpants and a half shirt.
Hot bitches.
i dance my ass off with Rosie and Struthers, and check myself out in the mirrors,
when did i start dancing like a gay man? or a gay man who thinks he's a hot woman?
it doesn't make sense.
We're all dancing now, even Rchrd Oh
Jameson Rocks but I don't know where I put it down. Phyllis helps out with his whiskey rocks, which is NOT Jameson rocks.
We are all danciing now. ALL of us.
Even Rchrd Oh.
Dancing like our mothers.
At least I am.
When it's over It's over, I get my cash and hustle into a cab, and forget to tell Boyf. Too tired. At home Desperate Housewives is on.
I set the alarm. I take a sleeping pill.
I drink as much water as possible and choke down some fritos. FRITOS people.


Nasty and your lovely Host









all photos by Alice.

Posted by Johnny at 3:14 PM | Permalink | Comments