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lauralhI guess I ended up having a decent time last night despite the mixups. Although I really shouldn't be up now, but I had a sharp pain in my chest around 8 or so and lying down made it worse.
The whole Contour scene last night was a bit bizarre. Well, by bizarre I mean just like I remember. I'd gone there a few times while in my relationship, with and without the boy, but for one thing our friend we call Booker T was gone all summer. And for another I guess I give off weird "I have a boyfriend" vibes, especially when I'm hanging on him all night but even when he's not there.
I heard "we're meeting them at eleven" so when eleven rolled around I was getting pissed and took off myself. Found a place to park and ordered a drink, and someone tapped on my shoulder. Booker T, aw jeah. He told me where he'd been all summer and I told him my crappy week story, so he proceeded to ply me with free drinks that he'd been getting from the bartenders. Heh.
So we were just hanging out when some random lady (I can't call her a girl, she was 33) walks up and asked him "Is [attack dog, the skankier Romanian] here?" That cracked me up on so many levels. He let her use his phone to call him; he was on his way. Then she started making friends with me and pulled me to the dance floor, where we proceeded to get FREAKY. That was fun, although she was not my type. Like, anti-type. I mean Steve's sister isn't my type but at least she has an ass to grab on to.
Ahem. Yeah. So he finally showed up, I told him my boyfriend had left town (which he'd known about, just not exactly the date), and he tried to comfort me by dancing with me. Well, you know. Standard stuff that he always used to do, really. Of course this would only go on for five minutes, then he'd wander around to hit on other girls. Same thing as Booker T.
Steve and his girl finally showed up, so I told them what was going on. I alternated chatting with them and dancing and watching the two skanks try to pick up women. Booker T told me about his lust for the infamous Migraine Girl (someone I met the first time I went to Contour) and I cracked up. I said "Take her home now, she doesn't seem to be with anyone." But of course not five minutes later she left with some Random. I was tempted to just tell her "Look, [BookerT] wants you, what do you say?" - using that sisterhood crap, you know - but I didn't.
Around two I decided I was having a decent time but I had to get up in the morning. So I made the Romanian walk me to my car (I'd had to park a little far, and Seattle's rape statistics are higher than NYC's), kissed him goodnight and drove home. (I think Steve gave me a funny look when we walked out together, so the sentence is for his benefit too.) Passed right out pretty much, but I still wish I'd managed to sleep for more than 6 hours or so.
***
So I've been reading Woody Allen's Side Effects, which is a collection of short stories from the early 70s or so. And they're all great and hilarious, each one is about a neurotic Jew and his shiksa girlfriend or something. I kind of want to write one except from the other viewpoint, just so I can have the following line:
"He was gone, gone forever. She stared at her pillowcase, covered in his shedding hair, each one a testament to testosterone."
The whole Contour scene last night was a bit bizarre. Well, by bizarre I mean just like I remember. I'd gone there a few times while in my relationship, with and without the boy, but for one thing our friend we call Booker T was gone all summer. And for another I guess I give off weird "I have a boyfriend" vibes, especially when I'm hanging on him all night but even when he's not there.
I heard "we're meeting them at eleven" so when eleven rolled around I was getting pissed and took off myself. Found a place to park and ordered a drink, and someone tapped on my shoulder. Booker T, aw jeah. He told me where he'd been all summer and I told him my crappy week story, so he proceeded to ply me with free drinks that he'd been getting from the bartenders. Heh.
So we were just hanging out when some random lady (I can't call her a girl, she was 33) walks up and asked him "Is [attack dog, the skankier Romanian] here?" That cracked me up on so many levels. He let her use his phone to call him; he was on his way. Then she started making friends with me and pulled me to the dance floor, where we proceeded to get FREAKY. That was fun, although she was not my type. Like, anti-type. I mean Steve's sister isn't my type but at least she has an ass to grab on to.
Ahem. Yeah. So he finally showed up, I told him my boyfriend had left town (which he'd known about, just not exactly the date), and he tried to comfort me by dancing with me. Well, you know. Standard stuff that he always used to do, really. Of course this would only go on for five minutes, then he'd wander around to hit on other girls. Same thing as Booker T.
Steve and his girl finally showed up, so I told them what was going on. I alternated chatting with them and dancing and watching the two skanks try to pick up women. Booker T told me about his lust for the infamous Migraine Girl (someone I met the first time I went to Contour) and I cracked up. I said "Take her home now, she doesn't seem to be with anyone." But of course not five minutes later she left with some Random. I was tempted to just tell her "Look, [BookerT] wants you, what do you say?" - using that sisterhood crap, you know - but I didn't.
Around two I decided I was having a decent time but I had to get up in the morning. So I made the Romanian walk me to my car (I'd had to park a little far, and Seattle's rape statistics are higher than NYC's), kissed him goodnight and drove home. (I think Steve gave me a funny look when we walked out together, so the sentence is for his benefit too.) Passed right out pretty much, but I still wish I'd managed to sleep for more than 6 hours or so.
***
So I've been reading Woody Allen's Side Effects, which is a collection of short stories from the early 70s or so. And they're all great and hilarious, each one is about a neurotic Jew and his shiksa girlfriend or something. I kind of want to write one except from the other viewpoint, just so I can have the following line:
"He was gone, gone forever. She stared at her pillowcase, covered in his shedding hair, each one a testament to testosterone."
