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Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 14, 2007 || 1:20 am

(alternately titled, The Entry That Jumps About Spastically And With Much Enthusiasm In Its Voice)

I’m not a big fan of licorice-flavored anything, but Jägermeister (especially when absolutely free) by its very nature makes you not care much at all about its taste. What a charmer, that little liquer. There was excellent hunting last night, oh yessir.

There were Other Things consumed, most of which I canna recall the names for. It was pretty much, “WHAT? You BOUGHT ME ANOTHER DRINK?? I will show my gratitude by heaving it back fetchingly!” And also, apparently, by requesting that you stand guard outside the laydeh’s facilities while I go make room for more libations.

There was mirror dancing. Sometimes I am of a mind to dance with a partner. Sometimes I just want to slide into that zone where you are the music and your brain doesn’t so much work in concert with your body as it does sit in the back seat and watch what unfolds. Last night was just such a night.

“That girl!” yelled Brandy over the hard thrum that pushed us all, “She exists in a place all her own!” Tess heartily agreed and professed a love of that particular thing.

We all laughed mightily at P, who stepped waaaaay out of his Republican Comfort Zone in order to accompany us. The just-divorced sadness in his eyes was replaced with an uneasy watchfulness, at least for a time. His worst fears were realized when, five minutes past the front door, he was openly hit on by a middle-aged guy in a bad Hawaiian shirt. It was terrific! After I got a couple drinks poured down his gullet, his back loosened and he was heard laughing and saying ‘WOW’ a lot.

The four of us girls (haha P, haha) stepped out of the car and into the receiving area of the establishment. Tess surveyed three-quarters of us in the mirrored landscape: “How ’bout we are some taaaall bitches strolling up into this joint!” All in heels, we each sailed past six feet with ease. The Army Of Amazon is up in here to take over, y’all.

I was introduced around by the inimitable Payphone Mike (the very man!), and I million-watted in the direction of each of these people because my friend was proud of me, of my being there, and we love one another so fiercely. We hugged and kissed and ooohed over one another and kissed some more; I couldn’t seem to keep from cupping his face in my hands, from looking up at him to beam. It is like this when you have a friend who saved your life and whose laughter you sail on when the tears threaten to pull you into their undertow. It is like this when you saved his life just so you would have opportunity to remind him of things like Greater Purpose and Genuine Connection To The Human Race.

There were Happenings:

+ “The third gay man down the bar is impressed with your piece,” said Brandy, “He wants to come talk to you about it, but he’s shy.” Of course the tattooed arm that she was referring to immediately went into the ‘HAIL, COMPLETE STRANGER! COME JOIN MEEEE!’ gesture. He did, we talked for a good fifteen minutes, this shy, well-manicured man and me. It started with, “I love that tattoo.” and wrapped up with “Let me buy you a drink!” Well, okay, I’m not done with this one yet, but okay-okay. Okay!

+ Normally I am not one to think much of boys with turned-backwards ballcaps. Club staffers, either, but there was this one who was appealing; I was dared to go up and ask him, “Is is against the rules for you to make out while you are on the clock?” I did, much to the hoot-and-hollery delight of my companions and three or four bystanders.

+ I, the smoke-while-drinking type of person, would no more pull out a stick before this one particular girl magically appeared before me with a lighter. This happened no less than five times. She was taller than even the Amazon Wrecking Crew, so I began to imagine her some sort of spiky-haired Dark Angel Of Nicotine Transgressions. Her boots were great, as were her shoulders, but she never overtly hit on me.

+ Dear Glowstick Dancer: THANK YOU.

+ Somebody, while I was distracted (“ooooh, there are liiiiightsessss”) pushed a business card into my hands. On its flipside there was an inscription: ‘I <3 U!’ That made me go a big grinny, because it’s nice to be loved in a non-threatening manner by the random passerby. So delighted was I that I stuck the card just in front of my carefully-contained cleavage and sported it about for the remainder of the night.

+ Chocolate-chip waffles at four ay emm will ward off next-day hangovers. I swear by it. Procure some, even if it means that you will have to put up with Some Biker Guy Who Just Pulled Up Outside The Window By Our Booth making bold eye contact and then even bolder gestures with his tongue not once, but twice. After he came in, Brandy hid her head while I issued the basic “Go fuck yourself, James Dean.” but Tess mouthed ‘ohgodohgod, here we gooooo’ around a spate of giggling. P was just very, very drunk and kept saying, “What just happened?”

+ At some point during Teh Festivitiestm, I made up my mind good and solid to re-moniker Payphone Mike. I announced this to him and began to address him as The Prime Minister, and there is no looking back.

+ ‘We Are Family’ came on the radio during the ride to the club. All kinds of hell broke loose in that car. Curse you, Audblog, and your now-defunct status!

+ There was drunkdialing. Der. Don’t you people know me at all?

I ended up in my driveway (designated drivers are magic, w00t!), bare feet on cold concrete, speaking sweetness with my heart, but remarkably lacking in words. I said goodnight to my travelling companions both near and far and stood for a moment being warmed by what The Prime Minister said as he was putting me in the car lo those few hours prior.

“I nearly started crying when I saw you come through that door. I did. It’s just so fucking incredible to see you, girl.”

more valuable than money

:: love sans strings: ahhhh, great delight! ::

3 worked it out »

  1. c 1.14.2007

    not a single drunkdial or text. you are just getting back at me aren’t you?

    pfft.

    women.

     
  2. Jettomatika 1.16.2007

    settle down, mister: you’ll get your turn.

    boy, will you be sorrrrry then!

     

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