hijinks

Here's your weekly update from me, out here in Texas, doing my thing, etc.

Got a paycheck from the marching gig yesterday, not a big one but one nonetheless. Birds took big shit on my car and I had to get that washed off. I'd like to get some kitchen chairs and I need to go grocery shopping.

Yesterday was, of course, Chris's birthday. He, Leon (assistant band director guy) and I went down to Deep Ellum, in Dallas. For people in San Diego I will describe Deep Ellum as something along the lines of Hillcrest, only with more rednecks and less gay people (unfortunately). Actually, it was quite cool, the fringe part of society, with lots of crazy bars. We bar hopped, staring at a bluesy joint, going to a place next called Crave that would require you to take E to enjoy thoroughly, then to a cool bar that reminded me of a cross between Hawks and Madhatters, on the sleazy end. There were dogs there, and Chris thought they were giant rats. On our way to this bar, we walked past a real live carnival freak show, with lizard men and scantily clad snake wielding maidens and a barker who talked fast and slick to get you inside. It creeped me out like no other, having entered that stage of beer drunk where I feel like I'm in an alternate universe and everyone is a space alien (that's why I don't get beer drunk too often, folks). A few more bars and we ended up in a hookah bar that was just plain rad. It was decorated with Egypt in mind, and there was a little hip hop combo jamming it up in the back. The singer, Cassandra, she was excellent. Jerry, you would love this place.

She sang a lyric "I'm African-American but I'm not African and I'm not American" that made us all stop and think (at least I thought about it until again I was distracted by the hotness of Leon, which wasn't long). It was in fact the only thing I actually understood that she said, the rest of it being garbled by the loudness and fuzziness of the sound system. Worthwhile.

I sobered up sufficiently, and we headed back to drop Leon off and got a drink of water. He kept mentioning that his apartment was a mess, and Chris and I tossed it off as the kind of thing most people say when someone new is coming to visit. However.

It was indeed a disaster.

"It looks like you fucked a newspaper moose in here!" is what I wanted to say, but saved until this morning when Chris and I were nursing our hangovers over the stories of the evening that cracked us up the most (pretty much all of it). Magazines and coupons and newspapers covered every inch of floor that wasn't taken over by shoes or clothes, including the bathroom but thankfully not the kitchen. He walked everywhere looking for something, when I asked what he said "my weed" and then found it where he had just been sitting. We watched a Ben Folds Five DVD. He took his shirt off, and I tried not to cry from wanting him so much.

This morning Chris and I regaled each other with stories, as I have said, then set out to get Chris his car. However, it was another disaster with the loan, and he is still carless. It's quite a clusterfuck. As we pulled back dejectedly into our parking lot, I went to take my purse out of the back seat and found a banana peel. "What the?" I said, and threw it on the ground. I couldn't remember eating a banana in my car nor feeling the need to just toss it in the backseat instead of throwing it away like a normal person. Chris said, "oh, that's Leon's" to which I replied, "Bastard! Don't fuck the banana moose in my car, dammit!" Oh, the laughter. I don't know where this thing with the moose references comes from, but I imagine it's the beer drunk talking.

So saddled with this crush as I am, a lot of my old insecurities are kicking back in. Also, my skin, in coordination with both menstruation and a new climate, has broken out with a vengeance. Add to that being lonely for intimacy and you will find that I am becoming quite emotional and crazy.

Hurray for hormones.