Fuck that earlier depressing entry, here's one the whole family can enjoy...
Since a bunch of you asked..
Dateline: July 3, 2000
The evening started off with me headed to the Sidebar to see Millions of Dead Cops, followed very shortly by copious amounts of alcohol. The first band finished up there set and I started doing shots with what I remember being a girl, but my memorys kinda shaky after this point. Another band starts playing and more shots are thrown down the hatch. I start making out with the person I fairly certain was a girl. More shots, but alas, in Mike Tysons Punch Out fashion, the third one gave me a technical knockout. Well, it was more than technical, actually it was quite literal. So I there at the bar, and Im passed out. Unfortunately for me I happened to do so near a bunch of bike messengers and a grease maker. They attempt to prep me for an upcoming audition of Spike Lees Bamboozled. As they wrap up their work, Dave from Marylands first and only punk band, Riviera MD, sees whats going on and decides to be a hero and drags me to his car until the show is over.
After the show he gives me a ride home. I give him bad directions back to my place on Howard Street. I had just moved there a few days earlier, but apparently this a common thing for me to do when I get hammertime to the point of needing a ride back from the bar. I eventually get us back to my block but I cant remember which house is mine. Despite taking amusement in my sans-sobriety, Daves patience is wearing thin. Pick a house, fucker. Finally I decide to drop anchor on what I thought was my house. Well, it wasnt so much an anchor as it was what I had to eat earlier in the day (Morning Star Farms Chix Nuggets and Safeway brand (not to be confused with Safeway Select) tater tots. An I didnt so much drop it as it was forcibly removed from my digestive system. Yay involuntary brain-liver coordination! My roommate happened to be smoking out on our porch, Mike? What are you doing? I look up and realize I had the wrong house, I stumble with Daves assistance back down the block to my place. When I get there I cant even make it in the door. Dave hurls my skin, bones and trace elements of muscle into my tenement. I crawl up the stairs and somehow make it into bed.
The next morning I realized that my car was down at the Sidebar so I threw on a pair of lacrosse shorts and flip flops and make my way downtown. On the bus ride I start talking to myself for some reason. The people sitting near me get up and move to other parts of the vehicle. Having not seen myself in the mirror that morning, I didnt realize they were sitting next to a guy in semi-black face/arms wearing a pair of ill-fitting shorts who was talking to himself. I retrieve my car and drive home. Feeling grimy as I ever had (that is until I was in a car for 22 hours going St Petersburg FL to Beaumont TX by way of Atlanta GA), I knew it was time for a shower. Thats when I finally saw myself in the mirror. Scores of gallons of hot water later, Im clean; well, at least Im clean by backwoods standards.
I thought the night would just live on my alcohol-dented memory, but Dave proved to be a hero once again. They say a pictures worth 1000 words. This little yarn is a little over 600; this brings it up to 1,600.
Since a bunch of you asked..
Dateline: July 3, 2000
The evening started off with me headed to the Sidebar to see Millions of Dead Cops, followed very shortly by copious amounts of alcohol. The first band finished up there set and I started doing shots with what I remember being a girl, but my memorys kinda shaky after this point. Another band starts playing and more shots are thrown down the hatch. I start making out with the person I fairly certain was a girl. More shots, but alas, in Mike Tysons Punch Out fashion, the third one gave me a technical knockout. Well, it was more than technical, actually it was quite literal. So I there at the bar, and Im passed out. Unfortunately for me I happened to do so near a bunch of bike messengers and a grease maker. They attempt to prep me for an upcoming audition of Spike Lees Bamboozled. As they wrap up their work, Dave from Marylands first and only punk band, Riviera MD, sees whats going on and decides to be a hero and drags me to his car until the show is over.
After the show he gives me a ride home. I give him bad directions back to my place on Howard Street. I had just moved there a few days earlier, but apparently this a common thing for me to do when I get hammertime to the point of needing a ride back from the bar. I eventually get us back to my block but I cant remember which house is mine. Despite taking amusement in my sans-sobriety, Daves patience is wearing thin. Pick a house, fucker. Finally I decide to drop anchor on what I thought was my house. Well, it wasnt so much an anchor as it was what I had to eat earlier in the day (Morning Star Farms Chix Nuggets and Safeway brand (not to be confused with Safeway Select) tater tots. An I didnt so much drop it as it was forcibly removed from my digestive system. Yay involuntary brain-liver coordination! My roommate happened to be smoking out on our porch, Mike? What are you doing? I look up and realize I had the wrong house, I stumble with Daves assistance back down the block to my place. When I get there I cant even make it in the door. Dave hurls my skin, bones and trace elements of muscle into my tenement. I crawl up the stairs and somehow make it into bed.
The next morning I realized that my car was down at the Sidebar so I threw on a pair of lacrosse shorts and flip flops and make my way downtown. On the bus ride I start talking to myself for some reason. The people sitting near me get up and move to other parts of the vehicle. Having not seen myself in the mirror that morning, I didnt realize they were sitting next to a guy in semi-black face/arms wearing a pair of ill-fitting shorts who was talking to himself. I retrieve my car and drive home. Feeling grimy as I ever had (that is until I was in a car for 22 hours going St Petersburg FL to Beaumont TX by way of Atlanta GA), I knew it was time for a shower. Thats when I finally saw myself in the mirror. Scores of gallons of hot water later, Im clean; well, at least Im clean by backwoods standards.
I thought the night would just live on my alcohol-dented memory, but Dave proved to be a hero once again. They say a pictures worth 1000 words. This little yarn is a little over 600; this brings it up to 1,600.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
polisciguy:
touche
tryst:
You are so fucking punk rock. I love it! And I miss you!