By the time Friday night rolled around, the dinner reservations had dwindled down to just two. Goth Chris and myself.
Everyone came up with one dumb excuse after the other, lame shit like “I have to work in the morning” or “I don’t feel well”.
It was Chris’ 30th, I can’t believe how INSENSITIVE people can be.
Goth Chris took it all in stride though.
I treated him to dinner downtown, complete with multiple appetizers and countless ten-dollar martinis.
Despite our fancy-pants surroundings, we got good and drunk, entertained the surrounding tables, tortured our poor waiter and fell on our asses on our way out the door.
We had a couple drinks at Gentry downtown and chased after a couple Michigan Avenue boys, just for the change of pace.
Then it was off to Crew to meet some Goth pals from our past.
More drinks.
From there we decided on Neo for electroclash night and danced till 4 a.m.
Back at his place we watched “Ju-On” (way better than “Grudge”) and partied Courtney Love style with a couple Ambien pills and grapefruit-vodka cocktails until we passed out on the living room carpet.
We woke up on Saturday around 3:00 in the afternoon feeling like we had been run over by a Mac truck.
Hours later I managed to walk home and get ready for the big “Going Away Party”.
I don’t think I’ve mentioned it here but the infamous Trishelle and her leprechaun husband have decided to pack it up and move to Ireland in January.
insert wailing and sobbing here
The girls arranged a big farewell party at this bar near the Music Box.
Miss Martine drove in from her new Scumtown apartment and picked up Goth Chris and I.
We got there about two hours late so everyone was already wasted.
We wasted no time and got to drinking fast.
Miss Valium demanded that the DJ play the god damn “percolator” song and when he actually did, she proceeded to dance herself into such a frenzy that she wound up wiping out and totally falling on her ass in the middle of the dance floor. It was great.
One of the girls, (who has recently embarrassed herself by appearing in an episode of Oprah for “woman with low self esteem who want to learn how to pole dance like a stripper” or some such nonsense) also took a violent tumble complete with head smacking against a corner.
Trishelle’s sister also got into the act by falling headfirst off a barstool into the crowd.
I am telling you – all kinds drunk people falling out up in that place. It was so much fun.
The DJ played a nice block of shoe-gazey stuff like Stone Roses and Charlatans. Some Siouxsie for Chris and Peter Murphy’s “Cuts You Up” for which I had to partake in a little swirly Goth-boy dancing.
To the best of my knowledge, no one got weepy or sad over the whole “Going Away” thing which was a little disappointing. I mean you all know how much I enjoy a good cry.
On our way back to the car, walking down a busy street littered with people spilling out of closing bars, my pants decided they were just going to drop, completely on their own, right down to my ankles and trip me in the process.
If you have ever seen the ghetto-booty I am hauling around, you know this is no easy feat.
But I recovered famously by screaming “SOMEBODY RAPE ME!”
Alas, there were no takers. My redneck date-rape fantasy would have to wait.
Miss Martine dropped us off at the fag bar where there was more drinking and flirting with a cute Scorpio boy!
And by flirting I mean a half hour of making out in the back of the bar until my lips got all swollen and hurt like they were bee stung.
He asked if he could take me home and for the first time in like, well, EVER I said no (can you even believe it?) so we exchanged phone numbers instead with vague plans for a proper SOBER date.
Hopefully I will find him as cute and sexy as I did when I was drunk. From what I remember he was my height, sort of preppie-ish (Was he wearing IZOD?) and packing a NICE bulge in his pants.
(Hey, just because I didn’t go home with him doesn’t mean I didn’t cop a feel)
And the icing on the cake of course was that he was a SCORPIO.
Anyway.
After getting the digits, I left Goth Chris at the bar and stumbled my way home grinning ear to ear and singing to myself.
One final tumble while foolishly deciding to take the stairs up to my apartment and I was home.
Today I woke up with NO HANGOVER!
I contemplated chalking up the make-out session to “drunken antics” but in the end I wound up calling him and leaving a voice mail.
I mean,
Who knows?