December 1, 1998 |
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Hi there! I know you would like to hear a good story, but I fear that you may develop some opinions about me because of the content. I am just going to tell you all of it anyway, just to see if you are as disappointed with me as everyone else is. I, on the other hand, think it was a juicy addition to my new experiences. Testing my limits. (The weirdest paragraph is the Friday night entry.) Wednesday I got out of work and went directly to my friend Cameron's apartment on a whim so he could take nude pictures of me. I was stoned when I got there, and he set me up with 3 wines to loosen me up more. My only rule was that he couldn't touch because I know he has some kind of crush on me. I was standing on his coffee table in velvet matching underwear and my knee high boots telling him I would sleep with his friend Moriarty if I just got a hold of his number. Cameron spent some time trying to coax me into wanting to sleep with him instead, but I just went on and on about Moriarty. Finally he gave in and said it would take some time getting a hold of Moriarty, but the connection will happen somehow. Thanksgiving I spontaneously left for Portland on my own. I drove with my knee so I could have one hand on the stick and the other on my pipe. I was out of it when I got there. It was raining, and I hadn't found a hotel yet. But I had 3 20oz bottles of diet Mt.Dew in my bladder and I needed a toilet fast. I didn't even trust standing without my pisser giving out on me, so I took an empty Mt.Dew bottle and manipulated my tiny girly pee hole over the inch bottle opening. When I peed, something was amiss. I expected that tinkling sound that reassures me that liquid is in fact vacating my body. Weird to feel myself peeing, but not being able to hear it at all. I had to hold the bottle to the light afterward to see if I really hit my mark, or if I just emptied out my entire bladder on the driver's seat. Friday night I got back into Seattle around Noon, and I had plans to see the Meat Beat Manifesto concert that night with Cameron at the Showbox downtown. I hung out with my best stoner buddy Carl that afternoon to get high and watch Field of Dreams, but had to stop the movie in the middle so I could meet up with Cameron at his place before the concert. Cameron set me up with a terrible cranberry and Skyy vodka drink that I literally couldn't swallow easily because it was so strong. I told him to mellow it out a little before I could finish it off. Inside the Showbox, I thought I lost my concert ticket, but then found it later in my pocket. I was dressed for mosh pitting under a warmer layer, so when it was time to check my coat I gave an amateur striptease to the rest of the coatcheck line. My finished attire was a tiny vinal top, cutoff shorts and ass-kicking boots. Cameron told me the drink he fed me back at his apartment had the equivalent of 3 shots in it. On top of that I had 3 more shots of vodka at the Showbox bar with only water as a chaser (my legacy). Cameron loaned me 20 bucks to help me pay for it, then insisted I top off my hammered state with one last shot of Tequila. At that point I was seeing things through a fisheye lens. Everyone was a target. I wanted to bother everyone because interfacing with strangers is my addiction. I split off from Cameron to do my "rounds" looking for hot guys. I had a lot to choose from and I already could feel eyes watching me because of my skimpy clothes alone. I caught a glimpse of a man who was a fucking psychopath dancing in the corner by himself. I watched with a big grin on my face. He was punk to me. I joined the big wild frenzy he was making of his corner. The music wasn't even that wild. When the song was done, he and I both stopped and commented about how great we were. Then I left him to get close to the stage. All description that follows is testimony from what Cameron witnessed. I have only a random memory of any of these events. I started dancing pretty wild right in the center of the dance floor. Fell down many times, but there was always someone to pick me up. Whenever a guy did, I turned around and made out with them, not asking any questions. Cameron said there were 2 guys for sure. All I remember is that they were male and caucasion. Cameron watched in confusion when he caught a glimpse of me getting dragged off by 2 girls. He thought they were going to throw me out of the bar at first, but he followed and saw they only took me to the bathroom. I remember a flashback of being propped up against the sinks surrounded by a flock of girls putting their make up on and washing their hands. When I looked down, my boots seemed like they were 15 feet away and the 2 girls were cleaning a stream of blood off my right leg. Apparently I had fallen hard enough to gouge myself, but I didn't feel a thing. After that the girls loaded me right onto Cameron who had to walk me out the front door. He said I was extremely happy and yelling to everyone that I was Sid Vicious. The 2 guys I made out with followed us to the curb, stumbling over another drunk who had passed out in a spew of his own vomit. The guys asked me if I wanted to go to a party with them. I don't remember them asking, so Cameron answered no for me. I was hard to handle. Cameron said that at some point I was insistent on standing on my own, and he struggled hard to control my flaling body. A fireman came up to me and asked if I was alright. It was time to take me home. The next morning I couldn't remember where I was. I had to look at myself to see if I was clothed. Cameron sat next to me in his livingroom chair and assumed I had a hangover. I didn't oddly, and asked for a bowl of cereal. He said that he was waken in the middle of the night because I had fallen in the bathroom. I came out with my knee bleeding again, and he cleaned it off for me and took my shoes off. I looked down and saw the evidence of blood on both my sock and my shoe. I have that sock tacked to my bedroom wall as a trophy now. I did more cool stuff on Saturday night, but this email is too damn long. |
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