| dewy decimal |
2004-08-30 - 1:02 a.m.
I don't know how I feel about themed events because while they can offer a unified sense of cohesion, they also have the potential to be very embarassing situations for all parties involved.
So when Lee and I got to Gucci Gregg's "White Party," (Lee in black and I in green) the feeling was not unlike finding ones way into the pearly gates of heaven incidentally. Where white roses, pearly platters, and Mikasa glasses with champagne, shine us into a near blindness, and feeling that somehow we should be at the Hideaway Bar, trodding over empty dime baggies instead.
Obviously, I met a lot of people dressed in white and take note of the thoughtfulness involved in the planning of such a party with an absence of red wine.
To make a long story short, an older, cadaverously thin man smoked me and Lee out and we ended up getting super fucking blinded off of the crippest weed we'd had in ages. I'm talking government shit. Tasty, sweet, "I'll fuck you up" shit.
I was so stoned at one point, I couldn't understand what anyone was saying, but somehow I guess I managed enough convincing "uh huhs" to encourage them to bore me to death with their infinite jibber jabber.
The cadaver had two Hollywood looking chicks with him. They've got the tits, the posture. One brunette and one blonde, both with accents that I couldn't really place. Accents that sounded kind of British but in that weird South African kind of way. Well anyways, me and Lee swear that they're talking shit about us because of their laughter and the chi chi way they're staring us over, so we head over to the Jackie Beat party and I make Lee drive my car because he only took one hit and I took around five or six. So when he said he's blinded, I start to wonder if he had any idea how fucking high I was. Because I was high as a Giraffe's eye.
When we got inside the place was so crowded and I was still so ripped that I may as well have been on acid already. Lee keeps looking at me with that face of his that's so, "Oh my God Dusty, I'm so ownste."
Everyone I know and hate is there and they're all giving me kisses on the cheek, issuing their quotidian doses of phoniness, as I feel their eyes reading me for being a stoned, vulnerable shit-chute.
Wishing I had a sheet of Zoloft, I pounded 2 Amstels instead, which did nothing to quell my paranoia and it didn't help that my eyes were so grossly faded that when I looked in the mirror, they looked laminated balls of raw fishcake.
Finally when Jackie comes on, I can't keep my focus. Me and Lee keep catching each other in that afforementioned owneste look, wondering why everyone is laughing so hard and why it sounds so much like studio laughter in that satirical Natural Born Killers kind of way, gently rising and falling. But everything changes when she starts her No More Drama number.
After that we're laughing so hard that I feel I'm inside of the laugh and I start thinking about how I'm not laughing at her anymore but am just rolling on the momentum of being totally baked, laughing at the laugh itself, then looking around with my smile-crumpled face, at the people who are also laughing but are looking at us like, "what the fuck's so funny, bitch?"
Anyway the show was really funny and I'm pretty sure that if I weren't stoned it probably wouldn't have been as funny and I probably wouldn't have perceived so many new enemies, but it was funny as shit and some evil fucking mahus were throwing me some nasty vibes, which ultimately made it a free, memorable night.
And, really, what more could a broke, forgetful dude ask for?