outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the illustrious Do-Dolen Fabulous weekend. Fantabulous, if you will (and you will, so help me Jeebus). Good times. Friday night was Ann's and my fabled foray into the world of gay nightclubs...which would not have been complete without our getting lost in the city, and arriving at a club that was completely dead. Fine then. Luckily for us, the doorguy at Vapor was a doll, and took time out of his busy schedule to walk us outside and tell us where we ought to have been: Circuit Girl at Club Europa. I'd never even heard of the place, which is no surprise seeing how I never get out, but it was really awesome. Quite possibly (correct me if I'm wrong) the only Boston dance club specifically for women, it had both a nice atmosphere (easy going, lots of beautiful women), and great music for the hopping dance floor. Pool, too. Ann and I bopped non-stop for two hours, and both experienced being hit on by women for the first time. A girl wearing a Red Sox shirt started grinding on Ann, and they moved into that "Humpty Dance" routine where you both slink to the floor, at which point Ann fell over on top of the girl, smushing her into the floor, and then stood without helping the girl up! I was laughing so hard from my exclusive birds-eye view up on the stage. That's where the girl who'd been dancing from the corner came over to me and thrust her ass into my pelvis. Whoo, ok, I put my hands on her waist and danced with her, slid my hands down her arms (so soft) cautiously, not sure of how much of a green light she'd given me. She took me by the hand and led me over to her friends...and then nothing happened, and I have no idea what she expected me to do, so I went back to dancing. Maybe she was hitting on me, and then again, maybe she was faking it. Although she did dance over me a little later in the night. I wanted to kiss her on the cheek when I left and thank her for the dance, but there was no possibility for such a subtle and quiet kind of gesture when the music was still blaring at two o'clock when we left. *shrug* Girls! Rob picked us up in front of the Wang Center, appropriately named considering the group of yuppie souped-up-BMW-driving drug dealing idiots who were standing out in front of it at that wee hour of the morning, and we stopped at a park where Ann was forced to relieve herself, then we drove her home and stayed up until 4 in the morning doing I remember not what. I may still be sore from all the dancing, but at least I've got a bottle of Pure Pride water on my desk to show for it. Do-Dolen called at about 9:30 that morning to tell us he was on his way. That gave us about five hours to finish our fitful sleeping and do some grocery shopping before he arrived (arrove). We were back from Trader Joe's and the farmer's market by two, and then we had nothing to do but wait, and tidy up half-heartedly (yes, a mere one-half a heart between the two of us). And...have sex about ten minutes before Do got there, such that we were lying there pantless when we got his final call (Do, kindly pretend you didn't see this). Hurriedly we set ourselves aright, and whisked him away to Legal Seafoods for fish and chips. After Rob left for work that night, Do and I jammed. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA *wipes tear* No, seriously. He played his poor demented, emotionally unstable cello, which stills produces beautiful music, I don't care WHAT its therapist says, and I played my enormous gigantic humongous keyboard that is way more professional and sophisticated than my playing will ever be. True, we may not have that inate talent that passers-by have come to expect, but it was lots of fun to play duets with the limited (scarce, in my case) dexterity we possess. Ah, bliss. Later that night, we risked life and limb on Landsdowne Street to make it to Jillian's in one piece. For whatever reason, Jillian's, like Boston Billiards, features female waitstaff in slinky black next-to-nothing. Yet the men are in jeans and t-shirts. Fine, ok? I'm sure that's perfectly legal and doesn't involve any discrimination against female prospective employees at all. Anyway. After a substantial wait and a lingering impatience that subsided slowly as we got drunker, we ended up with a primo pool table in the back room away from the crowds and the idiots. I could plot our pool performance as two mirror-image curves in an x-y grid. I could, but I won't, please withhold your hate mail. It turns out, I play better when I'm drunker, and Do plays better when he's more sober. *scratches chin* Hmmm. So my game went from decent to abominable while Do's went from abominable to pro. All right. At least there was fried calamari to distract me from my pain. We walked home after we'd had our fill of that...yes, I'm aware that thanks to my non-sense of direction, that was a terrible idea. Thank you very much. Yes, we did have to ask a cop for directions, and yes I did go the wrong way anyway, and yes we did eventually find the BU bridge even though what really was the BU bridge didn't look like it could possibly be the BU bridge. We returned to my place and a fresh, clean Rob at about 3 am, and all demonstrated their profound alacrity at being exterminated by evil turkeys in the South Park Playstation game. Do fell asleep on the floor, and was still asleep, I found out later, when I got him up to put a mat, a sheet and a pillow under him twenty minutes later. The next morning, I realized I was waking up with the two most beloved men in my life. So I made breakfast. Rob made tea. We watched Disney. It was one in the afternoon. Perhaps I misstepped when I called it morning. Since the only coffee I had in the house was instant and flavored, we made an emergency call upon a caffeine dealer in Central Square. I got yet another Italian Soda (my third in one week, should I be worried?). After Do's body was kicked into an actual gear (rather than park, you see), we pokily traveled through Harvard Yard and around Harvard Square, indulging all our map-looking, art-browsing, rollerblade-poking, comic-scanning needs. At which point we had to pay our respects to Rob's eating needs, which were starting to howl. We took Do to Grendel's, our favorite dark little restaurant with the best happy hour you ever did see. Three dollar food, yeah, I can dig it. Plus I tried straight rum for the first time, and not the last I can assure you. Pure sweet alcoholic syrup. Mmmmmm. It came with Rob's dark and stormy, which was nice too, but the rum was bright pink, and thus worthy of being tasted alone. And daydreaming about the pink stuff, I have now lost my train of thought. The last few hours of Do's visit were spent in a food coma, as I recall. We walked back to my place and watched several hours of television (can you say "Showgirls"?) before we parted. *waves aloha to Do-Dolen* Damn. Such fun. Unfortunately, the fun ended right around then, because my tv started having epileptic fits that were too volatile to contain. See, it's been having these fits a lot lately, usually just in the first ten or so minutes after you turn it on. It doesn't turn off, exactly, but it loses the picture and the Neilsen stuff turns off. I can't for the life of me figure out what's happening with it. But anyway, on Sunday night, after the Fox line-up and into my favorite two hours of weekly programming, Adult Swim, the tv stops thinking it would like to work at all for the rest of my life. So we got to see thirty-second glimpses of Home Movies and Jessie being thrown into a telecidal rage before giving up and playing CDs and yahtzee for the rest of the night. Yesterday was decent, I worked from noon to eight and then I came home and thought about how I should be studying but I didn't. Which brings us up to the present. Presently, I'm trying to arrange a time when both my sister, my cousin and my own self can get together and look at bridesmaids dresses. A time this week, say, Thursday? That work for everyone? Ok. Now if only the bridal shop will let me make an appointment for two days from now. Wish me luck. 9:49 a.m. - 2002-07-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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