The Wee Democracy

odyssey

so this is me, sitting in a bus station on a monday morning, trying to piece together the disjointed (at best) pieces of a puzzle that should come together to form what was the weekend. a bunch of shit has gone down over the past four days, and while none of it was at all bad, it was very different from anything i've been used to and that, i think, is the cause of the surrealistic feel of my memory of the time. nothing like doing something you've never done before to snap you out of the haziness of every day life. it's not the same old shit, it's new and different shit, and that carries with it the potential to leave you feeling disconcerted or like you can barely contain a smile. thankfully, i'm chilling on this sticky metal seat feeling the latter, and i love it.

friday afternoon and the rest of the evening was typical of a trip to austin, and therefore warrants little to no exposition, save that it seemed fun at the time, yet ranks as the low point in the weekend. i say this not to knock that portion of my teeny vacation, but rather to emphasize how much the rest of the weekend shook things up. i feel like i should include some rundown of the events, but like i said...it just don't matter.

so, fast forward to saturday afternoon, which found me standing outside a small house just east of the fiesta mart, bags in my dapper hands, waiting for my friend michelle to open the door and grace me and the wedding with her tall presence. this was the first step that really means something to me. i've attended four weddings (no funerals) in the past two years, give or take a couple months) and this is the first time i've had a "date" so to speak. we're friends, michelle and i, but having someone else there with whom i didn't have to play catch up allowed me to have a haven of comfort, which, in turn allowed me to just be myself. there wasn't a sense of trying to be impressive, or anxious or, even worse, overly excited. i wasn't trying to be anything. that, i think, was the impressive part -- you know, being comfortable in your own skin.

the wedding itself was very nice, very traditional, references to american idol and jerry maguire notwithstanding. at some point there is some philosophical argument revolving around the exact measurements of jesus' love. the breadth, heighth, depth and width (which, if i'm not mistaken is another word for breadth, but what do i know, catholic that i am) and i find myself reeling at the metaphysical can of worms that has been opened. is jesus' love a cubic shape? i always pictured it some kind of spherical entity, ovular, not totally unlike a pill, maybe an advil liquigel. then, i start picturing the entire cast and crew of the wedding dressed in planet of the apes costumes, and the minister as dr. zaius himself. it entertains me. michelle, sick bitch that she is, laughs at the flower girl who starts crying about 2/3 into this rather long take on the dimension of supernatural love.

the reception was something really to be admired. and this is me, a guy, saying that damn, that was a beautiful reception. a building comprised almost entirely of windows overlooking the hill country. texas is a beautiful state, depending on where you're looking from. it gets even prettier when the wine starts flowing.

i got to see a lot of my old friends, and i really felt like they were as happy to see me as i was to see them, which was plenty. i didn't feel regret for not living in austin, no heartstrings being tugged or pangs of sadness for missing out on the goings on of the city, just gladness to be there at that moment. they've got their lives and i've got mine, and i'm cool with that. or at least, i am right now, which is a start.

so we drank our wine, and michelle was bamboozled into eating southwestern eggrolls by a waitress who did not know that they had been spoiled by the insertion of the chicken into the roll. but, having downed one already, michelle simply brooded for a moment then had another glass of red. it was fun, but we made a semi-early exit, so as not to completely miss halloween.

back at her homey abode, i changed into my costume, and started conversing with johnnie walker. he's got a lot to say, mr. walker, and he makes many a good point. a fine example being, "have another one". i've debated the presence, or really, necessity of alcohol for me to have a good time. its not so much that i can't have a good time without it, so much as i can have a better time quicker with it. jason, michelle's roommate turned out to be an interesting conversationalist, but my usual proclivities for not talking to new guys would have kept that from me had i not imbibed. so, drink up, young man.

we stopped by smoot's, but were unable to convince him to come out with us, having contracted some gastrointestinal ugliness from one of his other friends.

i separated from michelle and crew almost immediately downtown, and hooked up with the old friends. the costume was a wild success, and though michelle was parading downtown as a famous semi-nude painting, i still believe i got more proportional attention.

again, i'll compress this part of the evening into a few sentences, as there is nothing terribly self revelatory about them. i got along much better with bryan's lady, which is also something i struggle with, so that's about it as far as personal growth goes.

sunday, not hungover in the slightest, though desperately hungry, mark and i went to shady grove for lunch, and then to see team america.

i'm going to pause here to say that i left shady grove a little woozy from what i surmise must have been cause by a sick concoction of hunger and far too much laughter. i get light headed when i laugh alot and that tends to happen around mark. that being said, when we left the movie theater, i felt downright ill, like i needed a nap.

sunday night is the primary focus of this essay. sunday left me feeling overstuffed with confidence and riding a high that has still not dissipated and threatens to leave me feeling genuinely and lastingly better about myself in general.

once again donning the garb of a california sex instructor, complete with awesome attention grabbing red white and blue sweatbands, smoot, dressed as an amish, and i went downtown in a cab driven by what may be the most obnoxious and therefore asskickingest driver ever.

"where you guys going?" he asks.

"um, downtown. sixth street area." i'm trying to keep quiet, as by and large, i'm not into talking with people prominently displaying bush cheney lawn signs that were most likely stolen in the passenger side of their windshield. but mark keeps pushing.

"what's it like down there?"

"oh man, lotsa fuckin weirdos down there. there's some fine women dressed like sluts, and some fat bitches dressed like sluts. i've seen fat angels in slutty lingerie, and fat devils in slutty lingerie. i've never seen so many girls dressed like sluts, and you know what i say to that, it's disgusting and i fuckin love it!"

i'm laughing at him, not with him, as he points to the corner and says. "look! a slutty marilyn monroe! heh heh! i bet that's what she'd look like if she were alive today! all fat and slutty with her tits all saggin'!! ha!"

"you guys are alright!" he's saying as we get out of the cab, and pay him. "be careful out there!" he yells and smoot is smiling large.

we go to the ritz, where michelle and her crowd are playing pool. the first few minutes pass by with very little going on, and for a moment, i'm considering just bailing. "hey," mark says, "i'm gonna call my friends and see where they are. maybe we can meet up with them." as he's doing this, i go up to the bar and get my third drink. yes, third. so watered down they were, that i felt no real impulse to slow down and take it easy, know my limits.

when i go to the bar, i look for a place to stand in clear view of the bartender, a hispanic guy with a ponytail and thick goatee, dressed as some kind of macabre rabbit with his faux head hanging down the back of his costume. i'm trying to squeeze in between some dude and a sexy nurse, when the nurse sits down on the stool and says "here you go."

"thanks," i say, sliding into the space the exact width of my shoulders.

i order from the drink from the headless rabbit, and the nurse points to my wristband. "i love those!" she says, smiling at lighting her cigarette.

"thanks! me too!" i shout. the din in the bar is overwhelming, and i know that i need to say something to reciprocate her comment. i run through my options.

gee, i love your...hair? boots? pleather nurse's uniform? cleavage? "i really dig your sunglasses!", pointing at the elvis shades, as if she wouldn't know which sunglasses i was referring to.

"thanks! they're my friend's! he let me borrow them for the night!"

"cool." i yell something, but she just smiles and leans into my ear.

"melissa! what's your name?"

"josh!" we shake hands. she starts rubbing my wrist. "they look so soft! i just wanna pet them!" she does, and i take one off. she puts it in and looks at it for a minute.

"don't steal it," i joke.

"oh, no! i wouldn't do that!"

"why not, i would." she laughs. my drink comes and i down it, and she closes out her tab.

"i'm not leaving, i just don't want to spend too much money! its my first credit card, so, you know." this does not seem to be the best or most conducive time to detail the exploits of my frivolous credit spending a few years ago, so i just nod my consent.

"i'm gonna be over here, at the pool table!" i say, thinking that i should play a little hard to get, create some mystique, leave her wanting more. "come over and hang if you like!"

"i will," she says, and she hugs me. my plan seems to be working, so i hop down off the bar and go over to brag.

beforehand, you see, i'd told michelle that my wristbands would get me some action, but my plan to gloat is someone obliterated by the sight of the a cadre of would-be suitors, and really, my story can't compete with that. after all, i'm not semi-nude, nor in possession of breasts...or freckles.

mark's over on the other side of the floor, talking with some friends that showed up, and i saunter over there, fourth drink in hand now, and start talking with some of the peeps. there is a girl, tricia, and though she is there in the company of her boyfriend, i can swear she's flirting. now, ordinarily in this post party sober light, i'd think, dude, whatever, you had how many drinks by that point? but that would fail to consider her caressing my arms and wristbands and rubbing my chest. who cares, though. it made me feel pretty cool, and, surprisingly, at ease. she's nice, and definitely cute, and i'm feeling alright, not like the normal awkward self.

"i'm through dressing like a slut for halloween," she says, and i nod, though i can't believe where this radicalism is coming from. "let me see your shirt."

i lean back and show her my billboard proposition. "gotten any offers yet?"

"shockingly, no. but you know, night's still young. hope springs eternal."

"yeah"

more small talk is exchanged before this crowd starts closing out tabs and heading out the door. she says goodbye, but, about a minute later returns, inexplicably, to me.

"hi again." now don't get too excited. i'm not sure of the exact cause of the delay but the fact that while her crowd was taking forever to get going, i took some pleasure that she came back to talk to me, before leaving. evidently, i wasn't putting out the creepy vibe that strongly. before she finally does leave, she runs her fingers across my chest, and says "good luck...with your shirt."

"thanks."

time passes, and more watered down drinks are....you know...drunk. smoot's earlier referenced friends show up, finally, and i finally get to meet stacy, this girl he sweats. she's ok - nice enough, i suppose, but i think she may not be the best bet for our little mark to be happy. a bit....unpredictable. not crazy, just inscrutable.

i make the grave mistake of sitting next to the pool table. or at least it at first seems like a grave mistake, because i'm being constantly asked to excuse various costumed fools, one in particular, a portly jack skellington with typical indie rock black frame glasses and pink cons. this is reason enough to incure my wrath, but the persistence of his shitty pool game is too much to bear. they suck at this game, and this, of course, makes it all the worse, as i move out of the way twice before the first ball is sunk.

the ball chute, i come to find, is busted out, so when their first marathon game is over, they just reach in to begin endless game number two. finally, some weeks later, they give up, realizing, i think that they are, perhaps, the worst players at any game ever. tragically, a short time later, smoot's sweat decides that it is about nigh for her and her cohorts to pick up stakes and bounce. mark gets up to finish talking to them, and i'm sitting there in my chair, just relaxing. i feel a tap on my shoulder.

she stands there, in knee high leather boots and navy hot pants and a matching midriff exposing top with a name badge proclaiming herself as "officer naughty"

"if you have a quarter, i'd love to play pool with you."

i watch a lot of movies. i mean, alot. some people say they watch a lot of movies, and you see their collections of maybe 20 films, and you talk to them, and you're amazed at how many times they say "no, i've never seen that," but i'm serious. i watch tons. and in watching them, i've become quite adept at spotting plot tools, foreshadowing. yeah, that ice pick will come back into play in the third act. she had an abortion? i saw that coming. oh, so that's what that meant! life imitates art for sure, and if you pay close enough attention, you can imitate it with the best of them. so, like a pro, like the seasoned hustler, like the smoothest of the smooth operators, i casually reach into the broken belly of the table and bring out free balls. "or," i say, "we can just play for free."

"i'd love to."

i rack 'em, and she gets the sticks. we play. i can't say i remember much of the game itself, only that i'm playing surprisingly well, in my state of liquored up disrepair. i remember swinging the cue around my back and pocketing this ball in the corner with a swank little shot, and she clapped. i'm having a good time, and then....much to my dismay and putting my in a very new position, sexy nurse comes back into the story.

"hey!" she says, hugging me. "i told you i'd be back."

"oh, hey!" shit.

sexy nurse and officer naughty start talking, and i have no idea what their saying, but i'd like to think that it was something along the lines, of "lookit, bitch, i'm here playing pool with him now, so step off"

"no, i got him first, at the bar, before you showed up. so beat it."

sexy nurse gives me a hug and says to be careful and have a good night. "thanks." i am a golden god.

back into the game now, good as i'm playing, she is on the verge of defeating me, when she scratches on the eight ball, and victory, secondhand, is mine!

"so what do i win?" she leans in and kisses me on the cheek. "no, seriously, what do i win?" she laughs.

"um,... i could sell you some kind bud?"

"sell me? shit, i won, you should give me some kind bud."

she laughs again. "i just bought some, i'll sell you a little."

"no, i won. you'll give me a little." so we sit down, and she unzips one of her boots, pulling out a small little baggie.

"no, no no!" i'm freaking out about the fact that she's handing me drugs in the middle of this bar.

"are you sure? i'm just giving you a little nug."

"that's ok. really."

"lit," she says. she puts her fingers on my lips, and at first i have no idea what i'm supposed to do. "doesn't it smell good?" she rubs my lips. hot.

"yeah. real good."

I don't remember what lead up to it, but at some point i said something along the lines of, "i want to talk to you again. how can i do that?"

"i can give you my phone number." she does, and in the morning, i find myself wishing she hadn't. i mean, what if it's a fake? then i'm taking a perfectly good story and sucking it up.

she does, and finally, after like twenty minutes of attempting, mark closes out his tab, and we're about to go. i walk up to naughty, and say "we're leaving now."

"ok, be careful." she leans in and kisses me on the cheek again, hugging.

"now, a real kiss," i say. i'm not sure where that comes from but i can't really do it unless i ask. i'm horrible at reading signs. but, she puts her arms around my neck and kisses me.

"goodnight."

smoot and i leave....on a very high note.

and that's the high that i'm on this morning. writing this down, making conversation with yet another girl in the bus station. she's on her way to new york, and though i know i will never see her again, the fact that she came up and started talking makes me feel kinda cool. so i ride the high, all the way to dallas