11.17.2004
Note to Self: Fuck Closure
Everyone has someone in their life who has been "left behind," or perhaps you are that person for someone else. Whether it was by your will or theirs, you may feel that you still have unfinished business with this person, even years later. And I hate to be the one to tell you this, but actually, you don't. Your business with that person is finished - this is why you're no longer friends/lovers/family. Trust me on this one. No need to elaborate, really. Just...trust me...
In other news, I had a lovely time Friday night hanging out with one half of the Lesbian Folk-Singer Duo, though the main theme of the night was the demolition of our respective relationships. We've known each other forever, and have the chops for helping each other "keep it real" (* see note below) during breakups and makeups, but all of them have been with men. This particular relationship was her first experience as either a lesbian or a folk singer. And since I had the history with her (and no sense of tact), I was dying to know: Was she Ellen or Anne? Would she continue along the Sapphic path, or trade in chicks for dicks? Turns out that she doesn't even know herself. Ah, life. There's always a surprise around the bend.
We hung first at Dick's Hideaway, because it almost goes without saying that a place called Dick's Hideaway is the perfect place to take a lesbian friend after a breakup. Plus they have decadent prickly-pear margaritas. When we could no longer handle the human press (it's a tiny place, and after the fifth reach-over by a friendly but intrusive patron for a beer/bill), we were ready to plow more fertile drinking ground. On to the Swizzle Inn, milady! The Swiz, as mentioned in this blog before, is a dive bar that can only be described as "genius." There is just enough good music on the jukebox to keep you interested, the lighting is dark and moody, and there is a bizarre island theme throughout - topped off by statuettes of seagulls, rustically framed seascapes, and a small atrium filled with tropical plants and sundry ship-related paraphernalia. Likewise, the drinks are strong and cheap. So strong, in fact, that The Swiz is widely known (among the few who know about it) as the only bar in town where you have to sneak in your own mixers.
Just in time for the holidays, which I'm sure are more than slightly depressing for some of its patrons, the Swiz was decorated for Christmas. All the whatnot brightened the place up, but in a hugely demented way. Every inch of the walls was covered in sheets of holiday lights, the ceiling was strung - cracktacularly - with a thousand fuzzy, white streamers, and hung from them every few inches was a glass ornament in gold, green or red. There must have been a thousand of them. And no surface was left undreckorated - even the restroom doors were considered - and duly covered in Christmas wrapping paper. I was very, very afraid.
What made it even more surreal was that the extra light the decorations afforded gave us girls an uncompromising view of the other barflies, and they're not, um, "conventionally" attractive, if you get my drift. One couple went in for a long and what surely must have been sloppy kiss, and I stared in fascination. I could not, for the life of me, determine if they were two men, two women, a woman and a man...? It was only clear that both of them had thick necks, mullet-ish haircuts and goatees, but that was all I could ascertain until they broke...yeesh.
I haven't been to the Swiz in about six weeks, and it looks very much like I'd better wait another six to return. Or at least until they go back to their usual dank lighting scheme.
What else? Well, I am hugely excited about my new computer. I spent about two hours just now burning CDs. It's so addictive, and I feel like I'm back in high school, making mixed tapes that leave my friends going, "Wha?" My musical tastes were always significantly different from my peers' until I graduated from college. For example, in the third grade I did a project that involved background music. I chose "Major Tom," but the general zeitgeist at that time was more about "Keep on Loving You." In junior high, I listened to U2 albums from the import store, while all around me there was a Wham! fixation and an explosion of Durannees in asymetrically collared shirts. In high school, I was devoted to Elvis Costello, while the Bon Jovi bandwagon raced by with big-hair-raising speed - my entire high school upon it. In college, I rebelled against Top 40 - in protest I went back to the 70s for Earth, Wind & Fire - with an occasionnal dabble in The Beastie Boys during their Check Your Head phase and a bit of Jane's Addiction - while my roommates listened to Vanilla Ice (freshman year), Madonna (sophomore year) and Pearl Jam (junior year). (Side note: Was there anything worse than early 90s rap? "Bust a Move"? "Ice, Ice, Baby"? "Hammertime"??? Late 80s rap was brilliant, however. * On Saturday night EH and I watched "Ali G Indahouse," and I found it hilarious - which the EH attributes to being stoned out of my gourd, not the hilarity of the flick - but in any case, the opening theme music was "Straight Outta Compton," which played as Ali G ran his hot-yellow rag-top through its hydraulics while wearing a hopelessly gaudy track suit and looking incredibly uncool, and it was genius.)
In other motoring news, there were odd dashboard lights flickering on lately in my car and I was getting worried. Little icons on the dash, yelling "oil!" and "water!" and since the car had 9 miles on it when I bought it in April, and the dealership said I wouldn't have to do any maintenance for 15,000 miles, I was freaking out, just a little, so I drove my vehicle to the dealership bright and fucking early Saturday morning. The service-writer was so nice - considering that he was dealing with a moron. I mean, I figured that my electrical system was on the fritz. ...ahhh, nope. Turns out that I just needed to top off the oil and water.
But the experience felt good - truly - everyone needs one of those "you're kind of an idiot sometimes" reminders every now and then. I just happened to get mine at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning. And this is after I had spent a few hours drinking on Friday night. Amazing. And frankly, sometimes I cannot believe how high my energy level can be. I discussed it with D, because I was like, "I feel like I'm cracked out," and he assured me that I am just energized from a brain-stimulating new job, a delicious sex life (despite the separation), and the cooler weather. (That is why I love D - it's nice not to be taken too seriously by your friends.) And despite the embarrassment, there was one highlight about the incident at the car dealership: I got to see the new M5. It was the sexiest car I've ever seen. I feel the need to lick it.
In other news, I had a lovely time Friday night hanging out with one half of the Lesbian Folk-Singer Duo, though the main theme of the night was the demolition of our respective relationships. We've known each other forever, and have the chops for helping each other "keep it real" (* see note below) during breakups and makeups, but all of them have been with men. This particular relationship was her first experience as either a lesbian or a folk singer. And since I had the history with her (and no sense of tact), I was dying to know: Was she Ellen or Anne? Would she continue along the Sapphic path, or trade in chicks for dicks? Turns out that she doesn't even know herself. Ah, life. There's always a surprise around the bend.
We hung first at Dick's Hideaway, because it almost goes without saying that a place called Dick's Hideaway is the perfect place to take a lesbian friend after a breakup. Plus they have decadent prickly-pear margaritas. When we could no longer handle the human press (it's a tiny place, and after the fifth reach-over by a friendly but intrusive patron for a beer/bill), we were ready to plow more fertile drinking ground. On to the Swizzle Inn, milady! The Swiz, as mentioned in this blog before, is a dive bar that can only be described as "genius." There is just enough good music on the jukebox to keep you interested, the lighting is dark and moody, and there is a bizarre island theme throughout - topped off by statuettes of seagulls, rustically framed seascapes, and a small atrium filled with tropical plants and sundry ship-related paraphernalia. Likewise, the drinks are strong and cheap. So strong, in fact, that The Swiz is widely known (among the few who know about it) as the only bar in town where you have to sneak in your own mixers.
Just in time for the holidays, which I'm sure are more than slightly depressing for some of its patrons, the Swiz was decorated for Christmas. All the whatnot brightened the place up, but in a hugely demented way. Every inch of the walls was covered in sheets of holiday lights, the ceiling was strung - cracktacularly - with a thousand fuzzy, white streamers, and hung from them every few inches was a glass ornament in gold, green or red. There must have been a thousand of them. And no surface was left undreckorated - even the restroom doors were considered - and duly covered in Christmas wrapping paper. I was very, very afraid.
What made it even more surreal was that the extra light the decorations afforded gave us girls an uncompromising view of the other barflies, and they're not, um, "conventionally" attractive, if you get my drift. One couple went in for a long and what surely must have been sloppy kiss, and I stared in fascination. I could not, for the life of me, determine if they were two men, two women, a woman and a man...? It was only clear that both of them had thick necks, mullet-ish haircuts and goatees, but that was all I could ascertain until they broke...yeesh.
I haven't been to the Swiz in about six weeks, and it looks very much like I'd better wait another six to return. Or at least until they go back to their usual dank lighting scheme.
What else? Well, I am hugely excited about my new computer. I spent about two hours just now burning CDs. It's so addictive, and I feel like I'm back in high school, making mixed tapes that leave my friends going, "Wha?" My musical tastes were always significantly different from my peers' until I graduated from college. For example, in the third grade I did a project that involved background music. I chose "Major Tom," but the general zeitgeist at that time was more about "Keep on Loving You." In junior high, I listened to U2 albums from the import store, while all around me there was a Wham! fixation and an explosion of Durannees in asymetrically collared shirts. In high school, I was devoted to Elvis Costello, while the Bon Jovi bandwagon raced by with big-hair-raising speed - my entire high school upon it. In college, I rebelled against Top 40 - in protest I went back to the 70s for Earth, Wind & Fire - with an occasionnal dabble in The Beastie Boys during their Check Your Head phase and a bit of Jane's Addiction - while my roommates listened to Vanilla Ice (freshman year), Madonna (sophomore year) and Pearl Jam (junior year). (Side note: Was there anything worse than early 90s rap? "Bust a Move"? "Ice, Ice, Baby"? "Hammertime"??? Late 80s rap was brilliant, however. * On Saturday night EH and I watched "Ali G Indahouse," and I found it hilarious - which the EH attributes to being stoned out of my gourd, not the hilarity of the flick - but in any case, the opening theme music was "Straight Outta Compton," which played as Ali G ran his hot-yellow rag-top through its hydraulics while wearing a hopelessly gaudy track suit and looking incredibly uncool, and it was genius.)
In other motoring news, there were odd dashboard lights flickering on lately in my car and I was getting worried. Little icons on the dash, yelling "oil!" and "water!" and since the car had 9 miles on it when I bought it in April, and the dealership said I wouldn't have to do any maintenance for 15,000 miles, I was freaking out, just a little, so I drove my vehicle to the dealership bright and fucking early Saturday morning. The service-writer was so nice - considering that he was dealing with a moron. I mean, I figured that my electrical system was on the fritz. ...ahhh, nope. Turns out that I just needed to top off the oil and water.
But the experience felt good - truly - everyone needs one of those "you're kind of an idiot sometimes" reminders every now and then. I just happened to get mine at 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning. And this is after I had spent a few hours drinking on Friday night. Amazing. And frankly, sometimes I cannot believe how high my energy level can be. I discussed it with D, because I was like, "I feel like I'm cracked out," and he assured me that I am just energized from a brain-stimulating new job, a delicious sex life (despite the separation), and the cooler weather. (That is why I love D - it's nice not to be taken too seriously by your friends.) And despite the embarrassment, there was one highlight about the incident at the car dealership: I got to see the new M5. It was the sexiest car I've ever seen. I feel the need to lick it.
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Sommylynn, please explain to these nice folks that you were paying me a compliment. I got all bent thinking that you thought I was still stuck in the 70s, but it turned out that you were just cracked out on Sudafed and macrobiotic cooking.
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