wild_zero

the evening started out somewhat quietly. i made all the neccessary provisions: journal zero in hand, a nice small meal consisting of a slice of pepperoni and spinach. the purple throw pillows were easily gathered, boxed, and labeled clearly. by design, i had dry cleaned the casual suit in the style of del toro, and with all things appropriately centered, i found myself ready.

at first, much anxiety and anticipation. the girl was notoriously late. but that was acceptable. minutes later, circa 6:45, i ate the paper triangle.

and then there was more waiting. we left the place and wandered over to his friend's house, which consisted of a badly wired garage. he was a short fellow, appeared on motorcycle and the voice boomed hilariously out of the over-sized helmet. we discussed matters of physics and whatnot, and then i found myself wander through the house. i had incorrectly found an asp book belonging to a roomate of his, which i promptly returned. however, the corn oil and spatula were obtained.

the sad dog had a very purple complexion to him, a matter of a skin disease while living as a stray for a short period in his life.

then we went to the milkshake party. no, these people were the likes of the baptist student union. i found it comical a wiry fellow in the corner was concerned alcohol was put into the milkshakes. unless i'm mistaken, it shouldn't be too difficult to create a white/black russian milkshake, but i believe it is highly unadvisable. i think he understood other mixed beverages are created through the use of a blender, but i think it was obvious he did not understand the interaction between hard drink and lactose products.

after the blonde girl with the gigantic forehead and brown eyebrows and people stopped acting like a scene from a david lynch movie, we strolled back to the empty house. it used to be the emo house, there on mcmillian and ethel. although i didn't understand why the carpets were steam-cleaned, at least the hardwood floor wasn't trying to launch me.

another friend stopped by, and we sat around like squatters on the floor, ashing into a 16 oz aluminum beer can and passing around pipe and bongo drum. after much rejuvination, we walked back to the milkshake party.

and that's where i lost it.

wormy guy #12 had been shaking and carrying around the blender component, telling people he was going to make more. all around, high schoolers were drinking out of plastic cups some green/black/white melty substance. then, the faulknerian idiot man-child appeared to my right. as if in slow motion, he held up such plastic cup, the substance oozing out of the sides of his mouth, and uttered the words:

"hey, this is a pretty good milkshake."

i was floored. as if to further compound the hilarity, the big forehead girl came up with a kitten in her hands and said:

"who wants to pet my cat?" he reached out for it and then she moved it away quickly. "no, it looks like you can't pet my cat!" and stood there. shaky, wobbly guy. girl holding cat. the faulknerian idiot man-child. at which point i said:

"you people are scripted. you're grinding up squirrels, you're being quite fruedian, and you're something out of as i lay dying. i'm in a david lynch scene."

we decided to go to the bar, rocky mountain. a band was playing. my friend was hesitant to take us there. i should have listened, but i felt totally in control. i can conquer this thing, i said to myself. i'm not out of touch with reality.

i recall saying "it's not a megadeth concert. it's just a bar." we ordered newcastle and i proceeded to point out the sights and sounds, loudly. at some point, nearly everyone else in the bar was gone save for some bar flys and us. we had a cigarette shortage, so i proceeded to ask for a cigarette from one of the girls sitting at the bar.

i didn't want to bother her. i didn't want her number. i didn't want her baby.

but bad noise followed, suddenly. in my own defense, the things i were saying had everything to do with trying to talk some reason into the drunk guys. you don't throw/stuff dollar bills at a girl for cigarettes at a bar. that is rude. that was all i was saying. but it got horribly misinterpreted. i blame you, drink! bear in my mind all this time we are just talking stupid things and sitting at a booth. there was only talk of such things, no action. this is important.

her friend comes up to me, and asks for the cigarette. i gladly handed it over, and she put it out on the table in front of me. silence. stunned.

what did we do wrong?

much bad noise. lots of people telling us we were making that girl feel horrible. we were assholes. we were jerks. i truly didn't understand the situation. i could not assess it.

it reminded me of the time i spaced out in middle school, and recieved a detention for calling a girl something, femonazi or something or other. except, i had no recollection i had said anything. i was spaced out staring at my desk. it was only the word of three other girls against me. to this day, i find it kind of odd i would randomly insult someone while spaced out and staring at my desk.

this scene repeated itself that night, over a decade later.

abandonment. reconciliation. a couch. and then the green light was a gentle floating creature on the ceiling, not unlike a jellyfish. the tapestry was ocean. and at some point, i fell asleep.


that was my thursday night.