Periods End Sentences

I never partied as hard since the Eighties.

Went to the SHOUT OUT on Saturday. Got there early, just when Cindy Lauper was opening the joint up, and set up the stage quickly. It was a modest crowd, not one of our packed houses but I have to say, every seat was taken and then some. We are drawing the numbers on Saturday and it's all really the product of OBSIDIAN's hard work. That's right, I'll give credit where credit is due, and he does deserve all of the credit for making the SHOUT OUT work and what it is today. Everyone appeared to enjoy themselves, gathering in vociferous groups during the intermission and the close of the show. We enjoy their enjoyment of the time, even in spite of our nasty ass bartender, who is as much fun as a hot case of the clap.

From there we went over to D2theL's crib for some Calzone's and sodas. We charged up on grub because from there we were invited to a Birthday party at 'Nessa's house. Her roommate, Stephanie, is a year older, and all four floors of her house was turned into party central. When we walked in the entire house was rocking. The music was so loud that it was deafening. Your organs were moving to the beat. The first room was a livingroom/kitchen, packed with young people. You had to shoulder your way through them for a little breathing space. In the middle of the room was a coffee table where people were making edible necklaces for people to wear and randomly eat from. I wasn't about to wear an edible necklace.

From there was a long black hallway, no lights whatsoever, except the flashing white light pulsating to the beat from a room at the end on the right. Two black doors were on the end across from it on the left. I strolled down and turned to enter the first door on the left, walking directly into black foam. The force of the music literally pushed me away, and I realized that I walked straight into a floor to ceiling speaker. What the Fuck??

I staggered, my eyeballs jumping in my head to the beat. The next black door on the left was a bathroom, and on the right was a room empty of everything other than jumping shadows to flashing lights and rocking beats. Shouldering through this makeshift disco to a refrigerator on its side. Sticking out of the (top?) side of it were three spigots. Each spigot delivered a different kind of brew or cider. This was the KEGERATOR. I filled up my cup and headed through another door that led out into the back yard. It was cold out, chilly in fact, and I stood out in the cool of the night with my crew and we toked away under the stars.

The night went long, and the longer it went, the older I got. I went upstairs to the forth floor, and into the livingroom up there, because that was where the cold Budweisers were. I walked in, completely oblivious of my surroundings and produced a beer. Turning around I found myself in downtown lesbian-ville. Actually, Broadway and Vine Lesbian-ville if you want to get fucking technical. It you ever want to stand out as a Black man, forget being the only inkspot in a Klan meeting....be the only Man in Lesbian-ville. I thought that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time instantly. Women were dancing with each other, kissing, sitting on each other's laps, and they all stopped and stared at me. It even felt as if someone knocked the needle from off the record with a loud, blistering scratch.

I held up the brew to show them what I came for and marched out and down the stairs to where the kids were. Yeah, I say that because as a the night progressed and they danced more and more while I grew more and more tired and more and more achy. The faces became more and more younger, and clearer, and my became more and more longer, exhausted. I finally returned to the fourth floor and found it empty and took a seat, nodding off. I woke up with a woman's head in my lap.

I knew her, so it wasn't shocking or distressing, but there it was. I eased from under her and with 'Nessa's help, found a pillow to prop up her head. Slowly all of the older crew found their way to the fourth floor except for D2theL who stayed in the party, transformed into a party monster, dancing the night away.

The hour became late and everyone made beds for themselves out of the furniture. I found a space on the floor, over the coats and passed out. In the morning I awoke really sore and achy, wanting a painkiller and coffee. I don't have many needs, but I really could have used some of that this morning. Everyone rose slowly and I instead had cake and beer...yes, that's right, KING CAKE and washed it down with Budweiser. The breakfast of champions, baby.

We staggered out of the house at Eleven in the afternoon, each of us heading to the Way and to our respective homes. I got back to my room around Two O'clock and would have to leave at Four Thirty to catch up to OBSIDIAN at the Madison Avenue Starbucks. I was scheduled to appear at the Bengal Curry to be a FEATURED reader.

The Bengal Curry is a fast food Indian restaurant. Very quaint, and very lively. I went through the reading without a hitch, introducing my new book in the process. It was over quickly and I even got a chance to record myself, so that I can listen in horror to my voice. I think I have a horrible voice, and take the most horrid of pictures. Why I have a camera and an IC recorder is beyond me. DJ was kind enough to snap pictures of me of which I am loathe to put up anywhere for anyone to see. But I have to get over that.

Afterward, headed back uptown in the chill cold, feeling a bit under the weather, my gout feeling like a distant pain, ready to kick in with all of it's fierceness. That's the bad thing. It telegraphs its arrival.

I crawl into bed with it, like an oversized shoe on my foot.

Little did I know that it's pain would be waking me up in the morning.

Hobobob