graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From Irish Dancing to Women Gone Wild. I really felt like I needed to let go this weekend. I knew on Friday at work that I just wanted to get out of the City and let go of everything. I wanted to forget about feelings and life and work � blur the looming life decisions � and get fucked up. And I guess from a 12-step standpoint that would be the wrong approach to sorting through life, but I�m not a 12-stepper and I sincerely believe in the therapeutic healing power of a good drug and alcohol-induced tear. My friend and I went to see Blackthorn, a Philly-area Irish Band playing at the shore. It. Was. So. Much. Fun. There was a huge crowd of all ages under a massive tent and we tore it up. By the end of the set I was bumping with a man older than my father, my ears ringing from dancing near the speakers at the front of the stage all night. It stormed and we wouldn�t have noticed except for the downpour coming through sections of the tent. After the band finished, we continued to get after it inside the bar and then headed over to a dance club on the other end of the block. We went right to the dance floor there, the only people dancing as 10�s of guys stood around the dance floor and watched us. I decided to change that and drunkenly worked my way into the DJ booth with the DJ and gave him a suggested line-up. My songs came on and people came out to dance. I remember leaving a packed dance floor, but not much about the taxi ride home. Saturday was rough. I was beaten from the PMS that settled into my body and the beach was like an episode of this is your life. I went into the ocean immediately upon reaching the beach and when I returned to my chair, my father and brother found me. I walked with my father to his group and saw all of the aunts and uncles and my mom. That�s about an hour of conversation. We went to get a drink on the boardwalk and when I came back, I walked over to my brother�s area to give him a message, and ran into a family friend. Then there was another 40 minutes BSing with the group sitting with my brother. I went to go back to my chair to sit down and heard someone yelling my name - it was my old employer from my waitress days. Caught up with her. By the time I got back to my chair it was about 5PM and my friend had left. I worked through the hangover and my best guy friend came down for the night. I had zero motivation. We went to a BBQ and I went home early, 1:30-ish. I left him there. Hope he had fun. Sunday, my friend left. That evening, all hell broke loose. There was some bad behavior on my part. Then, at the bar we went to, two women were flashing the crowd for $10�s. They rubbed their bare breasts together for $20. They let men do body shots out of their navels for $20, legs slung over the paying patron�s shoulders, pulling their shorts down and letting the men lick down. The coup d�etat though, was when one of the women laid on the bar and the other one lifted up the chicks� tank top, covered her breasts in whipped cream, poured Jameson�s on it and licked it off. Now normally, I don�t give a shit what people do to demean themselves. It�s none of my business. But when the woman backed off the chick�s chest and one of the drunk guys from the crowd leapt over her and shoved one of the chick�s pierced nipples between his teeth, uninvited, as the crowd cheered him on, I had to make a comment. I stood up on my stool and yelled, �Jesus Christ � what is this, The Accused?� And then I called the bartender over and ordered myself a shot of Southern Comfort. If this hooha was going to continue all night, I planned on being drunk enough to not process it. And these women were in their 30�s, one looked close to 40. I�m not talking about some stupid drunken college coed�s here. After I did my shot, I turned to my friend and said, �I�ve got to get out of this country.� To their credit, there were two surfer guys to my left that I saw look at the women with disgust and heard say, "That's pathetic. Let's go inside." That sums it up. That, and the fact that on the ride home with my friend, I got my period at about exit 63 of a packed parkway and had to fold up a paper towel and shove it in my underwear for the remaining 2 hours home. That was pleasant. I labored today. I breathing was definitely labored. My uterus was laboring overtime. My organs labored with lament. I definitely paid tribute to the holiday. Strides toward improved health and behavior begin tomorrow. 10:17 p.m. - 2003-09-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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