Cutting Through the Bullshit
My mind, over the course of recent days, has basically been turning to complete mush. Work is kicking my ass entirely, I come home stressed, in pain, and unable to focus until I've had a half bottle of wine or a few beers, and by that time I'm disinclined to write/make cohesive statements about anything, because I spend a good part of the day trying to do that...
Et. Fucking. Cetera.
I have this wonderful new machine at my house that I have been using to hang upside down on. I demonstrated it tonight to my friend, and just to be silly, donned a pair of stiletto heels that happened to be lying on the floor right next to it, pretending that was part of the proper usage of this cool-ass machine. I think it's helping, a little, so far. My friend suggested that I procure a bat costume to wear while I'm using it, which made me giggle like crazy as I hung upside down. I happened to notice while using it this morning (while naked) that it creates a really interesting view of my torso. I might have to take some pics of that!
In other news, a weird experience: I went to a local dance club this past Saturday. I know one of the bartenders, so we got in for free. Hadn't been there in awhile. Things seemed different. More security guards. Crappier go-go dancers. But still, because of the generous hospitality of my friend, I basically drank about $30 worth of Red Bull & vodka for free.
The weird part: I'm on the dance floor with my girlfriend. Someone comes up behind me and starts dancing with me, touching my hips a bit etc. I go ahead and keep dancing, not checking to see who is starting to push against me. After a minute or so I turn around. I tell him, "I just wanted to see who I was dancing with." He says "I think you're hot." I notice the accent and brown skin, dark eyes. "Where are you from?" At first I think I hear "Belize." Then he follows this, saying, "I'm from Iran." I nod, and regard him.
It came quickly, "I'm sorry about what our country is doing over there. Do you have family there?" He nods. I nod. " I hope we don't end up in your country," I say. "We're very worried," he says. I look into his eyes, which have become deadly serious and still. I could blame it on the drinks. I could blame it on accumulated stress from work. But the truth is, when I think about the situation overseas - when I think about the wretched and immoral direction our country is headed in - I feel emotionally slayed, overcome, horrified. And so, without warning, I begin to cry.
The heavy bass of some Justin Tumberlake dance mix thumps between our bodies. "I'm sorry" I say. "I don't mean to cry." We try to continue dancing, but the rhythm is lost, and we stand there with this heaviness floating in the air. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks. "Ok, but let me tell my friend."
Outside the club my ears are ringing, and I feel mixed up. We walk down the concourse with no direction. I apologize again for the tears. "You're the first girl I've met here who has talked to me about this. I want you to know how much I appreciate it." I explain that it's important for me to let him know that I do not approve of what's happened in the Middle East, that I want his family to know there are people here who are not gung-ho about destroying their lives and culture, who understand the evil that has been done in this country's name.
We found a corner and talked, and I cried some more as I thought about what's been lost already in Iraq, the true cradle of civilization, and what's at stake in Iran, with its profound cultural and historical legacy, its people. It was grief, it was pure grief, and if that sounds too dramatic for anyone, that's just how I play it, and that's just how it is. "People have no idea what's going on over there, what's happened" he says. We talked about our participation in protesting the war in DC, before it was declared. I told him about being written about in the local paper for flipping off Dubya when he announced we were at war and openly crying at the bar. The connection with this stranger that I will likely never see again, made my night significant, and real. "Don't cry. It's not your fault."
Evil does exist. Am I being too Catholic? Am I being too dramatic?
We returned to the club, and made a soldier's effort to return to dancing as if the world were a carefree place. We held hands, quite chastely, and seemed to understand why. We exchanged emails at the end of the night. I have no romantic interest in him whatsoever, and made it abundantly clear that I was taken.
These small things. It always comes down to the small things. It's the most I've accomplished all summer.
Et. Fucking. Cetera.
I have this wonderful new machine at my house that I have been using to hang upside down on. I demonstrated it tonight to my friend, and just to be silly, donned a pair of stiletto heels that happened to be lying on the floor right next to it, pretending that was part of the proper usage of this cool-ass machine. I think it's helping, a little, so far. My friend suggested that I procure a bat costume to wear while I'm using it, which made me giggle like crazy as I hung upside down. I happened to notice while using it this morning (while naked) that it creates a really interesting view of my torso. I might have to take some pics of that!
In other news, a weird experience: I went to a local dance club this past Saturday. I know one of the bartenders, so we got in for free. Hadn't been there in awhile. Things seemed different. More security guards. Crappier go-go dancers. But still, because of the generous hospitality of my friend, I basically drank about $30 worth of Red Bull & vodka for free.
The weird part: I'm on the dance floor with my girlfriend. Someone comes up behind me and starts dancing with me, touching my hips a bit etc. I go ahead and keep dancing, not checking to see who is starting to push against me. After a minute or so I turn around. I tell him, "I just wanted to see who I was dancing with." He says "I think you're hot." I notice the accent and brown skin, dark eyes. "Where are you from?" At first I think I hear "Belize." Then he follows this, saying, "I'm from Iran." I nod, and regard him.
It came quickly, "I'm sorry about what our country is doing over there. Do you have family there?" He nods. I nod. " I hope we don't end up in your country," I say. "We're very worried," he says. I look into his eyes, which have become deadly serious and still. I could blame it on the drinks. I could blame it on accumulated stress from work. But the truth is, when I think about the situation overseas - when I think about the wretched and immoral direction our country is headed in - I feel emotionally slayed, overcome, horrified. And so, without warning, I begin to cry.
The heavy bass of some Justin Tumberlake dance mix thumps between our bodies. "I'm sorry" I say. "I don't mean to cry." We try to continue dancing, but the rhythm is lost, and we stand there with this heaviness floating in the air. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asks. "Ok, but let me tell my friend."
Outside the club my ears are ringing, and I feel mixed up. We walk down the concourse with no direction. I apologize again for the tears. "You're the first girl I've met here who has talked to me about this. I want you to know how much I appreciate it." I explain that it's important for me to let him know that I do not approve of what's happened in the Middle East, that I want his family to know there are people here who are not gung-ho about destroying their lives and culture, who understand the evil that has been done in this country's name.
We found a corner and talked, and I cried some more as I thought about what's been lost already in Iraq, the true cradle of civilization, and what's at stake in Iran, with its profound cultural and historical legacy, its people. It was grief, it was pure grief, and if that sounds too dramatic for anyone, that's just how I play it, and that's just how it is. "People have no idea what's going on over there, what's happened" he says. We talked about our participation in protesting the war in DC, before it was declared. I told him about being written about in the local paper for flipping off Dubya when he announced we were at war and openly crying at the bar. The connection with this stranger that I will likely never see again, made my night significant, and real. "Don't cry. It's not your fault."
Evil does exist. Am I being too Catholic? Am I being too dramatic?
We returned to the club, and made a soldier's effort to return to dancing as if the world were a carefree place. We held hands, quite chastely, and seemed to understand why. We exchanged emails at the end of the night. I have no romantic interest in him whatsoever, and made it abundantly clear that I was taken.
These small things. It always comes down to the small things. It's the most I've accomplished all summer.
posted by Black Egg at 8:43 PM
4 Comments:
GREAT POST, heavy evening...
on the lighter side, i damn near blew coorslight out of my nose when you mentioned the bat suit on your hanging upside down thing? WTF? how funny would that be, you could almost set it up to be "caught" wearing it. hahahaha.. and wearing only high heels? hmmm... i hope it works out for you and is helping... as you know my back hurts non-stop so in a way i feel your pain. great post!
Thanks, bud.
Yeah, I kind of TOTALLY want a bat suit now, it would be so ri-goddamned-diculous! The machine seems like maybe it's helping a little, but time will tell. My chiro 'splained what was going on in the x-rays and it wasn't exactly uplifting...
Nice effort in creative writing, I will give you that. Never happened though.
I've never been good at creative writing. And I would never write about something that never happened. Sorry you find it hard to believe! (:
Post a Comment
<< Home