:: 2008 22 August :: 4.52 pm

OH HEY GUESS WHAT
http://www.cacophonesolo.wordpress.com

just sayin'.

say anything...

:: 2008 7 April :: 2.49 pm

Oh hey there, I didn't hear you come in.
Can I say?

I just reread nearly all of my entries. Starting from roughly 5-6 years ago. Whereas I've felt stagnancy in life lately, I see now how much I've grown up.

I really, really was a narcissistic ass most of that time, wasn't I? Holy shit. I can't believe some of the things I wrote.

I'd like to issue this public apology.

However, I'm still pretty awesome.

Hahaha, some things never change.

Relax, take a joke guys.

P.S. I've permanently moved to http://www.cacophonesolo.wordpress.com if anyone still likes reading about people that they haven't seen in years' lives. I know I do. Cause I'm a total creepler.

2 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2007 11 April :: 10.14 am

I am updating.

I work at the Grand Rapids Public Library, main branch. My male coworkers do double takes, it's nice for this deflated ego. Jake and I are over, sadly. He obviously didn't deserve me, nor was able to contain Hurricane Marisa. Been spending small amounts of time with a certain young gentleman from my past. It's nice. Almost done with school this semester. Turn 21 in five days, that last birthday I will ever look forward to not to mention that I'm the last horse to cross the finish line in my group of friends. Been trying to act my age (booze cruisin'? Wow I'm stupid). My hair is down to my butt. I should get it trimmed or something. The Pill has made me blossom into a 34 C, that's nice too. Good things come with bad things, always. Trying to start a side project band. Listening to a lot of Ryan Adams. Writing a lot of songs that sound like Ryan Adams. Smiling a lot, therefore ready to start dating again. I feel complete by myself, therefore I feel I do not NEED someone to attach myself to. I'm good enough as I stand. However, big warms arms are nice to cradle into during the cold nights. And sex, obviously. That's super rad. I write a lot more in my myspace blog. Lots of people read it. Weird. Someone needs to rub my back, it hurts. Looking at apartments downtown, seeing what I can afford and such. My own place would be cool. The best would be if I found a suitable mate and we could get a one bedroom and split the rent. Super cheap. I am in love with love. That's always been my problem. I need to be in love with someone deserving of it. Get me drinks for my birthday.

say anything...

:: 2007 28 February :: 3.08 pm

Here it is. There are heroes, there are fighters, there are gladiators, there are the most masculine of the masculine, there are iron-clad warriors, etcetera. All of these pale in comparison to anyone who has ever known love. I know how this is going to sound, so spare me. It doesn't even register, the amount of courage it takes to take chances with partners/lovers/spouses. That's true bravery. When you succeed, it is, for lack of a better word, perfect. Perfect in its flaws.
I am a romantic. I believe in this shit. I believe it because I don't want to believe it doesn't really exist. That would be my greatest disappointment and/or downfall. I was made for lovin', baby. It has nothing to do with hearts and flowers and candies and candlelit dinners and walks on the beach and fucking on satin sheets. Something just comes alive inside when you have someone to come home to, to lay down beside as you sleep. Do I need love? To live, no. It is not a necessary sustainance. There are many forms of it that I have already. The love of my parents, friends, cats, blah blah blah. But we all know it's not the same. They can never reach inside the way a lover can. Like my body is a brick of butter and the friends, they got the normal hands and the lovers, they got the heated knife gloves or something. I am reminded of the butterlfies in my stomach with razorblades for wings, something I wrote long ago. That's the perfect analogy for unrequited love. That tickle inside that would slowly kill you, if you'd only let it. But you can't let it. It would have long ago if I was a fucking pussy, Lord knows I wanted to let it, but the only truth there is, just keep on truckin', man. The sun will shine again. The razorblades will morph into soft linen and instead of the screaming phantoms there will only be inaudible mumbles, something similar to a kitten's purr. Nothing will ever drag me down. Nothing will ever tear me apart. Nothing will ever shoot, stab, burn, electrocute, drown, crush or poison that which is my profoundest baser instinct. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

say anything...

:: 2007 19 February :: 12.19 pm

he's gone.

2 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2007 22 January :: 3.51 pm

I wrote a love letter. On parchment with a quill and sealed with wax. And mailed it. Here

For my most beloved,
Although it has been mere days since I held you last, my body and my heart ache for you. I find you in all the mundane tasks that fill my days, I see your face in all the most beautiful of songs, I feel your hands on my body through the coldest of nights. You are my friend, my lover, my future, my favorite.
The most peaceful sleep I know is when you are at my side, and I can hear your heartbeat in the dead calm of night. I often wonder, "How did I get here? How do I deserve this?" I stand in awe of the love you have granted me, and when I hear your voice, the rush of elation is so great my knees are instantly weakened and my heart surges. And when I see your face, I fall in love with you over and over and over again. You have no idea what you do to me, these words I write do the feeling no justice.
I 've tossed and turned these days and nights you are gone. The horriffic thought of losing you eats away and me and burns tears through my eyes. I know not why it is here, but I vow to fight the good fight. You are the greatest love I have ever known, and I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make you happy for the rest of our lives. There will be hard times, this I dare not deny. I am not so naive as to think the sun is forever shining. But know this: through anything and everything, my loyalty for you will remain, my faithfulness will stand unyielding, and my love shall never die. I beg of you, do not forget me or these things I have promised through these arduous times.
You are always in my heart, urging it to maintain faith and motive. I look forward with open arms to the day I might call you "husband". I love you, Jake. Forever and Always.

Yours forevermore,
Marisa

say anything...

:: 2007 22 January :: 3.45 pm

Oh lie, I thought you were golden, I thought you were wise. Caught you returning from the house you caught fire, but I know that I was your favorite. And I said Amen. Oh wise, found favor in heaven. And I at your side, but I never felt sorry for those shimmering lies. When I laid down and cried, I was faking. And I said amen. Last night I dreamed that I hit a deer with my car. Blood from his heart spilled onto my dress and was warm. He begged me to follow, but legions of sorrow defied me. Oh lie. I thought you were golden, I thought you were wise. When I caught you returning from the house you caught fire. And I know that I was your favorite. And I said Amen. Oh favorite. And I said Amen.

say anything...

:: 2006 7 October :: 12.02 pm

Last night was probably one of the top 3 scariest/worst nights of my life.

I was hanging out with my upstairs housemates, having a couple drinks and being merry. We were having a great time just laughing and joking and listening to music and all that good stuff. I don't know how it turned so quick, or what happened, but the upstairs boys started fucking TEARING at each other like they wanted each other DEAD. Me and the two boys' girlfriends were trying desperately for over an hour to keep them from killing each other. I honestly believe they would have done it if we didn't step in. I tell you what, I got the shit beat out of me. Getting between them when they've been drinking is never a good idea, but they are both my friends and one of them is going to be my brother-in-law someday, I couldn't just watch it happen and not do anything, call me stupid if you must.

Both of my knees are black, I have a gash on my back and several mystery bruises all over the place, and my face feels like it got hit by a truck. My voice is raspy and strained from screaming and crying so loud for so long. One of the other girls that was there got a pretty nasty gash on her back too. I carried her down stairs while the boys were still fighting and gave her a change of clothes and she got a ride home from a sober friend she called. Most of the doors in the apartment are busted up, either broken off the hinges or there's fist/sword holes through them, there's bits of the ceiling all over the floor, broken bits of mysterious objects are everywhere, it even smells like death up there. I didn't go to sleep until 6 o'clock in the morning.

I have no idea why I didn't just call the cops.

I'm at my mom's now. I've taken a shower, and I'm just resting and eating and watching T.V. I swear to God, if my dad had been home last night (he had to do an overnighter for work), it would've ended in 5 minutes instead of dragging on so devastatingly long.

This has got to stop.

say anything...

:: 2006 13 September :: 9.37 am

This is what happiness looks like.

say anything...

:: 2006 22 August :: 12.29 pm

I love this man.

say anything...

:: 2006 17 August :: 3.01 pm

I'm a week late.

Both tests were negative, however.

Hmm. Stress?

say anything...

:: 2006 29 July :: 12.39 pm

I have a new boyfriend. I will now brag about him.

His name is Jake. He will be 24 years old soon. He plays multiple instruments. He has four fully stocked bookshelves in his room. He is a recent college graduate. He is going on to grad school to pursue his masters to be a college professor. He speaks three languages. He has excellent and far-reaching musical taste. He is clever and witty. He is handsome and sexy. He is absolutely crazy about me. He cooks me gourmet dinners from scratch. He makes me breakfast as well. He likes it when I am silly. He is rock and roll.

...among other things...but that's just for me :)

3 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 26 June :: 8.39 am

I'm pretty sure that Mickey met a girl down at the Rebel Weekender and slept with her. Not only that, I'm also pretty sure he's still keeping in contact with her online, so it wasn't a one night stand.

It hasn't even really hit me. My body won't let it. I'm numb. All I want is a goddamned drink, but I know the monster I turn into with it. Was it not enough for him to break my heart once and stick me with a $700 hospital bill? Why did he come back into my life? Why did he remind me all over again how much I love him, why did he make love to me like he meant it? Just to do this? All I have are questions with no answers. We had a beautiful relationship, with or without the flaws. During his triumphs, I was there cheering him on and during his failures, I was there to help him back up on his feet. And he did the same for me. We took care of each other, I gave him three years of my life. All for it to turn out like this. What went wrong? I can't even explain the pain now. It's gone above and beyond. My one fear has been realized. Some fucking slut touching him... it's killing me. It's really over. There's no room for denial or repression.

I will love him until the day I die.

3 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 29 May :: 9.36 am

So...
Do guys who break up with their girlfriends generally call her all the time to let her know where he's going, what he's up to, to "check in" (actual words)? I don't know what he's thinking, and I think he does least of all. I have to write of my confusion in this journal, because he reads my myspace. So I'm pretty vague in that one. He still comes to all my shows.

It's like I just can't take my mind off this situation. I don't think anything could distract me from it. Not even the apocalypse. What's weird is that it's almost like I'm falling more in love with him now. Most likely a product of realizing what I lost. I was talking to his sister the other day, and she said she was talking with him about me not too long ago, asking what's going on and whatnot. He said "I know, I fucked up". So yeah. I want him back, make no mistake, but we'd have to have a serious talk first. I'd have to know FOR CERTAIN that he wants to make it work, that he loves me, that he's not gonna change his mind in two weeks sending me straight back to the hospital and straight back into the bottle. Not that I'm saying he's coming back, who knows, but I'm just preparing myself. It would undoubtedly make me the happiest woman on the face of the earth, to have the greatest love I have ever felt reciprocated.

Alcohol has not touched my lips in almost three months. I am as sober as it gets. And I'm doing infinitely better. I'm not even legal drinking age and I have already suffered effects not unlike old wartorn men. My weight is steadily rising, especially since I've been eating nothing but cheesburgers and carbs all day every day. Around the time he left me, I weighed roughly 113-115 lbs. I good weight for me, I had hips and boobs and all that good stuff that makes a woman look and feel like a woman. Within two weeks, however, I sank down to 93 lbs. I could see my ribcage through my chest. An ass? Forget about it. I still have razor sharp hipbones, which is annoying. I weighed myself this morning, and I am up to 103. So soon I'll be good again.

Mickey does not trust women. His first girlfriend cheated on him all the time. His second treated him like dogshit, putting a cigarette out in his ear once. Then I came along, and we healed each others recently broken hearts. I was never anything but loyal and loving to him...and I think maybe that freaked him out.

The first time Mickey said "I love you", we had been dating for...three or four months or so. We had been at his aunts playing pool, and he got drunk. We get home to his house, and he gets out of the car and lays in the driveway, silly drunk, wanting to stay there because "the driveway feels good" on his face. So I carry him inside, lay him on the couch and start taking off his shoes and get him a drink of water. I brush the hair out of his face, and he looks up at me and says "You're too good to me. I don't deserve you. I love you." Now naturally I took it with a grain of salt because he was trashed. But the next day I was talking with him on the phone and when we were saying our goodbyes, he slips in an "I love you" at the end. Haha, I said "OK!" and hung up. It just took me by surprise. I called him right back and told him I loved him too. That was the beginning of our reign.

He'll realize one day. I don't when, but he will. You don't just throw away something like that for no reason. Well, flimsy reasons at best.

say anything...

:: 2006 25 May :: 10.04 am

The panic attacks have started again.

2 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 9 May :: 2.45 pm

he certainly doesn't act like he doesn't love me or want me anymore.

he calls everyday, he comes over and hangs out, i go over to his house, he even calls at 3 in the morning when he's been out with friends just to check in. that and we're still "intimate". i don't know whats going on. opinions?


other than that...anyone looking for a roomate? or know anyone looking for one?

5 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 23 April :: 1.48 pm

so i'm looking through some of my old shit, and i find this dashboard confessional poster signed (in person) by chris...whatever the hell his last name is.

i'll sell it to someone who wants it.

4 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 16 April :: 8.15 pm

yay for turning 20 today.

it feels weird. i'm no longer a teenager. i am 20.

two decades, the deuce point.

3 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 10 April :: 9.23 am

Not only might I be getting a job at Scavenger Hunt, but I might even be doing their ad work for them as well. I told the owner what I'm majoring in and she was like "Oh yeah hey if you want to do stuff like that for the store too that's cool"

then she asked me if i was creative or knew anything about vintage clothing. Cracker pleeease.

dream come true? indeed.

2 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 29 March :: 12.40 pm

Greetings, Sirs and Madams:
This is to inform you of...not much of anything. My mood is slightly elevating day by day. My stomach is readjusting itself to food as of late, in my valiant attempts to return to my original weight of 110, since the current 96 lbs. just isn't suiting me. I'm not a fan of visible ribcage and spine. I even bought new pants, size 1. I haven't been size 1 since middle school. If I lose any more weight, my ass will most assuredly recede into my body and become concave. This is no good. If you wish to take me out and shower me with foodstuffs, I will oblige.
Experimented with taking self pin-ups. Since I do not own a tripod, I resorted to sitting the camera on the bathroom counter on top of a jar of bath salts (lavender scented) and a CD to even it out. They're not so bad. If I like you and you're a girl or gay boy, maybe we can work something out. NUDITY is involved, featuring my wee ass and aforementioned ribcage/spine combo.
Been hanging out with Mickey. We'll see where that goes.

With Love,
Marisa

8 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 22 March :: 12.52 pm

honestly, i post more in my livejournal and/or myspace.

this will not be laid to rest, however. certain things are deemed only for here.

lj: rockabetty13

myspace: marisa deluxe

say anything...

:: 2006 5 March :: 9.33 am

i'm just gonna write this now, since i don't know when or if i'll be updating again.

mickey, my boyfriend, my lover, my best friend, broke up with me yesterday. after almost three years together, he said he just doesn't feel "it" anymore. after that, i came home, and i don't really remember much in between getting home and riding in an ambulance to the hospital.

i'm home again now, but nothing feels real. i'm so hungry i can't eat, i'm so tired i can't sleep, i'm so sad i can't cry. i keep hoping this is a horrible nightmare i'll wake up from. i keep hoping he'll realize that he's made a horrible mistake, and take me in his arms again.

the worst feeling is when you just want to go home, but then you realize you're already there. it just doesn't feel like it. the only place that ever felt like a real home to me was his house.

god please, just bring him back to me.

7 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 12 February :: 9.10 pm

WHO HAS MONEY THAT WANTS TO BUY MY PAINTINGS? THEY ARE ALL FOR SALE. I CAN POST PICTURES IF NEEDED.

4 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 30 January :: 11.43 am

Mickey's looking into buying a house. That will be pleasant. We were already talking about a basement tiki bar and reupholstering grody couches to look like vintage car seats. I hope it will happen. I wouldn't be able to move in for some time, even if I got a part time job around school hours, it won't be enough money, or way to get to school, because I am without a car. In time, things will work out.

I've been writing cheesy little sayings on pieces of paper to relax my anxiety. Things like "this too shall pass" and "you only get one life, relax and enjoy the ride." I'm trying not to take everything so monumentally serious, it only terrifies me and makes me draw up into a hole being completely unproductive. Therefore, I sing loud and I sing proud "I gives no shit". Things will be fine. Whether or not I worry about them isn't going to change the outcome, it will only make the path to the outcome rough and steep. So I will sit back and go with it. Deal with things as they come, not waste time worrying about things that could possibly maybe in some way happen.

I have really bad skin lately. It breaks my heart to look in the mirror.

I will start painting again. Here's one I did some time ago (very bad picture quality):


And now some random shots from the past few weekends

4 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 18 January :: 5.20 pm

my first project for graphics studio/photoshop

3 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2006 17 January :: 9.29 pm

my ink. took 3 1/2 hours. not very good photo. maybe better one later.

2 fuckers | say anything...

:: 2005 12 December :: 9.22 pm

I am four sheets to the wind. I will now sail merrily to Blackout Island. Where we will soar like graceless drunken eagles.

Land ho, my dear bottle, land ho.

say anything...

:: 2005 30 October :: 7.38 pm

My boyfriend makes your boyfriend look straight played out, and he hasn't even showered this week.

say anything...

:: 2005 21 October :: 2.44 pm

I am to write an essay for one of my classes. This essay is to be about the suburbs. It's a formal profile essay and the audience is supposed to be well-educated types. Obviously I must put a caustic satire-like spin on it, because I was born and raised in suburbia, therefore my feelings toward it are less than idyllic. An image is supposed to be involved, I'll post below.

1 fucker | say anything...

:: 2005 11 October :: 5.55 pm

my narrative essay for writing studio.



I had the rollers set in my hair before Mickey was even awake. He snoozes in that messy hotel bed like it’s the thing to do, I tell ya. It’s ten in the morning, and even though we’d been guzzling Pabst Blue Ribbon since arriving yesterday at 6 pm and on through the night until roughly 1 am, I’m wide awake and brimming with excitement. The first set of shows is tonight. I peek through the thick curtains and see already the row of pre-1965 cars about as hot-rodded and customized as it gets. I’ve been saving for this trip since late last summer, and now I’m finally here. Finally in Indianapolis at the Rockabilly Rebel Weekender.
It’s June of 2004, and the five hour drive down here seemed to take forever, but now it’s paying off. It’s about 7pm now I’m standing in front of the dingy hotel mirror under fluorescent lights in a slip and back seam stockings (I still have to iron my new dress I’m changing into). Mickey sits watching something or another on the small T.V. It doesn’t take him long to get ready at all, so he just sits and chain-smokes and occasionally complains about how I take too long to get ready, especially now.
“Well, damn it, I want to look good tonight, and who knows how long that will take.” I say, smirking.
“Aw shut up. You look fine right now”.
“I haven’t even put on make-up yet and my hair’s not even finished.” I say offhandedly.
“Which shoes go better with this dress?” I hold up two pairs of black high heels against the green fern print vintage 1940’s swing dress I bought earlier that day. He points to the pair on the left.
“Those will kill my feet tonight.”
“Well why did you even bother asking? Wear what you want.” He says, as though he knew that’s what I was going to say.
“No, you’re right, either pair will kill my feet anyways.” I seem to have a penchant for buying the most painful shoes known to woman.
We’re getting set to head over to the Radio Radio, the bar where the all the bands will be playing. We’d been mingling around the hotel atrium all day, laughing it up with his old friends who are now my new friends. Too bad they’re all from Toronto, South Carolina, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, etc... The hotel is completely taken over by all of us, greasers and dollies, as far as the eye can see. Any stray guest not a part of the weekender probably had a heart attack thinking he stepped back in time.
Mickey takes his place in front of the mirror now, perfecting his sleek black pompadour before we head out. He’s dressed casually, in cuffed dark denim jeans, a white beater and leather jacket. Casual, yes, but he still manages to look damn good. I swear, I have to beat the girls with a stick to keep them away. His wallet chain hangs almost to his knees, and sways gently with his movements. His brow is dark and furrowed as he looks in the mirror, as though he’s deep in thought.
“What’s on your mind, poops?” I say in a strained lighthearted-ness.
“Nothing. I just still don’t know if we’ll be able to get you in tonight. It’s a twenty-one and up show, and I don’t know how much sway I’ll have with David and the bar.” He’s talking about David Loehr, the owner of the James Dean Gallery in Fairmount, Indiana and the guy who runs the Rebel Weekend. Mickey’s been friends with him for years, even lived with him for a spell a few years back.
“Well… if I can’t get in, I can just come back to the hotel and you can stay at the bar, no big deal. I don’t want you to miss out on it because of my stupid underaged-ness. There’ll be a huge after-party here anyways.” Which is true. The Rebel Weekend runs Thursday through Saturday, each night consisting of a huge set of bands at the bar, and afterwards everyone coming back to the atrium and drinking ‘til the sun comes up and the cows come home while some of the bands jam here and there. Mickey of course will have no problem; he was already 21 while I was still just 18 at the time.
“No…I wouldn’t want to be there without you. We’ll just see and figure it out from there.”
I leaned back on the gaudy floral blanket, propped my head up on a pillow and stared at the ceiling for a moment, focusing on yellow water stains, a small crack, cobwebs, anything to take my mind off larger issues. I started picking at my fingernails, and lit up a cigarette, two of my most common habits when nervous. I heard the distinctive clink of a Zippo as Mickey did the same. Whenever one of us lights a smoke, the other almost always unconsciously follows suit. I had my heart absolutely set on this little weekend in late June for almost a year. Sure, there’s the hanging out at the hotel all day with awesome people, and shopping the vintage clothing vendors, and the after party, and the beer for breakfast, but the show is what I got dressed to the nines for. What I sat in a car for five hours for. What I brought most of my $700 for. I started preparing myself to be turned away at the door.
“Okay, how do I look?” I asked Mickey, even though I already knew his answer. It’s always the same answer.
“Gorgeous. Ready to go?”
“Yeah. Oh wait, my purse and my smokes.”
“You got the room key?”
“Uh…” I shuffled through my purse. “Yeah right here.”
“Let’s go.”
We turned out the lights and left the room, checking to make sure the door was locked. The clack-clack-clack of my shoes was a solemn noise on the concrete as we walked to our friends’ room, whom we were riding to the show with. A 1951 Mercury rolled by, pipes roaring as it lazily turned a corner on its way to our same destination. The tiny red Saturn we rode packed like sardines in wasn’t nearly as suave, but it got us from A to B.
After we found a small parking space a block from the bar, everyone piled out, adrenaline running high. That same clack-clack-clack of my shoes from earlier was now multiplied, as the other girls were clack-clack-clacking as well. We were a flock of clackers. From the fifties. We turned the corner to a most beautiful sight. All those hot rods from the hotel were lined up outside the bar, the neon signs from the buildings casting a colorful glow against the darkening sky. People were lined up outside, all wearing their best and done up extra good. If you took a photograph from the fifties and set it next to a photograph from this scene, ten bucks says you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
We got in line and I tried to calm myself. I was in awe of all of this. I’m not usually the type to be obviously impressed by things, but I couldn’t contain it.
“Just relax,” Mickey said. “No big deal.” I squeezed his hand a little tighter and almost forced a small smile. He tilted his head and stared at me, as though looking for something, reading my face. I could swear my body temperature went up a few degrees. Sometimes it's uncomfortable, because I know that boy reads me like a book, and there’s absolutely nothing I can hide. He picks up on every detail. Those gigantic brown eyes of his have been on to my schemes since we first spoke to each other. Maybe before. I get away with nothing.
The couple in front of us heads in the bar. As the door swings open a swirl of life rings through my ears. The pounding rhythm of the stand-up slap bass and wailing hollow-body guitar is unmistakable. The first band is well underway. Mickey smiles and waves to David and Lenny (David’s partner/boyfriend), whom are standing just inside the door taking tickets and snapping on wristbands after checking ID’s.
“Hey Mickey! Long time no see!” David says with a lit up face.
“Hey man, what’s up? We, uh, forgot to buy tickets.” Mickey says with false concern. He’s never had to buy tickets. David doesn’t care.
“Yeah yeah, sure sure.”
“Oh, David, this is my girlfriend Marisa.” Mickey says as David looks over to me.
“Well hello there m’lady!” he says as we’re ushered in, Lenny snapping a band on my wrist without checking my ID. I “forgot” to bring it anyways.
I was in. And I was happy and relieved and ecstatic and thirsty and suspicious and euphoric and anything else in the world. I can already tell this will be one of the best nights of my life. I look around the dim but lively bar, and it’s packed with everyone from the hotel and then some. Couples are on the dance floor putting Fred and Ginger to shame. The bar itself is loaded with folks barking out drink orders as the bartender scurries about making more money tonight than a regular full two weeks combined. TV’s above the bar are playing old Bettie Page and Tempest Storm burlesque movies with the sound off. Mickey stops and talks to a bunch of people as we make our way through the room before going out back where they’re grilling burgers and brats, giant trash bins full of ice and beer for cheap. The bar is smoke-free, so out back is where you gotta go to assail your lungs. Man, I thought the bar was packed, out back is just as packed if not more. Everyone’s smoking and drinking and laughing and talking about everything under the sun. I start buying rounds of rum’n’cokes for myself and my lady friends, and beer for the boys. It doesn’t faze anyone, our tolerance is built up pretty steep from last night and all morning. My shoes are starting to kill my feet, as was expected, but nothing could ruin this night.
Surrounded by all of this, I’ve never felt so alive. I seemed to lose all memory of reality. I was bound within an alternate universe, so to speak. This was a completely different world, where I strangely didn't feel the need to explain myself (as though I ever did).
We all just knew.
It's rare to be able to merely look at a person and know what makes their blood really flow, and it’s especially pleasant when it resembles your own. I was overflowing with conversations I needed to have that I couldn't have with any regular ol' Joe Somebody, I needed someone who understood. Someone besides myself and Mickey. These people. They understood.
We didn’t get to sleep until quarter to seven in the morning.
The rest of the weekend was just as unbelievable as that first night. Sunday came too soon. We said our goodbyes and made our promises for next year. The ride home was too quiet and too fast. It’s strange how the ride there is always too long, and the complete opposite the way back. We lit our cigarettes simultaneously and sat reflecting while rolling down the highway in the afternoon sun.

2 fuckers | say anything...