I love Halloween. It’s like gothic Christmas for me. Or New Year’s Eve. I love Halloween.
This Halloween I got my Vampire Ball cherry popped and it rocked. I should pause to mention that there were an abnormally large number of annoying drunk fucks in shitty costumes, but everyone else was swell. I danced a little. I saw a nice ass. I hung with friends and I pimped Asmodeus X merchandise from my bastion of schwag back by the bar. Feel my might!
But the extra special occasion was my super-secret smoke machine performance with Asmodeus. It was actually my first live show with them. That was me smoking out hard core to their set. Nicci said she didn’t think it was enough smoke. Fucking artist. All’s I could see was a horrible haze. At times I couldn’t even see the band.
Then I went home.
Friday I caught gratuitous Bowie crotch. Most excellent. Ziggy Stardust explained the entirety of rock n’roll. I love David Bowie. I would fuck him. Twice. With abandon. I’d also fuck Siouxsie, which is on topic because she’s a rock star, nay, a goddess of rock. And Nicci threw her in the VCR Saturday afternoon when I was haunting her place being mopey all of a sudden. Siouxise cheered me right up.
So before Ziggy (which plays for the next couple of weeks at the MFA), Katy and I met Carrie and her friend who has the boyfriend with the $2400 sheets. Supposedly they are worth it, but if a $2400 flat sheet ain’t blowing me when I get in bed, and again when I wake up in the morning, then I think it’d be more frugal to buy a mere $1200 sheet and spend the other $1200 on a cheap hookers. We had cosmos, guaca, and hummus. Damn tasty. After Ziggy we chilled at Catbird’s where I heard a bad ass song by Lavay Smith.
Ms. Smith goes to great lengths to have her contemporary renditions of old songs sound just like they were played way, way back in the day. She sounded so old school. It kicked ass.
Saturday, I was going to go get new frames for my glasses, but, as I already mentioned, I got stuck staring at Siouxsie’s lips all afternoon. And I ate some tamales.
That evening Nicci and I picked up Katy and snuck into downtown for Sandra’s birthday party. Shindiggity in the Hizzy, yo. Gear_mo greeted us at the door. Blue and Justin arrived shortly thereafter, and more vodka inspections commenced.
I was training my apprentice Katy (who is not my girlfriend) in the trade of vodka inspection. Carmina and David came. Robyn. Karen and Jason. James and Sara. Martin and Jamie. George and George (Louis). Curtis. And several kept asking me if Katy was ok. Sure, I said. She’s great! And I’d give them the good ‘ole thumbs up to know things were just swell.
And then Nicci drew me aside twice to tell me Katy had had enough. She’s great, I said, and I gave her a thumbs up so she could be sure things were swell. And then it was two and I had to transport Katy home.
Poor, poor Katie. I felt so bad. She couldn’t even really walk. She was leaning on me and everyonce in a frequently she her body would jutt of in some random direction, sending us stumbling very much away from walking a straight line. And she’d giggle really loud so everyone in the lobby would notice. Shh. Just act normal. And she’d giggle and her body would go jutting off again. She actually sat in my car and hit herself for several minutes saying things like “I totally can’t feel this!” and “I feel nothing!” and “I’m not stopping until I can feel something!”
Being that it was late and she was drunk, I had her call her brother, M. Zombie. They rambled on for a while, and then she and I had this really deep and meaningful drunken conversation.
Then I went back to the party, but most folks were gone, but that was even better. Sipped some SoCo. Hung with Gearmo, Sandra, and Nesser. We did an early morning run to Jack in the Box, and then Gearmo and just sat up and shot the shit for hours. I got to see the sun come up. It was a cool fucking evening. I left feeling warm and relaxed and excited at how awesome life can be.