20,600 words and counting

Last night was the most fun I’ve had in so long that it’s just bizarre. Somebody I thought had no use for me treated me like a cool older sister all night in a myriad of subtle and unsubtle ways; somebody I know basically by reputation as a good person talked to me with the kind of amusing intelligence that makes my month, let alone my day, and I really liked everything I saw last night. Oh, and I talked to an award winning actress, who was older than me so I DIDN’T have to feel like I was the oldest person there. And that crowd wasn’t ageist ANYWAY; it was just crap I was carrying around with me until I’d been there for about 15 minutes.

The evening commenced with Brian C, Ian M and the Dalai Jarmo and myself getting down to the Hop and Vine, where I had the joy of an unimpeded view of the men’s washroom, which afforded me much amusement. Lynn was there and Susanna as well. And Burnt, who volunteered to chauffeur me downtown, which offer I accepted with much thanks. After two Honey Lagers, dry ribs and a caesar (which cost WAY too much money in my opinion) Burnt and I hopped into his car and I said, “I just want you to know that I think LTGW is crazier than a sh*t house rat” and Burnt laughed his ass off. The two of them were roommates for 18 months; nothing I could say about LTGW would surprise Burnt. Burnt, after all, once wrote an eviction notice for soup LTGW made. We went to Burnt’s place and I noticed that he’s getting married at the Unitarian Church in Saskatoon this spring (the invites were all over the kitchen table) and he showed me pix of his tux, at which point he mocked his metrosexual behaviour in stern and manly tones. I told him about tomorrow’s homily. I sang An Evening of Serious Drinking and Burnt ignored me because he doesn’t understand the ritual aspect of it.

Myself and Burnt bought beer and visited ScaryClown at HIS apartment, which has a CTHULHU MASK HANGING IN THE KITCHEN. WHICH HE MADE HIMSELF. Oh, I want pix, I want pix so bad so bad so BAD. And he has a roadkill Pillsbury Doughboy doll with a squirm algorithm built in that (he said) would not have a repeated sequence of squirms in my entire lifetime. He modeled and painted the extruded viscera his own widdy self. He has so many monsters and creatures and horrid, sexually explicit modelling clay in his apartment that words couldn’t describe it and pictures couldn’t capture it. AND he had a Thomas the Tank Engine puzzle completed on the livingroom floor. AND in response to my crabby, “Thanks for booby trapping the bathroom, ScaryClown,” to which his response was “Oh?” and then I said, “There’s no f(cking toilet paper!” his response was the deathless, “Oh f(ck! Toilet paper! Women like that!” I thought Burnt was going to fall off the sofa he was laughing so hard. I ended up wiping off with Subway napkins.

And, and, and. There was an enormous, silicone/gel double ended dildo in this weird pale orangey brown colour sitting on the sofa. Wait, it gets better. Burnt was playing with it behind my back and every time I turned around I’d scream. Then he started tapping my back with it. Ur. Then ScaryClown grabbed it away from him and said, Watch this, this is really weird. And he grabbed it in the middle – it was like a rather floppy baton – and tossed it into the air and the way it moved was so funny that Burnt and I fell about laughing. If somebody told me I was going to watch somebody toss a dildo around for laughs I would have had trouble believing it. By a special blessing of Providence, ScaryClown forgot to take it with him to the bar. Apart from the colour, it was the most stunningly lifelike meat substitute I’ve ever seen. Not that I want one. I’m happy with my imagination these days.

I wandered around downtown Vancouver with a beer in my coat. And I drank it while I was in the bar. I drank Cutthroat, Raven, Storm and Stella last night. The mix tape in the bar was perfect, I drank exactly as much as I intended to, got home with zero difficulties on the transit, got home before two and was up again before eight. I talked to Paul and Keith and Dr. Filk this am for a while, put in another 1000 words on the novel and now I’m blogging.

I feel like I’m alive again. Oh my God, I laughed so much last night. Life feels good. I bought a starving artist a beer, and ScaryClown was actually still coherent when I left. Maybe he’s in the papers this morning, but I’m not, and I’m just as happy about that.