Sunday, June 4, 2023

I Guess I Wasn't Invited

Everyone is somewhere else. . . again.  Red still wants to go adventuring.  She is in Vegas. . . baby!  Two of my good factory friends are in NYC.  One has been there for six weeks and will be returning, the other is up for the summer.  Q has gone to an arthritic dance party with some old ravers for a NYC birthday where he will dj once again.  He invited me up, then said he would be with his friends most of the time.  I don't think I was invited to the ravers thing.  He'll probably say he was worried they would need to call 911 for me, but that would be a lie.  He never wants me around his friends' girls.  He has always been a cock blocker for me.  The girls like me--much to his surprise and dismay.  

"I swear I'll kill you if you fuck around with her.  That's BoBo's girlfriend."

"I'm not going to hurt her."

There will be a lot of ex-models at the party.  That's the way that scene worked, at least in my brief (one night) experience.  The famous djs all had girlfriends who were models and about ten years younger than they.  I was at Q's 35th birthday.  He was dj there, too.  Little club on the Lower East Side.  I almost didn't go.  I didn't have raver clothes or whatever.  But I thought it would be an insult if I didn't show up.  It turned out I knew many of the people there at least tangentially as they came from my own hometown.  There was a girl from Country Club College who said she'd seen me around.  I sat with a group of women all night who kept me safe.  Q threatened me over Country Club College girl, too.  Always a girlfriend of another, more important friend.  


I had a wonderful night.  

So. . . I probably have a false idea that the party will be a raucous, two-day and night thing the way it was back then.  I've asked Q to send me lots of pictures.  I'm probably wrong about everything.  What he is sending me are pictures of Prince St. and views of the Hudson River.  WTF?  

I thought it would be more like this (link).  

I do think, though, that all my friends in NYC are getting skinny with their girlfriend Molly.  I should probably give that a go.  

Rather, I am in Hooterville bars with idiot beer drinkers.  Overheard. 

"Loser's lose, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

"I think so.  Yea.  I mean you're saying that a loser's gotta lose."


"I guess the flip side of that is a winner's gotta win."

"That's it!  You wanna be a winner or you wanna be a loser?"

"Can I think about it?"

"What?  You're not a moron, are ya?"

"I don't know. . . I mean, no. . . I don't think so. . . . "

"C'mon, man, you wanna be a winner or a loser?"

"Well, given what I know about things. . . you know, I mean. . . I'm no fool. . . I think I'd rather be a winner."

"THERE YOU GO!  You're a winner, right?  Feels good to win?"

"I don't know.  I don't feel anything yet. . . I mean, yea. . . sure."

"Feels good to win, mofo.  Feels good to win."

"Yea. . . like. . . do I get anything?"

"For what?"

"For winning?"

"You got your freedom, homie.  You're a winner!"

"Oh, yea. . . .  Yea. . . . "

"Right, dude.  Now let's go win."


I'll book a NYC trip of my own, I think.  I've been practicing my limp.  I think. . . I think. . . I can do it.  I need to.  

So many trips there since I took that photo at the top of the page.  I'm calculating.  I've spent at least a year there.  So many stories. . . I am tongue tied.  Now I'm thinking rather than writing, so. . . I'll just end this with a song that many of you will relate to.  

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