The race is on. I have countdown five hours to make one hundred dollars if I am to pay my rent in full this afternoon to my landlord's mom who is coming to pick it up and bring it to my landlord in Pennsylvannia. More than likely, I am not going to pay my rent in full and my landlord is going to be annoyed with me. But I will try, will roll the dice on Craigslist for the next couple hours even though it is another gorgeous, mild day and will see if I can land those snake eyes.
Even though last night I knew my situation, I said fuck it, that if my rent is going to be short, it's going to be just a little more short because I am going to go get drunk among homosexuals and party. I went with Joe to the Tainted Lady Lounge where it was queer punk night and it turned out to be basically a Queer Fist convergence. I saw so many people there, so many of those QF people, so many of Luke's friends, plus Wyatt was there snapping pictures. Tom was dancing in these booty shorts. I was drunk and so a little more easily titillated than I am in sober conditions and I clicked my eyes shut again and again, capturing his pretty body that I have dreamed about before so that I could recall those images when I got home. I made out half-jokingly with Adrian.
I am not sure if I like that bar or not. It is small which bars should be because it forces people to touch and talk. But it feels like you are in a restaurant, which is what it really was designed for and what it is for most of the day with tables along the wall and a big glass storefront. We took a break to go check out what may or may not have been a homo night at Capone's, Joe and I, ate free pizza with our two dollar beers and played a game of pool that I lost after doing so well in the beginning. I talked to Zack there and then went back to the Tainted Lady Lounge where I drank more, talked to some people, and then went home, smoking cigarettes along the way. In bed, I had so much fun masturbating to recalled images, living in a depraved fantasy world until I came and passed out.
The reason I am pressed for time today is because lately my name is Al Coholic. The Princeton Review ended last week. I probably should have applied at a temp agency right then, but I am delaying that until Monday, instead going out, drinking, watching movies, television, walking around this town, and this evening there are so many things I want to do. Camille Paglia's doing a reading, there's a hot episode of The O.C. that hopefully I can get my neighbors to tape, there are eight million gallery openings but those I have to miss, will miss because I have to go to Niki's store opening from 6-9, which will be fun and which will involve booze, but which will also probably involve talking to twits. Come and talk to me there. 31 Crosby Street between Broome and Grand. Wyatt said he would come with me and then I am going to go with him to that Fischerspooner thing. Remember when I was making fun of that? Shut up, there's free booze. Yeah, I told you my name. I just want to drink and lose myself to the night, to the joys I have been finding there lately. Party! is the refrain in my head this past week, the past couple of them, and I keep listening to the same Annie song (Chewing Gum), the same Gwen Stefani song (Serious) because that is the mental state I am occupying, this delirious synth-pop party mindset, where all I want to do is have fun of the Cyndi Lauper variety.
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