Archive for the ‘Rockin’’ Category
(Sometimes) Sunny San Diego
I woke up this morning missing sunny San Diego, and feeling slightly strange about it because of how unfeelingly I’d bid goodbye to it the previous afternoon. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had fun; just for some reason, leaving it made me feel no regret. Until this morning, when I opened my eyes and realised I was alone and bored again.
Show: Redux
After sulking and wallowing for a bit after the show last night Leone came over as planned to bring me back to his apartment for the night. He perceived almost immediately that I wasn’t quite myself, and that frightened me just a little bit. Of course there was the juvenile part of me that wanted him to take notice and to make it all better, but to say that yesterday’s disappointment was fabricated for the express purpose of seeking attention would be a lie. Definitely I wasn’t feeling quite myself. Definitely I wasn’t consciously playing it up or even really aware it was discernible. What surprised me was that he knew. What was alarming was the fact that my boyfriend of two weeks could tell ten minutes into the evening that I was feeling down. I can’t pinpoint exactly why I’m slightly disconcerted by it, but if I could hazard a guess I would say it’s because I’m the type of girl who is scared of letting a guy get too close emotionally. But in any case the feeling wasn’t a strong or lasting enough one to delve into any further than I already have.
So. Leone asked me what was wrong, and I have to say that as someone who is as good at talking emotions as she is doing calculus (that is to say, not at all), I was actually pleased at how bluntly I replied:
Blacklight Jungle
Under the eerie glow of the blacklight I danced, the tabletop slippery with wetness that might have been water, sweat, jungle juice, or a conglomeration of things I’d rather not consider. My tiger-striped tunic had long been discarded in a corner, the tank-top I was wearing under it was damp with sweat, and the heat trapped by my hair felt oppressive, stifling. My hips swayed, grinded, and swiveled.
At our feet on the dance floor dark bodies punctuated by blue-white accents pulsed and milled but we paid them no mind. Now and again a dark figure would clamber up onto the table and pull laughing friends up behind them, but no one stayed for more than a few songs. Frequently we were approached by guys asking us to dance, their faces obscured by the darkness. One after another, they faded into each other. After the first few test-runs I learned to decline politely and no longer required intervention from Jasmine.
We submerged ourselves in the anonymity. It was a mindless surrender, persisting long after most of the effect of the alcohol had faded or been sweated out and we were high on our own adrenaline alone. It was exhilarating, invigorating, amazing. I’d never danced like that before, up on a table where the entire dance floor could see me. I’d never danced for almost four hours straight like that.
Three hours in two tall guys bounded up before us, and without missing a beat we regarded them through wary eyes, ready to turn down any overtures. Instead, bobbing to the music, they said, “Man, you guys have been up here for hours. You’re like champions.”
Well, champion or not, that night I certainly felt like one.
Last Night (Really Long Sober Version)
Before I say anything, I think I should divulge the thing that’s been on the back of my mind since last weekend, making it impossible to completely let loose even when I’m letting loose, namely, that I have two papers due on Tuesday, one of which which is going to be hell. And that’s the first thing I thought of when Buttercup asked me to go to a party with her, Jasmine, and another friend of ours, Daisy, hosted by the same people who host about half the parties we go to. Seeing as how I do most of my work between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM, especially on weekends, it would be a large chunk of time to lose. But Buttercup and Jasmine had been guilting me all week and I knew I would probably end up going in.
Last Night (Short Drunk Version)
It was so awkward the first two hours, sitting there in a room of tipsy people I didn’t know, watching Leone be friendly with another girl. But he kept coming back to me, back to me. And then we all of us were on the bed lying all over each other and Leone came up on my right side and wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck and ran his arms up and down my torso. And I curled my fingers into his hair and put my arms around his neck and let him hold me.
One of the two other girls there called a taxi before I was ready to leave. Leone beckoned me into the other room. He said, “Nothing sexual, and no pressure either way, but you’re welcome to sleep in my bed.”
I demurred, and all the while my mind screamed “STAY”. We dilly-dallied. Finally he said, “I don’t think you understand. I’m asking you to stay.”
I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, so badly. But I knew that leaving was the right thing to do, and I knew that when I told him I had to go, and I knew that as I sat in the taxi on the way back, and I know that still now. I wanted to stay and spend the night in his arms, but I know I made the right choice.
So now I go, not quite sober, to my bed alone, and wish I still had his arms around me.
—
The really long sober version that I wrote the next morning can be found here.
Post-Spook Tidbits
I’m fairly sure that the Berkeley campus is having a mass hangover. No one on the streets, no one at the gym…I hope some people at least had more fun than I did. Well actually, I’m not that type of person, the kind ones the world really needs, who are happy for other people and willing to settle for trickle-down joy. And my Halloween was a little less than stellar.
Pre Spook Tidbits
JT and Jack Dawson are in the other room. Alone. With the door closed. I hope they’re not, like, having sex in there, because it would be rude of them when I have dinner all heated and Buttercup is waiting for us to come over.
—
Although, even if they’re talking—which I think is what they’re doing—it’s still a little rude of them.
—
They did this a few hours ago too, at the dollar store. Jack Dawson had been pissy/quiet since he’d gotten here and he apparently pulled JT aside in the store and they then proceeded to have a 3o minute talk and I…strolled around the aisles and tried not to look like I was loitering around a dollar store. For 30 minutes. Finally I said to hell with it and went to fetch them, because there’s only so long a girl can stand in front of the check out lanes with a sullen look on her face.
—
Tomorrow is Buttercup’s Halloween potluck, and I’m dressing up for the first time in years and I’m excited. On a similar note, a very hot guy that I think maybe possibly may be a little interested in me might be there. Haha, I guess it doesn’t sound very exciting on paper. Er, cybertext. Or whatever.
—
Also, Korean 2 will be there. Korean 2, who, might I remind you all, Buttercup thinks likes me. And I see it too. And I have no real interest in him, except that I like that he likes me.
—
Romeo might be there too. But I’m guessing not.
—
I am so excited.
Anywhere
Who knew in Anywhere there is to be found, in varying quantities:
A 50 pound cooler full of drinks (normal drinks and happy drinks) enough to last us a week in the case of a freak storm and subsequent snow-in, lunchables, 7-layer-dip that is actually 4-layer-dip, sass, two-horse towns, quaint little country roads, scary little country roads, high school homecomings, impromptu stops, impromptu bathroom breaks, snark, sunny overlooks, WWII bunkers, picnics by the sea, toothpaste foam, cat allergies, wit, sparkling apple cider, illegal U-turns, Starbucks, Starbucks, Starbucks, three people in one little not-quite-queen bed, drag queens, gay couples, Jacuzzis full of gay couples, drunken karaoke, jumping drunk into an unheated pool at midnight to the countdown of strangers, spiders in bathtubs, blankets in the backseat, *NSYNC, pumpkin patches, cool fall breezes, drunken conversations about boys, calls to best friends back home, no homework, 20 pound gains, pedicures, deep fried battered items, carrot juice, pool at a pub, sarcasm, sports bras worn as bikini tops, gay porn, wood stoves, the scent of redwood trees, and realizing at the end that even though you had the time of your life and would do it all again in a New York minute and even though you love it up north and wish you had more than a weekend and don’t really want to come back, you really love it in Berkeley.
Almond Amore
Friday: Class, home, gym, sweat like a pig, shower, pack, run run run to Buttercup’s apartment.
We made a quick dash to Safeway with Buttercup’s 21 year old roommate in tow and returned to the car 80 dollars poorer but 3 bottles of alcohol richer, which is a fair trade in my book. Dinner at Jack In The Box (“Why does it sound sexual every time you say ‘Jack In The Box’, [truste]?”), then back to Buttercup’s to get sexy.
Manhunt
I have serious rugburn on my knees, and this is how I went about getting it:
