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long weekend rebirth: particulars (Fri/Sat)

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Tue May 23 00 / 2:58 AM

I want to describe my weekend in so many details; attempt to quantify my belief that it was one of the best weekends of my life. Nothing extraordinary or weird happened, but all told and altogether, all the little things about the entire dingdong weekend just added themselves up and went POW! YOU JUST HAD A GREAT WEEKEND!

Friday night was a slow lonely start, but enjoyable. I read a book for the Children's Literature class I'm taking this summer (and I always love a feeling of accomplishment) and I watched a months-old episode of X-Files that I had taped but not yet seen. It was the episode that was filmed as though Mulder and Scully were on Cops, and it was funny and perfect and just so. Watching it made me regret not being faithful to X-Files the past few weeks, because by golly it's such a great show. I had forgotten what I was missing.

Saturday dawned and afternooned and I woke up with relatively little prodding from my alarm clock. For me, that is always the sign of a great day ahead. I did all the waking up things, chatted with Ashley, packed, and headed over to Jen's. Ashley was already there when I arrived, the drinks were opened, the mouths were loose.

I was back in the embrace of two dearest best friends, and I'd missed it.

I have to mention what I was wearing, and you, being me, know why it's so important: casual black sandals (comfortable and summery), very old Levis in a worn blue (low-riding and flattering to the curves), midnight coloured tank top (clinging with a low neckline). I felt aggressive and feminine and reckless. Good hair, good face, I owned it.

We three struck out for downtown and the sun was just hot enough for what we were wearing (glorious). We ate and came home. Pizza was ordered, more drinks. Ashley had written Jen a fairy tale for her birthday, and recorded a CD that corresponded to the chapters. He performed the story while we waited for 40 minutes or less.

(Ashley is a marvel. He writes volumes, sometimes without saying much, but the art is in his reading. This is probably true of all authors, but I think it is much more so of Ashley. When he reads aloud, he is speaking to you, on top of which his words are also speaking to you; it is a whirlwind conversation where you don't even have to think of anything clever to say back.)

Ate. More drinks. Watched a James Bond flick. Gossiped, shouted, laughed, were together. As we got ready to go out at night, some brilliant mind turned on KOOL FM and Chris Sheppard's Pirate Radio was playing. Perfect. Jen gave me body glitter, Ashley gave me compliments, the music gave me energy.

Jen the birthday girl chose the cheap shooter bar to start out the night, and even the drunk beside us was impressed at the number of purple and green shots in front of us. Next was Stoney's, an often overlooked dance bar. We danced hard from the moment we arrived until we left after midnight. The true alternative, Zaphod's, we hit next, and the music was right and different as always. Still, in an hour and a half we had tired of it, and it was my random decision to return to Stoney's with half an hour until closing.

Stoney's was still stuck in its hiphop rut. This is what sucks about bars. Every club around starts out the night with excellent dance music. It plays for an hour or two while the place goes from empty to mildly full. Once the interesting crowd has actually materialized, there is a hard shift into a very long string of hiphop. I do not like hiphop. It is repetitious, slow, and you can't dance to it. This is, unfortunately, the very reason they play hiphop in clubs. Most guys like hiphop (possibly for the music itself) because they can get on the dance floor, which is where the girls are, and generally look like they know what they are doing to the music. With so many people on the dance floor, the place looks jumping and successful and the crowd seems happy, so the hiphop always returns each weekend. When I go to a dance club, I want to dance. Sue me.

Still, Stoney's had its advantages. The atmosphere was charged even as it started to empty out, the drinks were cheap, and there were comfortable stools around the bar overlooking the dance floor. We hadn't been sitting long when I saw him. A glance at a familiar set of head and shoulders in the crowd. A full-blown stare at a passing body. I gaped, I flushed, I screamed to the girl on my right and the boy on my left.

It was a figure from my past, and I wasted no time. The new confident me, dressed to such a hilt, approached, smiled, hugged, danced. It couldn't have been simpler. I've longed to be such a person as I was that night. After it all, we three taxied home and drifted off. Jen and I shared a single bed (a height of friendship) and gabbed, and I woke up bright-eyed at 3pm on Sunday.

Saturday was a birthday party for Jen, but I feel I was the one being reborn. At the very least, I have cast off some dull layers.

</>

Lisa Higgs

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*long weekend rebirth: particulars (Fri/Sat)*
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Tue May 23 00 / 2:58 AM I want to describe my weekend in so many details; attempt to quantify my belief that it was one of the best weekends of my life. Nothing extraordinary or weird happened, but all told and altogether, all the little things about the entire dingdong weekend just added themselves up and went POW! YOU JUST HAD A GREAT WEEKEND! Friday night was a slow lonely start, but enjoyable. I read a book for the Children's Literature class I'm taking this summer (and I always love a feeling of accomplishment) and I watched a months-old episode of X-Files that I had taped but not yet seen. It was the episode that was filmed as though Mulder and Scully were on Cops, and it was funny and perfect and just so. Watching it made me regret not being faithful to X-Files the past few weeks, because by golly it's such a great show. I had forgotten what I was missing. Saturday dawned and afternooned and I woke up with relatively little prodding from my alarm clock. For me, that is always the sign of a great day ahead. I did all the waking up things, chatted with Ashley, packed, and headed over to Jen's. Ashley was already there when I arrived, the drinks were opened, the mouths were loose. I was back in the embrace of two dearest best friends, and I'd missed it. I have to mention what I was wearing, and you, being me, know why it's so important: casual black sandals (comfortable and summery), very old Levis in a worn blue (low-riding and flattering to the curves), midnight coloured tank top (clinging with a low neckline). I felt aggressive and feminine and reckless. Good hair, good face, I owned it. We three struck out for downtown and the sun was just hot enough for what we were wearing (glorious). We ate and came home. Pizza was ordered, more drinks. Ashley had written Jen a fairy tale for her birthday, and recorded a CD that corresponded to the chapters. He performed the story while we waited for 40 minutes or less. (Ashley is a marvel. He writes volumes, sometimes without saying much, but the art is in his reading. This is probably true of all authors, but I think it is much more so of Ashley. When he reads aloud, he is speaking to you, on top of which his words are also speaking to you; it is a whirlwind conversation where you don't even have to think of anything clever to say back.) Ate. More drinks. Watched a James Bond flick. Gossiped, shouted, laughed, were together. As we got ready to go out at night, some brilliant mind turned on KOOL FM and Chris Sheppard's Pirate Radio was playing. Perfect. Jen gave me body glitter, Ashley gave me compliments, the music gave me energy. Jen the birthday girl chose the cheap shooter bar to start out the night, and even the drunk beside us was impressed at the number of purple and green shots in front of us. Next was Stoney's, an often overlooked dance bar. We danced hard from the moment we arrived until we left after midnight. The true alternative, Zaphod's, we hit next, and the music was right and different as always. Still, in an hour and a half we had tired of it, and it was my random decision to return to Stoney's with half an hour until closing. Stoney's was still stuck in its hiphop rut. This is what sucks about bars. Every club around starts out the night with excellent dance music. It plays for an hour or two while the place goes from empty to mildly full. Once the interesting crowd has actually materialized, there is a hard shift into a very long string of hiphop. I do not like hiphop. It is repetitious, slow, and you can't dance to it. This is, unfortunately, the very reason they play hiphop in clubs. Most guys like hiphop (possibly for the music itself) because they can get on the dance floor, which is where the girls are, and generally look like they know what they are doing to the music. With so many people on the dance floor, the place looks jumping and successful and the crowd seems happy, so the hiphop always returns each weekend. When I go to a dance club, I want to dance. Sue me. Still, Stoney's had its advantages. The atmosphere was charged even as it started to empty out, the drinks were cheap, and there were comfortable stools around the bar overlooking the dance floor. We hadn't been sitting long when I saw him. A glance at a familiar set of head and shoulders in the crowd. A full-blown stare at a passing body. I gaped, I flushed, I screamed to the girl on my right and the boy on my left. It was a figure from my past, and I wasted no time. The new confident me, dressed to such a hilt, approached, smiled, hugged, danced. It couldn't have been simpler. I've longed to be such a person as I was that night. After it all, we three taxied home and drifted off. Jen and I shared a single bed (a height of friendship) and gabbed, and I woke up bright-eyed at 3pm on Sunday. Saturday was a birthday party for Jen, but I feel I was the one being reborn. At the very least, I have cast off some dull layers.
	</>
Lisa Higgs
.