March 14, 2014
Yesterday, Pete, John, Ayla, Morgan, Sweetheart, and I dressed up like we were from the 50’s and then we went bowling. Sweetheart actually joined us, which is a good thing. Very unusual. For a bohemian, she rarely leaves the apartment. We convinced her to come and I believe she had a good time. Though I missed part of it, which I will get into… Anyway, it was pretty cool to be around Sweetheart without sex being some kind of strange force field in the air. It was also a relief to not have the heaviness of Valentina’s death hovering about us. Rather, there was definitely the grief, yet it was something we shared that brought us together in a way, the same sadness which is all encompassing, yet not seeming to be so debilitating anymore, at least not last night. And being around her this time, finally I felt like I could be there for her and step outside myself. Especially since I was dressed as a greaser.
So we were bowling and I got a strike and turned around enthusiastically to face the gang and Ayla called me a dork. I said that I’m not a dork. She says I am, most times, but in an adorable way. I don’t know how to interpret that but adorable dork seems like an oxymoron to me. An oxymoronic dork. An adorable moron. I decided to prove I was a cool greaser so I changed my shoes and went out to smoke the cigarette I had behind my ear, from the pack I had rolled up in my t-shirt sleeve. I didn’t really feel the need to prove anything, I just wanted a smoke.
I went out and my lighter wasn’t working so I walked across the street where there was a convenient store, not a convenience store, but a store conveniently placed, and I bought a lighter. When I walked out, I lit my cigarette and was waiting for the traffic to ease so I could cross, when a car pulled up and there were three women in the car, looked like they were in their late 20’s early 30’s. They asked me if I was aware I looked like I was from the 50’s. I said there’s no way I’d dress like this otherwise, it’s a thing my friends and I were doing. They asked me to go for a ride with them so I did. I don’t know why. I just get curious about what can happen. I figure if I say no, then I’ll always wonder what I missed out on, good or bad.
We drove and they were blasting music I hate and singing along with it. They talked to me by shouting over the music. We drove for about a half an hour and then they pulled into the parking lot for a bar. I was like, this is the end of the line for me ladies, and I left after I had to resist lots of begging in that flirtatious way women have when they try to get men to do what they want. Most times that works, but I was pretty strong willed last night, not even tempted.
They gave up, went in, and I began to walk, but it was cold in only a leather jacket and walking would take too long, so I decided to hitchhike to get back. I walked about ten minutes, sticking out my thumb to passing motorists, when a car pulls up. It was two teenagers, a boy and a girl. They asked me to buy for them, I was like nope, you’re asking the wrong guy for that. Then they confessed that they were tripping on acid. I could tell by the way the kid was driving. It was kind of freaking me out. I think it’s the only time I’ve been in a car with a tripping driver when I wasn’t tripping myself. Made me realize how lucky I am to be alive. I told the kid to pull over, I’d drive. Part of me wanted to fuck with them, get them paranoid that I was some kind of serial killer or psychopath, but I was in a mature frame of mind which was interesting. I began to consider myself an unusual and unpredictable specimen. There must be a scientific explanation to that, right Scully?
The kids were too trusting and let me get behind the wheel. The gas light was on and not long after, the car ran out of gas. We couldn’t make it to the gas station which was about a block away. I walked there with them, bought them some gas and was going to move on my own way. It’s good for me to see how stupid people are when they’re fucked up, reminds me how much I’d rather not be an idiot. But instead, I walked back with them, put the gas in their car since they didn’t know how to do it from the gas can. Then I said I’d return the can to the station, so I said goodbye. As I was walking away, they seemed to finally realize how I was dressed and they told me I looked like I was from “The Outsiders” movie which they watched instead of reading the book for school. Yep, bye.
I returned the gas can to the station. While I was there, I bought a Snickers bar, and I ran into James on my way out. I didn’t know who he was at first, but he was like, “remember me? at Sharly’s? I protected you from the scary girl ghost.” Oh. He told me he liked my ensemble and then I got a ride from him back to the bowling alley. As I was getting out of the car, he told me if I ever decide to pitch for the other team and was interested in an older black man, to get in touch with him. I said, “you flatter me. thanks for the ride.”
I went in the bowling alley and my friends were like, “where the hell have you been?” I said I was there the whole time, just went out for a smoke and got a Snickers. As I opened the Snickers, I asked, “did I miss my turn?” before taking a bite. They said they tried to call but my phone was there. I said that was proof, I’d never leave my phone in case Gary Oldman should call.
Then I confessed that the sirens tried to tempt me to drown myself, two teenagers in an alternate dimension tried to kill me, and a I was sexually propositioned by a 40 year-old black man. They didn’t believe me.
Ayla called me a dork again. It was a strange fucking night.
The most irrelevant yet appropriate or inappropriate and relevant theme song for this journal entry is “Prince of Parties” by Flight of the Conchords. I fucking love that show.
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