It's the Freakin' Weekend, Pt. 1 (Friday)

Ok. I think I’ve finally recovered enough to tell you about this weekend. Yes, I realize my last update was approximately one week ago. Seriously guys, you have no idea what all I’ve been up to. Mostly because I haven’t told you yet. Before we get into that, did you catch the Dance Moms 2-hour mid-season special? Did you feel like a whole hour of “Abby’s OMG Moments” was a total rip-off? If you don’t have two hours of brand new, demoralizing footage, don’t say you do! Am I right?

I have an overwhelming amount of information to pass on to you guys. Seriously, I outlined it all and I’m tempted to just post the outline and let you fill in all the blanks… like a Mad Lib, but with more debauchery. Well! Let’s get to it.

Friday

When last we saw each other I was setting off on the adventure known as “weekend”… If only I knew what I was getting myself into. From my kitchen table I trekked across town to the club for C’s last night of work. I’ve realized I might actually miss my trips out to 122^nd. I got to know a few of the girls out there and they are lovely. And there’s something to be said for spending time in a place that everyone wants to see you take your clothes off. I know, that sounds strange, but hear me out. Obvs there are some weirdos who congregate to the clubs, the sort of men offering dancers $5 to lick their feet. But there are also some really decent people there, people who have their degrees in forensics, or are taking care of their sick mother and just needed a break. Maybe I’m a sucker, but I feel like there are so many lonely people out there just looking for some sort of human connection. I know, I know: patriarchy, objectification and the male gaze. But anyways. There’s that.

One of the dancers was working on her birthday, which is obviously the perfect excuse to tie someone to a pole and slap her in the face with breasts. While that was going on, I hung out with the bouncer and somehow got him talking. Keep in mind this fella has been working in clubs for 18 years now. Homie’s got some horror stories. I’m not going to go into detail here, because I think my mom still reads it once in a while, but oh my god. Let me leave it at this: “double-ended dildo” and “three rectal stitches”.

Once C said goodbye to all the ladies, we decided the best course of action was to do what she deemed “real dancing” and I mostly think of as enthusiastic flailing. We made it downtown with only one minor incident (that instant you realize there’s spilled transmission fluid in your car and you’re not sure where that lit cigarette butt just went…), and found parking so easily it was practically an act of god.

Now those of you that know me know I’m not a great dancer. Enthusiastic? Absolutely. Good? It’s debatable. Furthermore, I loathe the uber-sexual bumpandgrind most dance clubs tout as the end-all of dancing. I’m a lot of sharp elbows and jumping up and down; not so much with the vertical hump. 

So when I step out on the dance floor and almost instantly get mauled by a little lesbo bear, all I can do is laugh and evade.

b: What’s her name again?

C: Destiny.

b: Are you fucking with me right now?

But Destiny and her pals were lovely, and bought us drinks, and ended up closing down the club with us. The highlight to all of this strobed-out, techno madness had to be us four lesbians enthusiastically belting out every word to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” dance remix. When the lights came up we said our goodbyes and promised to look each other up without actually exchanging any sort of personal information. If we meet again, it’ll be Destiny.

At this point I realized I had absolutely no idea where my car keys were. I checked all of my many pockets, searched the dance floor and inquired with a very tall drag queen, to no avail. The only logical thing to do was to amble back to the Biscuit, keeping our eyes peeled for that tell-tale Moose Drool bottle opener. Luckily, my keys weren’t lost. They were safe and sound in the ignition of my locked car. Along with my debit card and both of our phones. I might regret telling you all this, but Dodge Neon might be the easiest car in the entire world to break into, if you’ve got the right equipment. Unfortunately there weren’t any rigid metal objects just lying around in the streets of downtown Portland.

C spotted a security officer patrolling around a building across the street and suggested he might be able to loan us a cell phone. Which was a great idea, except neither of us had anyone to call. Damn cell phones! Remember when you used to have all of your friend’s numbers memorized? The good old days.

We decided to approach said fella anyways, just in case he could offer any sage advice. I mean he was a man in a uniform, right? He had to have some sagacity. We asked if he could help us “break into that little red car over there”, and he didn’t even miss a beat. He practically ran inside to find us a coat hanger and a wedge. Then he proceeded to help pry the window open while I finagled the lock.

C: Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot?

Officer: Not really. Sometimes people steal my cones, but I think they’re construction workers.

While I will never hire him to help safeguard my valuable possessions, I’m definitely thankful to that bored security officer. Acts of vandalism stir up an appetite, so our natural next step was to find food. We tracked down The Roxy. This is a place you need to experience. Even if you just sit down and read their menu and then leave. Clever bastards.

Waiter: Merry fucking Christmas, kids.

b: Wait, what?
Waiter: Every day is Christmas, goddammit. If it weren’t I’d have to off myself. Whatdaya want?

What we wanted was apparently a strange, minty quesadilla and a gravy/cheese/fries meteorite the size of an infant.

Walking back to the car at 4 a.m., the birds were already starting to sing. I haven’t seen that side of sunrise in a long time, and it was kind of amazing. I mean, I probably won’t make a habit of it or anything, but seriously. The sky lightening into that hazy purple grey? That’s the color of god.

Parts 2 and 3 to follow shortly!

I love you fools more than you know.

-b