new world order

Game Night.

We were like senior citizens playing a patient game of mahjong last night. Courteous, friendly and appreciative of one another's presence. Cards weren't viciously thrown at each other, threats and insults were kept to a minimum, arguments about the Illuminati and space lizards remained somewhat constructive. It was weird, but kinda nice too. We felt like actual friends last night as if six light bulbs flickered on simultaneously. Oh, so this is what friendship feels like between us? We can... we can be gracious and kind to each other? We can tease each other and offer advice and listen like real friends. Oh. Wow. What took so fucking long?

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You know I want to dedicate this whole post to the new sweetheart in town for the wonderful change. The lady who can launch a thousand ships, claire bear! But my emo post of the week was yesterday and I'm afraid my excess of sentimentality will spill into my everyday life. Thees ees Burque, ese, whaat? Chu think I'm soft? Chu think I'm easy? Chu think I'm loco?

That was, by the way, the name of our energy drink from last night. "Four Loko." Let the party pics ensue.

We wondered how different dance party would be after three years of not going. Different dj, music set, crowd. Different us. Maybe it'd be a well preserved relic and the weight of being three years older would wash off. We'd be 22 again and dancing along to Raspberry Beret and Got To Give It Up.

The long wait in line felt familiar. So did the puffs of cigarette smoke coming from everyone's lips. Little factories with little smokestacks. The acrid mix of mustard and sauerkraut from the street vendor wafting between exhaust from motorcycles. Conversations were yelled into the ear of who you were trying to talk to. Watching pretty girls in high heels stumble out of the front door, asking for a cigarette and a light. Holding your plastic ID, waiting to show it to the door guy who stamps your wrist. The wall of hot, humid air that chokes you and excites you when you finally enter felt familiar. Eighty people dancing, sweating and spilling their beers right in front of you as if nothing has changed, no one has left and we're all the same age, same year, studying the same classes. Squeezing in between dudes with sweat droplets running down their temples, girls who look at your outfit before your face, and security who study your face and remember you, having seen you somewhat consistently for the past five years. The eternal wait at the bar felt familiar. Accidentally running your fingers over their sticky counter tops while ignoring the older men staring at your chest. Making eye contact with the bartender and after finally getting drinks, turning around with two beer cans in one hand and three glasses of vodka tonic in your other arm. Very, very familiar.

And that's where the similarities stop. The music was pretty horrible. The dancing was way too well-rehearsed. More people were concerned about looking good than having fun, I think. That was the difference maybe. Everyone looked really good, but somewhat bored. Whatever. We left 5 minutes after we got in.

... and scuttled right on over to Atomic.

The devil's brew.

Another dance party with more terrible electronica. We paid our bill and tried our luck at Blackbird.

Their open air back patio is devastatingly perfect for summer parties. Kind of dirty, chairs and tables that wobble. Ashtrays that overflow and music that plays too loud. It's all kind of perfect.

We ended our night back at our house after the $15 cab ride. Marc and I made vegetarian chili for our group and passed out. When we woke up the next morning Jay and Claire were asleep in the living room. Jay took the couch for himself, hahahahahah. Very familiar.