Fuzzy Recollections

The last time James and I had gone out it had been he who was drunk. I didn’t mind because he was so adorable that it’s impossible to feel like he was being a burden on anyone. Men, when drunk with their friends at a club, usually turn into these massive testosterone spewing monsters of touchy-feely asshole-ness. James is the exception to this rule and for that I am glad to say that I know him. As a consequence of the alcohol I got to be the one to tease about his funny doings that he had only a fuzzy recollection of.
As a part of fair play we agreed that it was my turn to be the next intoxicated silly person so that he could enjoy a good round of teasing when I sobered up enough to feel embarrassed. Starting at his house he made this interesting concoction of vodka and crystal light. We both agreed that it would get me drunk but the recipe needed more investigation.
Assured that the Sonics would pull out, I managed to tare him away from the game we were watching in Hi-Def, which had been a mind blowing first for me, and start making our way out the door. After filling a water bottle with more of the crystal-vodka-light I was introduced to his baby, which was a monstrous diesel truck with huge ass tires that made the step up to the cab a near adventure. Zooming down the highway it was awesome to be looking down on all the little cars and feel like nothing in the world could stop us.
After a couple laps of the area, checking the scene, we rolled up hill through this fenced in parking lot that he remembered being paid parking. It was right across the street from the club, but the signs posted were stating the lot as reserved by permit only. The fencing gave one a better sense of security but the idea of being towed was not so appealing. On the other hand it was incredibly close and the lot was empty except for three cars and a local bakery truck. We apparently weren’t the only ones with this idea.
After parking his big truck at the top of the hill by the club, we looked around and agreed that no one would want to try and tow the beast. If anything the remote on his alarm would warn him while we were inside if anyone tried messing with his baby. Even though I was feeling pretty toasty when we parked, my main concern was that James would be worrying all night about his truck and have no fun at all. He assured me he would be fine but probably keeping an eye on his alarm remote. With that settled out came the water bottle filled with his vodka brew.
When we finally decided we were both ready off to head into the club I was totally starting to feel drunk. I was definitely past toasty and rushing right on by tipsy without so much as a backward glance. Everyone has their own terms and definitions for the different stages of intoxication. The obvious fact that we all react differently to alcohol leads a person to give themselves little markers to chart their progress. These personalized markers can be anything; how they’re feeling physically, their emotion state, or the strange separatist’s observation of their actions. My markers are dependent on how fast I’m drinking. In the last year or so I’ve developed this naughty habit of just flying through the whole process from sober to drunk in way too short of a time period.
On a good night while pacing myself, which was what this night was, my first marker is Toasty. I’ve described Toasty in the past as: nicely warmed and outwardly funny. It’s that moment where I really just kick back. I’m comfortable with my surroundings and myself. I’m also more confident to involve myself in conversation, as silly as it may end up being I’m unafraid to look foolish for the sake of a good laugh. The next step is Tipsy. This is the point when I start noticing my motor skills are starting to go out the window. I’m a little clumsier as well as taking more care with the words I’m using when I talk. The warm feeling of well being is still firmly in place yet there’s a saucier kick to it. My actions as well as my words are increasing in boldness.
As things move beyond Tipsy to Fuzzy there is also this slow progression of what I call “separation” in my mind. There becomes this inner sober person that is narrating the rest of the affair for me. This Sober Spectator hands out advice and cringes in total embarrassment as the outer self begins it’s slow decent into melt down. Of the few times that I’ve gotten Fuzzy, the one thing that is most vivid to me is the almost tangible cloud that seems to hang over my ability to process even the simplest of information, while the Sober Spectator is calling out encouragement. “Whoa there girl, slow down the walk and remember… straight line. Doing good, doing good, you’re almost to the bathroom. You certainly have to pee a lot when you get like this. Now lock the stall door. Com’mon this isn’t hard. Slide the latch… No shut the door, then slide the latch.”
Fuzzy is still a stage that I’m able to know when to quit, if that’s my intention. I know perfectly well that I’m gone enough to be a silly mess but without the ability to drive, and without the need for anything more than water to drink. Fuzzy, sadly enough is also the point where I start losing memory of my antics when I sober up later. It’s usually best that I stay on the dance floor so that I don’t notice how much my balance is off. My conversations on the other hand have are pretty much whatever I have to say at the moment, bold or simply foolish. The filter between my mouth and my brain is no longer functioning.
When I become fully aware of my inability to move about without stumbling, I’m to the stage of Messed Up. My emotional state can stay with giggly, but most of the time slips into this guilty sort of apology phase. The “I’m sorry’s” just seem to come spilling out of my mouth over the silliest things. A lot of that has to do with my independent streak and the fact that I know damn well I’m unable to get through this experience without someone else’s guidance. Anything past Messed Up is just going to end up as Fucked Up. Fucked Up is when the fog has completely rolled in and the Sober Spectator’s only real job is navigation based on the primal needs of survival, which does include the hunt for the least embarrassing place I can throw up. Any memory I have of this time is going to be either sensation or odd little snap shot flashes of certain moments, nothing really linear.
Here I was sitting in a big manly truck that is parked on a slant and I’m feeling strangely closer to the Fuzzy stage than I had expected with the given amount of consumption. We hadn’t even gone into the club yet, nor was it past ten o’clock at night! Talking for a minute more, we both moved to get out of the truck. With nothing more than the happy anticipation of dancing on my mind, I stepped out like I was getting out of my car. Big mistake! The strange thing of it all was that I could have just landed on my butt, or rolled a bit on impact but no… I did nothing so simple as that. As I blissfully stepped out of the passenger side, one boot heel hit the pavement with a resounding crack, while the other foot strangely decided to stay in the cab of the truck. This left me hanging for a moment from the safety belt and the door handle. As I hung there in that strange position, precarious as it was, the only thing that crossed my mind was whether James was still in the drivers seat watching this whole thing. Through the cab, as I righted myself, I thankfully saw that he had just turned his back to me and slipped gracefully out of the truck without any sort of special attention paid in my direction.
Even at a stage of outwardly funny, very little can break past my inability to deal with looking totally stupid in front of other people. I will try and play off any sort of situation, acting like nothing ever happened, long before I’ll own up to a foolish action. Smoothing down the shirt I was wearing and making sure my hat wasn’t noticeably askew I came around the tail of the truck, acting for all the world like I had exited the truck in the same manner James had. This whole charade was blown completely out of the water with the look of concern that he met me with, as well as his telling question of, “Are you okay?” Stubborn as always I brushed past him heading toward he club claiming that everything was fine. “Are you sure? It sounded like you fell.” That was when I stepped into the street right in front of a car and James had to grab my shoulder to pull me back. In my desperate flight to avoid the whole embarrassing line of questioning, I was blindly just heading for the doors of the club without thought of much else. Things were definitely close to full on Code Fuzzy.
As I checked my coat and the bouncer waved James through without charging cover, I looked at my watch then to realize that it was still early. Walking through a disserted lobby and glancing around a rather empty front bar, I was starting to wonder what kind of a night it was going to be. We ordered drinks and went to sit down in order to wait for the dance floor to open up at eleven o’clock. After drinking part of my Lemon Drop shot, I headed to the bathroom to take a call from Jimmy. He planned to come down and join us, and also shared the sad news that the Sonics had totally lost. How depressing!
When I returned from the bathroom where I had run to take the call, the dance floor was open and James was still sitting by his lonesome. My single mindedness was starting to take over as I did my very best to coax him away from the table, promising that I only wanted to sit in the other room and let him finish his drink. That turned into an empty promise being that we sat for probably two seconds.
Moving across the empty floor I stopped to wave to my friend who was spinning. We sat for a moment while I finished the rest of the shot and the two of us talked. Getting up with the intention of merely putting my glass somewhere a bar back could pick it up, I turned to go sit again and just couldn’t do it. I really can’t explain it more that the moment just really took me. That and I was probably trying to show off for James. I remember being worried as I watched him get up and walk to where I had dropped my glass, that he was going to be upset with me and walk back out to the bar. Instead he stopped right where I was and began to dance with me. It was the most awesome moment! After our talks about liquid courage being needed and other sorts of nervousness when it came to dancing, it was so totally great that he just rolled out with me, even on an empty dance floor, and was totally showing off his great moves as well.
As par with my state of intoxication… everything gets fuzzy from here on out. We danced for a while and I was having a ball because James was not only keeping up with me and a great dancer, but he seemed to be having as much fun as I was. Taking a break I went to the bar to try to send a drink to my DJ friend only to have the bartender treat me like I was a dumb drunk person (which maybe I was). After another shot and a drink bought for James the fog was rolling in.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Jimmy showed up and I remember dancing with him a little bit. Whenever he asked how I was, all I could say was that I was drunk. I also had to run to the bathroom constantly, which was frustrating the heck out of me. I’d be totally getting into a song and then would just turn and head to the bathroom. James was losing track of whether I was coming or going to the bathroom, I was gone so often. Jimmy suddenly was being really clingy when I was dancing with him later, which was making me worry that James would feel forgotten. He was already melting into the crowd around the dance floor and not out with me anymore.
By then I knew that I couldn’t really walk straight anymore. Every time I got off the dance floor I kept stumbling and bumping into things. Even in my frequent flights to the bathroom, the whole process was becoming more and more difficult. I’m just glad that I never ended up feeling sick. James was handing me water every chance he got, but Fuzzy was progressing toward Messed Up.
At some point we finally headed out, which lead me to searching around trying to remember which boot I had stashed my coat check ticket in. I’m sure that must have been a great little spectacle for whoever was walking by us at the time. From there I remember very little. James practically had to give me a two handed boost back into the truck. I found it kind of ironic since I fell out of the truck the first time and had to be shoved back in to get home.
Even with the fuzzy nature of my recollections and the hangover I suffered through the day after, I really had a great time. It’s always way more fun to be out dancing with someone you know. There’s something about the energy that a person can give back when they’re having fun the same way I am. The bottom line is that James is an awesome guy who took care of me when I’m sure I was a sloppy pain in the ass. He’ll get his chance to tease me later, as was the point. I just hope I didn’t make too big of an ass of myself that he’ll actually want to tease me later.

Watch Towers In My Mind

This was the song that my friends had been playing around with, that I had never heard. Apparently written by Bob Dylan, it’s been preformed by Jimi Hendrix and the Dave Matthews Band as well. The acoustic version that I listened to was just amazing and I am not a real Matthews Band fan. The lyrics themselves are interesting as a just a poem, so I find it cool that written word can extend into music lyrics or just stand alone as it’s own artistic piece.

All Along the Watch-Tower

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.

Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.

Music To My Ears

Music is something that I’ve always been passionate about. From as early as I can remember I’ve been surrounded by the music that my parents played. Road trips consisted of my mother listening to my father and I sing as we went where ever it was we were going, to whatever tape Dad had put in.
I always took great joy in the choir section of my elementary school years, when everyone else dreaded it. In fourth grade when we were suppose to chose either choir, band, or orchestra I was one of two girls that sat out for choir when the rest of the school opted for instruments. That forced the school to make choir mandatory anyway. Thinking back I remember how big a step that was for me. Every other kid was so excited to start learning an instrument and even at that age, a child tends to go with the group for the sake of shaky friendships or to avoid being teased. Even when the girl I really didn’t like moved to sit out for choir I still knew that singing was all I really wanted to do. Up I stood and went to the bench area to wait out the rest of the kids.
Since then it’s been a no brain-er. When I was in sixth grade I attended the parent night in preparation for going to Junior High. As they explained to the parents how important it was that the kids picked electives that they would enjoy, the idea of not taking choir for the sake of something new like art was too strange. I knew what I wanted.
In time it became my little moment of sanity. High school was a tough world to get through and choir was my moment to express myself and lose a little stress for an hour. By my senior year I was in two different contest choirs and traveling with both of them ended up being an enlightening experience. When I went off to college I finally gave up choir. I knew that I would have to concentrate on my degree and I couldn’t afford the private lessons that were required as a part of the whole curriculum.
Singing along to the radio is something most people are too embarrassed to do in front of other people. To me that is just the way life works. Doesn’t matter who’s in the car with me, most of the time I do it out of sheer automatic; I don’t even know I’m doing it unless the other person brings it up.
Now I’ve never considered myself to have any sort of real raw talent. I enjoy singing and I do it for that reason alone. I was never the soloist type, even though I received a superior rating the one and only time I was brave enough to compete in Solo/Ensemble Contest. What I was best known for was the strength of my voice, I added depth to the rest of the choir. All my skills have been by my own ear since reading music never came easily to me. I know when something is off. My DJ friend use to ask my opinion on the sound system before the crowds would show up at night. We’d make walk-through’s on the different club dance floors he worked at in order to check speaker direction and sound quality. I always took that as a real compliment.
Once I started clubbing my appreciation of music and sound really became focused on both my expression through dance and all the things a DJ has to consider when spinning from song to song. That’s not to say that I stopped singing. When a really great vocal comes on and I know the words, I am dancing and singing my heart out. But it’s really been a while since I spent some time with people who create music as oppose to those that merely play with it on turntables.
Hanging out with two guy friends of mine, there was just something so cool about sitting around listening to them play music and sing. In college I had lived with my best friend and her boyfriend who was a very excellent bass player. There’s always been something hot about a guy who can play guitar or bass to me. Heck even my first boyfriend got my all shivery because he could play the first minute or so of Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven” on his little pawnshop guitar.
That night it was the ultimate in just kicking back and being musical. We sat around in the living room and drank beer. Trading the guitar back and forth they both either sang or played, learning from each other or just messing around with chords. At one point the I-pod got dug out so I could listen to the acoustic version of a song they had been playing; a Dave Mathews song I’d never heard before.
I remember just sitting there and being jealous that they could just pick up an instrument and play. It’s a freedom of musical expression that singers don’t really get. Even though I did it as a child, you can’t really just sit somewhere randomly and just start belting out something. There was many a night I’d barricade myself into my room and sing with Sarah Brightman and the score of Phantom of the Opera, a total obsession of mine. I’d use her superior example to train myself in a self-educated private voice lesson. All her breathing and pronunciation I would soak up and do my best to take beyond the fact of copying, but to next level of ingrained technique. It wasn’t about sounding exactly like Sarah Brightman, but to produce sound at the same level of professional quality.
When they finally played a song I knew I had no trouble just opening my mouth and singing along. It’s funny that I still do my best to blend and adjust myself to who ever else I’m singing with. Choir really brainwashes you to the point where I’m not sure how the heck we had so many soloists that would drive me crazy. That’s what I like to call the Diva Complex, which applies to singers and instrument players. They always play louder and more eccentric than the rest in order to stand out and be noticed. They make a solo out of what should be a group sound.
As I sang along to this song that I hadn’t heard on the radio since high school it occurred to me that it had been forever since I’d really sang out loud to something that wasn’t the radio or a CD. It felt incredibly good. It also felt like being connected back up to a part of my life I had kind of given up for dead. Everything I really loved doing sort of got put under the neat little title of “hobby” when I went off to college. I wasn’t going to have the time or the money to make anything out of those childhood dreams. Hanging out with people who understood how I feel about music and who I consider to be very talented was a really great.
Even though the night sort of fell apart as the beer took over and made me pretty darn silly and sleepy, the over all feeling remained of it having been an awesome night. If they ever ask me to come hang again I will be all over it.

Who Are They?

About Christmas time this song by Jem was making the mainstream on my dance radio station. It had come out as early as the summer time on the other stations and I had really disliked the song at the time. It reminded me of a Tim Burton-esque sound, similar to “Nightmare Before Christmas”. The sound of it all just creeped me out and I never really listened farther than that.
Now that my radio station was playing “They” every five minutes, the sound that had creeped me out was now really growing on me. It was so different and the lyrics really had a great point behind them. I received the CD as a present that Christmas and I really have a respect for her and the songs that she’s put out. Yet it all comes back to this particular song.

They
By Jem
Who made up all the rules
We follow them like fools
Believe them to be true
Don't care to think them through

And I'm sorry so sorry
I'm sorry it's like this
I'm sorry so sorry
I'm sorry we do this

And it's ironic too
Coz what we tend to do
Is act on what they say
And then it is that way

And I'm sorry so sorry
I'm sorry it's like this
I'm sorry so sorry
I'm sorry we do this

Who are they
And where are they
And how can they possibly
know all this

Who are they
And where are they
And how can they possibly
know all this

Do you see what I see
Why do we live like this
Is it because it's true
that ignorance is bliss

Who are they
And where are they
And how do they
know all this
And I'm sorry so sorry
I'm sorry it's like this

Do you see what I see
Why do we live like this
Is it because it's true
that ignorance is bliss

And who are they
And where are they
And how can they
know all this
And I'm sorry so sorry
I'm sorry we do this

Dead To The World

Where as before I had been having trouble staying awake in order to go out at night, it seems that at the moment it’s finding the time to myself in order to go out for my own reasons. At the moment the people I’m hanging out with either live far away or are underage. It’s like I have to decide whether I’m going to be social or dance. Who would have thought that my social life would get in the way of my dancing?
I made plans to meet up with a bunch of people at my Tuesday night spot. I hadn’t been in a while, for the sake of being busy and that I just hadn’t been really in the mood. As the night seemed to fall apart and I ended up arriving late, something told me it wasn’t going to be the sort of night that I would have a lot to write about later.
Standing out side was the Italian guy that I had met a week or more ago at the club that was behind me as I crossed the street. A non-smoking establishment, he was taking a moment to have a cigarette before he went upstairs. Talking with him as he finished up, we laughed about the fact that my car looked extremely silly being the only one in the lot. The DJ should have started spinning at the time we were standing outside, but we were only facing silence. It had been so long since I had been there I wondered if anything was even going on that night. On the way up I had called a friend to search the Internet for me in order to calm my fears. With all the slow nights, along with the staff lay offs and all the other noticeable changes that I had experienced since I first started going regularly I always worry that one night I’ll head up the stairs and realize that “Liquify” was no longer happening. That will be a sad night.
Going up to the lounge together he and I talked about who was spinning and what other places he goes dancing at. As I predicted when I rolled into the empty parking lot, the place was pretty much dead. I remember Pasquale giving me this look like, “Gee what a fun place.” This was the first time he had done a Tuesday night there and it wasn’t really encouraging him much. I, on the other hand, was sort of looking forward to just sitting and relaxing to the music that they were spinning.
Captain Morgan came by and showed me the newest picture of his newborn son. He had all these pictures stashed in the back of the notepad that he used to take orders. The way his eyes light up as he talks about his son makes a person really want to have kids. A sweetheart to the core I hope that my husband puts in just as much effort as he does; his wife is a lucky woman.
The rest of the night is pretty much not worth talking about. Pasquale and I chatted very limitedly because of how loud the music was. We ended up trying to start the dance floor, which took some real doing. Every time I’d go get more water, I’d run into Captain Morgan who would encourage me to stick it out. People would start dancing sooner or later and take some of the responsibility off my shoulders. At last a girl and her boy jumped up and started flailing around the floor. We had stuck to the sidelines but the girl came up to me at last. “We’ve been watching you dance all night and you are an awesome dancer. You have to come out here and dance. Com’mon!” That of course flattered me to the point of running out to the middle of the floor to show off. I looked back to where I had left Pasquale standing alone and the only response I could get from him was a very amused look.
For some reason we both agreed on a time to give up and go home. When twelve-thirty came up several people were dancing but there just wasn’t an energy in the crowd. It was dead all the way around.
Heading out the door I stood with him through one more cigarette outside and then we went our separate ways. The guy seems very interesting if not somewhat mysterious. All I know is that it’s nice to be treated as something more than a pair of tits and ass when in a clubbing situation. That and the accent just makes conversation both more interesting and more frustrating.

This Song is Like Chocolate

Another song from Kylie's last CD, there's just been something about the sound of it that has made me really intent to learn the lyrics. After reading what the song was about, I liked it even more. Speaking to the heart of what causes that wonderful chemical reaction in the brain, love and chocolate. When you can find both and everything else in one guy, what more could a girl ask for?

Chocolate
By Kylie Minogue

Fragile seems
I opened up too quick and all my dreams
Were woken up I slowly
Lost my fire
With every single man a river cried

I had no sensation
Completely numb, left with no satisfaction
I thought no-one could ever get me high again
I swear, I was not looking
Oh, waited so long

I thought the real thing was a fake
I thought it was a tool to break me down
You proved me wrong again

If love were liquid it would drown me
In a placeless place would find me
In a heart shape come around me and then
Melt me slowly down

If love were human it would know me
In a lost space come and show me
Hold me and control me and then
Melt me slowly down
Like chocolate
Tastes so good

My heart's been mended who'd have thought it would
An empty bet and still I won the cash
A man who I love and who
Loves me back
Oh, waited so long

For love to heal me so I'd feel it
Thought it wasn't breathing then you came
You proved me wrong again

If love were liquid it would drown me
In a placeless place would find me
In a heart shape come around me and then
Melt me slowly down

If love were human it would know me
In a lost space come and show me
Hold me and control me and then
Melt me slowly down
Like chocolate come here

Zoom in, catch the smile
There's no doubt it's from you
And I'm addicted to it now

Just one look boy to melt me down
Just one heart here to save me now
Your candy kisses are sweet I know
Hold me tight baby don't let go

Just one look boy to melt me down
Just one heart here to save me now
Your candy kisses are sweet I know
Hold me tight baby don't let go

If love were liquid it would drown me
In a placeless place would find me
In a heart shape come around me and then
Melt me slowly down

If love were human it would know me
In a lost space come and show me
Hold me and control me and then
Melt me slowly down

If love were liquid it would drown me
In a placeless place would find me
In a heart shape come around me and then
Melt me slowly down

Like chocolate