Hello, Gentle Reader. Today’s post refers to the events of last weekend. Ms. Capere thought it might be fun to get together our little clique from high-school together while Miss Ward was in town. With the addition of Miss Taylor, a mutual friend that we’ve known for years, and who is also fascinating (and moving to the same general area that Miss Ward is moving to), we had a decent little party.
Ms. Capere picked me up from my home early that afternoon. We stopped for coffee, and ran into a childhood friend of hers – though I don’t see Ms. Capere that often, I was with her the last time she ran into H., about a year and a half ago at the Ethnic Festival in Tacoma. It seemed an auspicious and surprising start to the day’s adventures.
We continued on to Ms. Capere’s new home for her housewarming barbecue, where Miss Taylor was waiting for us. There were a number of equally charming other guests, many of whom I’ve known for ages. It was altogether a lovely afternoon; the brand-new baby chicks peeping in their crate, the sun lazing about in a golden stupor, an improvised game upon the lawn. Eventually, the bulk of the guests left, and it was time to prettify ourselves for the goth club that Ms. Capere and I both belong to.
While we were dolling up, L, Ms. Capere’s young man, brought out his stove-top still; he was running water to check the lines for leaks. I bounced back and forth between the two areas, once I was dressed; both make-up and distillery fascinate me. I suggested that Miss Taylor use eyelash glue to create feather-eyelashes, as her boa was moulting, but it was not to be.
Once primped, we clambered into Ms. Capere’s car, and set out – but first, petrol. Initially, Miss Taylor and I were going to wait in the car, but Ms. Capere was not about to go into the shop looking ridiculous alone. Off we went, straight into a drunken hobo with a handpuppet. Seeing us, he commented that it had been many years since he’d seen Cabaret.
Heads high, we marched past him, looking for what we were calling a Lady Rockstar* so that Capere could keep her dancin’ groove up all night long. The hobo followed us all over the shop, and finally, we got him to take photos of us. Well, actually his sock puppet dog, Sparky, took pictures of us, but no matter. Fueled up, we hit the road.
After meowing and clucking out some ’80’s songs, we arrived at our goth club, and met with Mr. C.W.L. Darling, Miss Ward, and Darling’s young man, S. After our guests got the introductory spiel, we headed out. As I don’t dance and have a bad leg, I grabbed a drink and a table, and thankfully lit up a cigarette†. The others trooped out to the dance floor, where this played:
We stepped outside, for some air, and Miss Ward waxed rhapsodical about the differences in America since she’d left on her travels, a few years ago. We all chattered and revived ancient jokes, and were in high spirits. Various goths glared; we were far too cheerful for their club. When a distinguished gentleman of middle years approached our apparent receiving line (we were flanking the door), Miss Ward offered him a high-five. As he’d been distracted briefly by an apparent mutual friend (one of Ms. Capere’s acquaintance), he didn’t see, and Ward held her hand out, waiting, for at least five minutes. However, it sparked a conversation between them, as she is a tall, beautiful, redhead, and Lazarus Darkwinter claimed the pleasure of a later dance with our dear Miss Ward.
Darling isn’t much for the goth scene, and his boyfriend was sticking to his side like a lamprey. I’d spent my entire drinks budget, so when Darling proposed that we fellas leave and head to his apartment, I agreed. The girls were glad to stay – Ward had an appointment with Darkwinter, after all – and meet us later at the apartment. We set off.
Bear in mind that I’m hobbling the several blocks to Darling’s, and that I’ve been struggling with my head quite a lot lately. Further, bear in mind that Darling is my oldest friend; we’ve known each other since we were five. We don’t see one another that often, but usually things go just swimmingly.
On this occasion, I was absolutely awkward. I babbled about all kinds of bizarre shit that no one really cares about; he declared my hair to be an emergency and cut it for me‡. I was trembling from anxiety. Um.
We made strange, stilted conversation until the ladies arrived. Capere’s friend (who knew Lord Darkwinter) had invited us to a bonfire in his yard, set up in an old barbecue. He poured red wine for us, and we sat around the fire chatting comfortably until past three a.m. Realizing this, we jumped back into the car and began the long, long drive back into Tacoma, just beating the sun into town.
*Apparently RockStar, the brand of energy drink, came out with a variety in hot pink that comes with a tiny straw so that you don’t muss your make-up. Um. Yay?
† It’s a private club, so one can smoke inside. This bothers everyone, and delights me.
‡Darling cuts hair. He used to cut hair naked, but I think that he stopped. At any rate, my hair had needed to be cut for ages, and it really was sort of an emergency.