(just an) Excuse, Splinter, Supposed to Be
Trio: Season 2, #1
(just an) Excuse, Splinter, Supposed to Be
The Newest Oldest Blog In New Zealand
Hi. Apparently my lap-dance was written off as random drunkeness (though i’ve heard it was quite good despite a lack of quality nudity), and i wound up sleeping all night last night while two of my favourite people to talk to were hanging out with Erika downstairs so that i could get up at 8am this morning and do laundry for three hours. Oh yeah, baby.
In other news, much graciousness to ShadowClear and Andy Dehnart for linking to me for no apparent reason other than that they find me interesting, and to Jean’s blog for continuously linking me even though i need Izabelle to translate for me half of the time.. And, also, i appreciate Rabi‘s adding my link to her new layout; rest assured that when i figure out who exactly i’m reading Rabi will still be very much on the list. I mean, you know my surfing habits are running on tilt when i couldn’t tell you what’s happening on in the lives of Benjy, Tom, Mollie, KevRock, Martha, Brendan, Eve, Lizzie, ErnDawg, Nancy, and all the rest.
Last night was our second of three nights performing in our student written/directed plays, and we actually had an audience. A big audience. All of the major current Drexel Players showed up, and we had equally that many Freshmen in attendance for our little meet and greet function afterwards. The show was hilarious, the actors had a good time, and then things got interesting.
Being the Friday night of a show we were (of course) going to have a cast party later, and somehow someone got the idea to start inviting the people at the reception every time our program director turned her back. So, we went from a rowdy crowd of theatre people alternately hitting on each other and talking about how trashed we were going to get (or, in some cases, how stoned we were already) to leading a parade of assorted players and freshmen back to Kevin’s at 8:30. Yes, 8:30. I don’t think we’ve ever started a party so early in my entire time here.
Us regular peeps didn’t drink especially in excess, but there was an unusual amount of energy in the air between it being our first big party as a group this year and our first chance to mingle with our new recruits. Needless to say, things quickly got out of hand. I decided after only consuming half of what i typically do that i really needed to be a whore. A big, cheap, rowdy whore. Suddenly i found myself giving people peeks at my underwear and straddling others sitting on couches or in armchairs. And, somewhere in there, someone unfortunately asked me if i was planning to give lapdances.
I am infamous for my teasing at lapdancing at theatre parties, but last night i was all sexed up with nowhere to go and i happened to have Garbage with me, so suddenly “Queer” started popping up on stereos all around the house as i writhed around like a man whose clothes were on fire.
My first dance was for some girl named Adina who lamented “It’s a shame you’re not straight,” to which i replied “Oh, but i am.” Needless to say, that lead to some interesting conversation. But, anyhow, after another warm-up dance i decided to take my act down into the middle of the living room where i could be viewed in all of my inebriated bump-and-grind glory. Let’s just say that a lot of me was seen, and it involved a lot of writhing around on top of Chevy and Hillary. Somewhere in the middle Meg decided to start spilling beer on me (intentionally) and between all the adrenaline of dancing around half naked and how much i generally despise Meg i smacked her (but only in the nose, and she slams me across the face harder every night in the play). If anything, i figure that should make tonight’s kissing (and slapping) all the more interesting.
Afterwards i seem to recall being carried out of the room over Chevy’s shoulder and plunked down in the hallway, and afterwards i just followed someone around all moon-eyed while they talked about how they weren’t ready to break up with their boyfriend and how they like this creepy crew guy and i just sat and listened for the remainder of the night. Because, ultimately, i’m protective of my female friends even before i am possessive of them. At some point i danced to “Miami” and then facilitated Ross crawling into a bathroom, and then i collected Erika and Lindsay (both knee deep in their own inebriation-related drama) and we found someone who hadn’t been drinking to drive us home.
Wow, it’s almost as if this is a journal… or that i’m happy some of the time. Rest assured that i mentioned the pointlessness that is life and how much i hate everyone at least three times at the party, lest you think my depressed-cred is waning. And, now that i just gave an hour long tour to perspective students while slightly hung over, i’m off to locate something resembling breakfast.
So, not to tease you and then leave you waiting for more or anything like that, but let’s just say that last night will forever be remembered as “the night of the lapdance(s).”
Oh, look, i have to give a tour now. See you later…
The sad little story i brought into my creative writing class was exactly what was assigned… an exercise in creating a cheap sort of detective story in a limited amount of time. So, i brought it to class and read it, because no one else was loud or willing enough to read theirs. When i finished my professor asked me if i knew what a gumshoe was, and i held up my draft so that she could see that i had headed it “Gumshoe Exercise, Draft 1.”
There was this awful belching silent void after that, and then she asked “does anyone have a comment?” And, the girl who had just read her story opened her mouth and incredulously asked “Was that really 30 minutes of writing?” To which i honestly replied: “No, barely twenty. I didn’t make revisions.”
So, everyone in my Creative Writing class hates me as of day three with the exception of Gina, who just looked mildly bemused. We haven’t heard each other’s fiction for three or four years, and today i discovered that she’s been transformed into this pointedly ironic Douglas Adams of the twenty-something hippy chemistry-student set (while i have become a shamefully self aware Lillian Jackson Braun).
Again, the professor chimed in: “Journaling can keep your writing in good shape. Who keeps a regular journal?”
I shrunk under the glances of my classmates as i raised my hand, one of only a few.
Two years ago today (more or less) i was told by this same Ms. Prof. Kotzin that i was to keep a journal and turn it into her at the end of term. And, i groaned. A journal? How 11th grade English class…
What my professor received at the end of the term was a tiny sapling… a wet behind the ears inkling of this. And, here i am back in her classroom and as everyone fixes me with another exasperated stare i am thinking “Don’t blame me for this; she started it.”