So, I turned 28 last night, and I’ll be honest, I haven’t been at all happy. I planned to spend last night in a bad way, thinking about the year before, thinking about the potential joys of slitting my wrists, vertically, of course. However, a friend, a really delightful friend, insisted that we go dancing, so I obliged. I figured doing the exact opposite of what I felt like doing was probably best.
So, we rang in the New Year at Czar, a fairly tame quasi-emo/goth club, but at around 1:30 AM we went to this ultra emo/goth club, The Castle. I had to get carried up two steep flights of stairs to get to the dance lounge, but oh my Christ was it worth it. When I die, wherever I end up, I want it to be like The Castle. The place is every beautiful emo/goth cliche. Between the smoke machines and the cigarette smoke, every individual beam of light was visible in the air. Music so loud you could feel it in your chest.
Tampa has its share of “club characters,” one of whom is a fellow who likes to dress-up as Peter Pan, or Blue Boy. Last night, I finally met him, we danced to Dragula. After Pan, this totally drunk chick (who couldn’t dance) kept dancing with me, which completely pissed off her boyfriend. He kept saying I wasn’t real. He was especially unhappy when she lifted her skirt for me, which I also found a little untoward. It’s interesting how something like that can either be spectacular, or spectacularly creepy, depending on the woman.
The evening kind of reminded me that I’m still me, I can still do all the crazy things I absolutely love doing. It’s really hard to remember that sometimes, but last night helped.9 comments
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