numb numb

Peter Sellers is an unimportant actor who is invited by mistake to a great party. He is a little stupid and very careless and, as you probably understand, he destroys everything...

I seem to be getting quite chummy with my bathroom floor as of late. Thursday night I went out with Leroy, it was kids stuff compared to the insanity of the summer when we would be out drinking 6 nights a week, but it kicked my ass like a 2 day bender anyway. We were restless, and wound up at a bunch of places, one of which included a club our band will be playing at later in the week. We stole posters that advertised the show from the stairwell on our way out the door. Finally we settled on the quiet bar though. Which I had not been to since I poured tears onto the almond colored phone by the entrance to the washroom about a year ago. We had a few pints, a few smokes, and some invigorating conversation. None of which I remember. Upon my arrival home I wound up on the bathroom floor after trying to take my contact lenses out. The sensation of sticking my finger in my eye sent me stomach lurching, and the coolness of the floor soothed me to sleep.

Things were not looking better by Friday morning either when I awoke fully clothed, and barely made it to work. By mid-afternoon I thought I was in the clear, but developed a pounding headache while contemplating my bleak future instead of working. I thought a coffee and cigarette would help. It did not. Fifteen minutes later I was on my knees in the bathroom at work. I decided to call it a day.

I got home, had a hot bath, a short nap, then put on my best pair of shoes, a tight black t-shirt, and some jeans. After I could tolerate a jam packed #3 bus no longer, I decided to get out and walk the last two blocks to the Ukrainian church where I was to meet Remington, Marija, Maeve, and Saturnino, to start the evening with a traditional fund raising dinner of perogies and sausage. It was a huge banquet hall with fluorescent lighting, and round tables with numbers displayed on tall metal rods. Our table was #11. There were two other ladies already at the table, they were about 80, and dressed lovely for an evening on the town. The two ladies were with a younger woman slouched over a plate of perogies. I could tell something was wrong when she looked up at me with a blank stare, and sauerkraut all over her face. We made Remington sit beside her.

I had an invite to the biggest gallery in the city. It was put in my mailbox, but was addressed to the former occupant of my suite. It was a bit of a hot ticket, so I decided to invite Unice, and I had her meet me downtown after dinner. I was nervous. I knew that Ananta, and even worse, her friends would be there. I was comforted by the massive line up that stretched around the block, and I secretly hoped we wouldn't get in. I wasn't sure if I was up for it. I had tried to contact Ananta earlier in the week, but she wouldn't even speak to me, so I didn't think things would be too pleasant if I ran into her. The fact that I was with a date, didn't exactly put the odds of a warm greeting in my favour either.

It was packed, three floors, a spiral central staircase lined with people watchers drinking wine with nice outfits on, and huge rooms devoted to massive singular projections on the wall. We piled our way through the crowd, from room to room, all was going well. Until of course we ran right into Ananta and her friends.

I tried to make the best of a bad situation by bumbling around, bouncing on the end of my toes while making nervous chatter to fill the silent stares. We were in the entrance to the main gallery, the music was very loud, and the floor was concrete. Something was said, I didn't hear what, but before I knew it Unice is screaming at the three girls. Unice is a wild one, I think I've said that before. So she may have even started it, I don't know. All I know is that a scene was unfolding, and it was about as inviting as the scene that we had been plodding through for the past hour. I tried to get between the girls, some jostling ensued, and the bottle of wine that I had tucked under my arm so that we could have a drink at the Ukrainian church dinner fell to the ground. It smashed on the hard concrete floor, a huge pool of red wine began to form amongst the broken glass. You could have heard a pin drop, if it wasn't for the insanely loud techno music. Thank god for the insanely loud techno music.

So then we were approached by men in cheap maroon jackets, and after the situation was diffused, we were eventually encouraged towards the exits with some gentle conversation.

Unice had to leave for L.A. early in the morning, so I took her to the train station. Things were awkward and uncomfortable after the whole art gallery experience, so there wasn't much said. She will be gone for a month, to stay with her Aunt, and to see if she wants to move there. I will miss her, she was always exciting to be with, but I don't suspect we will be seeing each other much, if ever again.

The evening continued to unfold, more openings, more galleries, and more 3$ cans of beer, I went to two more parties with Marija, who I met up with after seeing Unice off. One of the parties was at a gallery where the room was so packed the art was being trashed by trashy girls. One of the trashy girls had nice shoes though. Marija tried to get me to make fun of a girls teeth I tried, but my heart just wasn't in it, I was too busy replaying in my mind the viscous stares from Ananta and her friends back at the opening. I thought of running home, but there was nothing at home that could comfort me. I miss Ananta.

Marija and I left the trashed art show shortly after they ran out of beer, and met everyone at a late night restaurant. Our table was crowded, and slowly my hangover was being replaced with euphoric excitement. It was late, and I was sitting at the head of the table rambling on about Tom Cruise movies, L.A, the city at night, and the spectacular nature of pop culture.

I walked the two blocks back to my apartment, kicked off my shoes, and crashed into my bed with the acknowledgement that I would be cringing about this night in the morning, and that my bed is much softer than the bathroom floor.