PlatKat.com

Expecting to do nothing on Friday, I ended up going to the Friday social at work with a couple of people who sit near me. While I was hanging out there, Damon buzzed me to see if I wanted to go back to 1015. I liked the crowded, multi-room “rave cave” (thanks, Fiona), so I said yes and we took off.

Unfortunately, I had this massive cystic zit from hell on my cheek and it was still healing. I solved this problem by wearing huge black sunglasses that covered most of my face all night. Yes, I was one of those lame fuckers who wears sunglasses inside. Since I don’t even try to pretend that I’m cool, I figured it was okay and better than sporting some giant zit all night. Also, I was surrounded by ostentatious hair colors, intricately assembled outfits, and attention-whore accessories (hula hoops??), so I felt as though my antics would be barely noticeable. But no, I still got flack for the sunglasses. “Oh it’s so bright in here,” moaned some I-just-moved-from-the-suburbs-to-be-a-rockstar-in-the-city asswipe. I should have picked off my scab and made him eat it.

At one point in the evening, I was on the dancefloor when some jerk walked by and we knocked shoulders. He gave me the look of death, and although he couldn’t see it, I gave him the look of, “Tough shit, you’re on a dancefloor” and kept dancing. Are there actually people in this world who expect people to clear a path for them for no other reason than they want to walk by? I didn’t know that guy from Adam and the club was crowded. Yeah, there’s gonna be some human contact involved. If you don’t like it, stay home. Or at least stay off the dancefloor.

Damon spent most of the night in the pillow room way upstairs and chilled. I’d been drinking rum and cokes all night (we got started at an 80s nostalgia bar down the street), so I left my purse behind a big stuffed tiger and danced elsewhere. Unfortunately, when I needed another drink, I couldn’t find my way back to the pillow room, so I had to solicit people for info.

“If I were looking for a giant tiger with pillows in front of it, which way would I go?”

I eventually found Damon, got bored (again, I wasn’t in the mood for sitting), and went to the breezeway to have a cigarette. There I met some Irish guys who kept asking me why I was wearing sunglasses. So I kept asking them why there were so many goddamn Irish people in San Francisco. They were on vacation and looking for an afterhours club. I told them about VXN, but could not find any more information. I ended up walking around some and their ringleader followed me. But I was like, “Dude, I don’t know.” And one other guy in the Irish pack was mad because I spilled his drink which he left unattended on a ledge in a dark room after 2:00. Prepositions are great.

Damon and I left pretty early. The music was starting to grate on him and I wasn’t loving it as much as last time. We couldn’t find anywhere to eat near 101, so we went to McDonald’s. Yuuuuuck. I totally hate that place and immediately remembered why after they wouldn’t let me substitute a milkshake for a coke as part of a value meal even though it was their entire ad campaign a couple years ago. I went without the shake and begrudgingly ate the quarterpounder, feeling the awkwardness of cheap meat being masticated by my jaw. Fuck you, McDonald’s!

The morals of this story are don’t eat at McDonald’s, dance on the dancefloor, and don’t mess around with girls in big dark sunglasses. They’re nothing but trouble.