My friend, we'll call her "Trixy" returns from her parents' pace in Nevada this past Saturday. Nice guy that I am, I pick her up from the airport at 10:00 am. Broke guy that I am, I accept $11 for gas money. Nice guy that I am, I give back the $21 she originally gave me in exchange for the $11 she thought she gave me. I believe that shows some integrity.

Later on in the day we decide to see SIGNS. It was okay, I guess. Like so many films released in the past decade, it would have benefited from a musical number. I like the contrast to films like WAR OF THE WORLDS. Instead of a virus, humanity's secret weapon turns out to be a baseball bat and some abandoned glasses of water.

Trixie was in Vegas visiting her mother. Mom told Trixie she should feel free to take anything she'd like. Trixie came home with a multitude of cheap, hep, thrift store find-type clothes, some vinyl records, and prescription drugs, basically anything with a warning not to operate heavy machinery while using.

So, we each take a couple Xanax before SIGNS. Which helped the film. I wasn't feeling too drugged, while Trixie was staggering around; our theory is that someone who actually needs antidepressants (i.e. me) is going to feel an antidepressants less than someone who doesn't. So after the movie, we head to my place and kick it for a while drinking wine.

Then we go to this party. It was a housewarming party. There were a lot of homosexual man there, and not many women. None of them, not the homosexuals, not the women, were interested in me. I thought the hostess was attractive. It turns out I met her before. Someday I'll tell the story of the midget, the hostess was the one who dropped her off later in that story. It’s a funny story. Trust me.

Anyway, my chances with this good-looking, semi-goth nineteen year-old dropped from zero to less-than-zero when I spilled a glass of wine all over the north side of her new apartment. It looked like I had slaughtered a family. I tried to clean up, but was shoved roughly out of the way while the hostess and a number of men in eyeliner brought out the sponges and club soda.

The party ended early, and we were among the last to leave at 11:30 pm. The only reason we were there as long as we were was that a friend, we'll call her Jen, was on her way. Jen was a bit delayed because she needed to fix her hair, put on some makeup, drink a bottle of wine, and snort some dilauded. So we planned on going to some party in the University District of Seattle.

We stopped at Trixie's place for some pill popping. We didn't know what half the shit was, and there was no internet connection to help us out. We were very stupid. There was a couple new-comers to our crowd: a tall gay African American we’ll call Ricki, and Laura, a short chubby white girl, who reminded me of a forty-year old I slept with when I was 23; speaking of said forty-year old, that woman had a simpering attitude and pathetic demeanor, always wanting to walk arm and arm, and she thanked me after sex. Horrible. Having looked into Laura's future, I knew she was not for me. Both Laura and Ricki expressed an interest in coming back to my place. Both, I'm sure, will be kept up for many long nights with the disappointment. I haven’t spoiled the end of the story, I hope.

So we go out to the party. A different party, not in the University District, a mile from my apartment, of course, but back about four blocks away from the party where we came from. It was some weird rave thing. Lots of freaks in costumes. They wanted $10 for entry. Jen paid her money. My turn was next, and I said there was no fucking way I was paying. They let the rest of us in for Jen's admission charge. "Jen, you're a sucker!" Trixie exclaimed.

This party was weird, and then the pills kicked in. The hostess of the previous party was there as well, with one of her guests, a short, emaciated man who looked like Edward Scissorhands if he were a member of the Knack: spiked hair, thin tie, turned-up collar. I believe he was wearing blush. Interestingly, I had been to this place before. One of my work’s board members used to live in the space, before moving out and apparently leaving it to squatters who decided to throw a party.

All I really remember about the party was having the hiccups. I tried the drinking upside down method of cure, and fell on my face. Luckily nobody saw me. I still had the hiccups, and looked like I'd received a beating.

This paragraph is all reconstructed from circumstantial evidence. We all went back to Trixie’s place. More drinks are drunk, more pills are popped. I gave Laura a ride home. She sat quietly in my car after we pulled up. After a moment, I leaned over, and said, "Listen, I need to get back. Back at Trixie’s, we all hung out. Ricki got a cab home. Jen drove home ( a cursory reading of the police blotter tells me she made it okay). It was just me, Trixie, the hostess of the previous party and the guy who looked like Edward Scissorhands. I went home at 7:00 am. I woke up at 5:30 pm. I watched BULLY. I went back to sleep at 9:00 pm. I woke up again at 6:30 am.

Now I am at work, torn between telling people the bruises on my face are from a fight, or the truth. One friend suggested I tell people I joined a fight club over the weekend.

None of the above is bragging. I am a stupid, aging lunatic. Fuck me, this is a self-absorbed document.