Get in me. I wanna chew you up and mix you with my spit and put you in my blood.
Friday night I went with Tommy and all our fabulous friends (including my personal hero Becky, Tommy's buddy from high school who is visiting from California) to go see PAPS play at the Silent Barn. The show was really beautiful and great. It was so cool to watch a room full of punk kids all shut up when she started singing. It felt vindicating and I was so proud, even though I wasn't even the one on stage. Excellent times. Becky and I found a charming liquor store in Ridgewood called Two Guys. I made us go in because they had a really old tacky lit-up sign out front. We found little bottles of pre-mixed long island iced teas, made by TGI Fridays (catchphrase slogan on the bottle: "There's Liquor In It!"). First of a handful questionable decisions I made this weekend.
After the show I high-tailed it over to the West Village. Friday night was the debut of JEFFERY AND COLE CASSEROLE on Logo, and Earl had assembled a sweet little party of some of the show's guest stars to watch the first episode. I have a small cameo in the debut show as Becky, one of the kids in Jeffery and Cole's imaginary high school for queer in their 20s. It was a blast, but I had too much to drink. I ate a lot of pretzels though. It was a very special and fun night.
Saturday it rained all day. I was being followed on Saturday by a very sweet young writer who had decided to spend 24 hours with me. I don't know if I really want to talk any more about this, because I haven't seen the piece yet and though he was (as I said) very sweet, this could be my "Strange Love". I'm referring of course to the September 1992 Vanity Fair article by Lynn Hirschberg, in which the magazine printed photos of a pregnant Courtney Love smoking a cigarette, called her a megalomaniac, and implied that she has used heroin even after finding out she was pregnant. This has since become part of the Courtney Love mythology. Frances Bean, as we all know, has turned out just fine. Maybe the fact that I'm comparing my own life to that of Courtney Love makes me just as much of a narcissist and megalomaniac as she is. Maybe it makes me worse. I'll leave that up to the internet and I won't bother to read the comments (seriously). MY POINT IS: I was nominally nervous all day Saturday, for fear that I would do or say something stupid and damning.
We went to the New Museum to see the Younger Than Jesus show. Was suitably charmed by Ryan Trecartin's new movies. Excited to be able to recognize a few faces in the din of auto-tune and neon facepaint. Saturday night Jess Paps had a party at her fabulous house. I was totally overwhelmed by seeing so many familiar and friendly faces. I negotiated this feeling by getting really drunk, again. My friends told me that I had been licking people's faces. I don't know if this is true or not but it sounds like something I'd have done. I was in a mood. I was moody.
Took a bad tumble, at least. Luckily it was well-witnessed, had to be pried off of the marble stairs in that nice condo in the Lower East Side. Recognized a boy from the Gay Dating Website, I wonder if he saw me totally wipe out in the stairwell. My left hip is pretty sore, I can't sleep on that side. My right ankle feels a bit wonky, for some reason. My entire left elbow, which I landed on, is swollen and bruised. It looks bad and it is. The worst part is that I have a splitting headache and have since yesterday. I've lost my appetite and I feel feverish. Maybe it's swine flu. Maybe it is the mother of all hangovers. Maybe it's the fall I had. Who knows. Went from the LES house party to Sugarland, then again to the Beauty Bar in Bushwick. I got into a fight with someone in the back of a car, I don't really remember. More than a bit too much. Bid adieu to the boy taking notes and implored him, drunkenly and loudly, to please be gentle.
Making my way home Sunday morning I reeked of booze and soda-pop and smoke and a man at gas station asked me for a quarter, then for a cigarette. I gave him two of each, feeling the self-righteousness of generosity. He apologized for asking for anything from me, told me he was waiting on his check. "Yeah, me too, man." He wished me a happy Father's Day which I thought was strange. Twenty feet further down Broadway a woman stopped me to tell me how beautiful I was. Things like this should make me feel good but it kind of just made me feel dissociated: I felt so gross that to even be addressed physically throws me off. Spent the afternoon napping, bragging about my Wonderful Night. Isn't it funny what I'm leaving out of this story.
Last night was the Birdsong #7 Reading at HiChristina!. I was feeling a bit rough, my bruises were starting to show. My friends and I did a fabulous job, I think it was really successfull. I left a bunch of my zines out and people took them. I read a new story, "Jungle", which is in the new issue of Birdsong. I think people liked it. I hope they did. I wanted it to be a nicer story, a love story. But because I was so tired and nervous and felt really queasy and weird, I think I ended up coming across a lot meaner than I meant to. Came home with an incredibly painful headache and ate noodles before passing out.
I feel pretty weird. I can't tell if I'm sick or if I just feel bad. Or who even cares?