Friday night was a double header of holiday bashes. We started out in Oakland at one kind of party, where there was good cheer and merriment and toasts and singing and photo booths and kids and, here's the key: a two hour limit. Once the clock struck the witching hour, that party was broken down, trashed out and doors were locked - before sentiments strayed or tears were shed.
From there to another kind of party in the City. Folks had been laid off. Some of whom had worked at this company for many years. It was like arriving at the life boat dock for the Titanic. Purgatory: the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven.
After more than a few stiff drinks we went to Brandy Ho's to be further purified by Hunan. So many hugs and well wishes and talk about moving to Paris or Buenos Aires. Sitting around the table nibbling spicy eggplant with four friends who'd just been laid off, the rest of us could only listen to their understandable bitterness and disbelief that their "services were no longer needed." Feeling at times left out, at times guilty for having jobs, and at times jealous that no one was giving us the kick in the ass we need to leave this bloody country for some extended period of time.
When we paid the joint bill, some of us threw down a little extra cash to cover dinner for the recently fired. It was a small gesture, but I hope our beloved friends who are now statistics for next month's unemployment figures will know that they have friends who truly care.
After all that Hunan moroseness for which I wore sagging jeans and a t-shirt, Saturday night called for notching it up. With little time to get ready, I pulled on my trusty black geometric-pattern tights and a too-short black velvet strappy dress. Too short as in my sons said it was okay to wear as long as I didn't bend over, so I added a white shiny coat and black feather boa to distract the eye from my geometrically patterned ass in case I forgot and kneeled down to pick up a coin or fallen credit card.
Sometimes a girl needs to be 6'3" and not give a shit about towering over everyone. The weather's nice up there, you can see everything, albeit chilly from the almost bare legs. It's not that chilly because when you are wearing a skimpy black velvet dress lots of well-wishers want to find out what the weather is like up there. We started out at the Homestead for Matt's birthday party. The back room is plush and all padded, and there was a ton of food. I grazed on lamb, but did not want to feel too bloated in my skimpy dress.
Then to a house party for filmmakers and physicists, where we drank exotic drinks and I snuck out with a friend's husband to smoke from a Vapor Genie - which was genius, though may have spawned some conspiracy theories in later discussions.
We danced to the crazy Italian music until Joe pulled me out to go back to the Homestead for another Manhattan and some coat groping -- as though we were were high on ecstacy. We weren't. We just had good coats - velvet and shiny and cashmere and lambswool. Our friend who publishes Whore magazine had a particularly tactile coat on, and his lady friends had particularly nice breasts. The tactilly-induced-ecstacy-flashbacks resulted in some breast exposure and fondling, though no one seemed to mind.
We left after the last Manhattan to park the car at home and walk two blocks to another sort of party, where Skanky Claus was singing carols with skankily clad elves, songs that were nasty and fun. We danced and next thing we knew without any forethought we nibbled simultaneously on a mushroom chocolate that eventually landed us in bed sometime after 2:00am tripping our balls off. Why? No reason. We each took an Ativan (aka lorazepam) and fell into dreamy psychedelic 600-thread-count cotton bliss.
Slept in, got an invitation to go to Glide while writing this. It's just a couple blocks from here so I went. When I walked in the church was packed with people of all colors and shapes and sizes swaying and belting out together, "There is HOPE!" Cecil himself preached, a message to honor Mary and the feminine in all of us. I joined in, "There is HOPE!"
From there to another kind of party in the City. Folks had been laid off. Some of whom had worked at this company for many years. It was like arriving at the life boat dock for the Titanic. Purgatory: the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven.
After more than a few stiff drinks we went to Brandy Ho's to be further purified by Hunan. So many hugs and well wishes and talk about moving to Paris or Buenos Aires. Sitting around the table nibbling spicy eggplant with four friends who'd just been laid off, the rest of us could only listen to their understandable bitterness and disbelief that their "services were no longer needed." Feeling at times left out, at times guilty for having jobs, and at times jealous that no one was giving us the kick in the ass we need to leave this bloody country for some extended period of time.
When we paid the joint bill, some of us threw down a little extra cash to cover dinner for the recently fired. It was a small gesture, but I hope our beloved friends who are now statistics for next month's unemployment figures will know that they have friends who truly care.
After all that Hunan moroseness for which I wore sagging jeans and a t-shirt, Saturday night called for notching it up. With little time to get ready, I pulled on my trusty black geometric-pattern tights and a too-short black velvet strappy dress. Too short as in my sons said it was okay to wear as long as I didn't bend over, so I added a white shiny coat and black feather boa to distract the eye from my geometrically patterned ass in case I forgot and kneeled down to pick up a coin or fallen credit card.
Sometimes a girl needs to be 6'3" and not give a shit about towering over everyone. The weather's nice up there, you can see everything, albeit chilly from the almost bare legs. It's not that chilly because when you are wearing a skimpy black velvet dress lots of well-wishers want to find out what the weather is like up there. We started out at the Homestead for Matt's birthday party. The back room is plush and all padded, and there was a ton of food. I grazed on lamb, but did not want to feel too bloated in my skimpy dress.
Then to a house party for filmmakers and physicists, where we drank exotic drinks and I snuck out with a friend's husband to smoke from a Vapor Genie - which was genius, though may have spawned some conspiracy theories in later discussions.
We danced to the crazy Italian music until Joe pulled me out to go back to the Homestead for another Manhattan and some coat groping -- as though we were were high on ecstacy. We weren't. We just had good coats - velvet and shiny and cashmere and lambswool. Our friend who publishes Whore magazine had a particularly tactile coat on, and his lady friends had particularly nice breasts. The tactilly-induced-ecstacy-flashbacks resulted in some breast exposure and fondling, though no one seemed to mind.
We left after the last Manhattan to park the car at home and walk two blocks to another sort of party, where Skanky Claus was singing carols with skankily clad elves, songs that were nasty and fun. We danced and next thing we knew without any forethought we nibbled simultaneously on a mushroom chocolate that eventually landed us in bed sometime after 2:00am tripping our balls off. Why? No reason. We each took an Ativan (aka lorazepam) and fell into dreamy psychedelic 600-thread-count cotton bliss.
Slept in, got an invitation to go to Glide while writing this. It's just a couple blocks from here so I went. When I walked in the church was packed with people of all colors and shapes and sizes swaying and belting out together, "There is HOPE!" Cecil himself preached, a message to honor Mary and the feminine in all of us. I joined in, "There is HOPE!"
Oh Kim, you are Sweet Inspiration incarnate in gorgeous adornment, and I love you for frequently abandoning propriety along with your shiny coat in the cloakroom of Hope. Love you mucho.
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