Friday, October 19, 2012

does this ultra bright overhead light make me look fat


At midnight I decided to watch a horror show which addressed one of my favorite urban myths. 

 Alien abduction. 

 Two glasses of red wine and one inappropriate probing into the show I realized something. 
Miss Carrington is missing.
 
 The best thing about growing older is being able to laugh at the folly of youth.  Yes, that is My saying and I invite you to use it any time you are standing next to some nineteen year old with the body of an Amazon and a mind like one of those free worthless apps that you download for your smartphone and show everyone thinking it’s so cool, but they really think you’re an idiot for it, and then THEY download it.
The bad thing about getting older is that you seem to have less people to laugh with at the silly youth.

 Tracy Carrington and I were best friends from the minute we met, which happened to be the exact moment I flicked a long burning ash from a monster sized joint onto his brand new carpet in his apartment.  We worked together and we were roommates.  And did we ever have capers. 

For example.  Some queen who lived nearby hated us for unknown reasons though I'm sure it had something to do with the way we were able to fit into our jeans.  One night we walked up on her in a bathroom stall as she alternately did bumps of special k on her abnormally tiny hands and talked bad about the two of us.  The next day as Tracy and I walked down Bourbon Street to work we passed Marie Laveau’s Voodoo Shop and joked about buying an evil eye to cast upon said nasty queen.  At that very moment a bird fell out of the sky, dead, at our feet.  We spoke never again of the evil eye and the nasty queen overdosed in one of those stalls anyway so problem solved.

I was Senior Party Girl because I could stay out for days and never look it.  (This skillset was greatly enhanced by lot’s of Crystal Meth, the ability to freshly shave my face in any bathroom and the knack for walking up to complete strangers and trading my bar smelling clothes for something they were wearing.)  Tracy was known as Pilly because of his affinity for Karen Quinlan Cocktail; Valium and Vodka.
Tracy always lamented his inability to maintain a relationship or even to get beyond a first date with a guy.  Too often I would have to step in and tell some young man that Tracy hadn't forgotten their name, he was just too polite to bother them with reminding everyone of how boring their time together was.  Nights like that would always end with Tracy inquiring if his jeans were too tight and us walking him around the block to keep him from nodding off, each of us taking turns to run into the Nelly Deli and grab cold beers and if there were several types of pills involved, we'd order sandwiches for our trot to clarity.

One day he called us together to make an announcement.  Tracy understood what was happening with his blackouts.  He knew the cause.

Alien abduction.

Now during some long ago boring times, I found the idea of alien abduction quite fascinating.  Think about it.  A bunch of hyper intelligent guys jump in their space Frisbee and travel across the universe to visit you on what you thought was just another dateless Saturday night that would end in microwave popcorn and a guilt filled justification that eating one scoop of cake frosting out of the jar doesn’t mean you’re a complete loser. 

They fly all the way to your house and show up to probe your body in ways that would frighten most people, but when you’re giving the Chinese delivery boy an extra five bucks just to stand and talk to you because you can’t find a date, well that doesn’t sound so bad.  (Yes, yes.  I have fallen that low in life.)

I lost track of Tracy about the same time that I came off the Meth.  Today in the bright sunshine I think that Miss Carrington is in some Spaceship lounge on Saturn having a martini with an Alien who doesn't mind that Tracy can't remember his name, because he doesn't have one, and Tracy's jeans are just the right fit.
 
 

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