|
After eight months of
tears and suicide threats, I finally allowed my boyfriend to
drag me to his shameful passion: a rave, complete with (shudders
with embarrassment) glowsticks and (cringes) binkies. I call it
“dance dance revolution,” and from here on out, all references to
these terrible events shall be referred to as “DDR."
First off, I was accused of being close-minded and not giving DDR a chance.
Mind you, I was forced to listen to DDR jams (DDRJ) non-stop, day and night,
since I had met the boyfriend. I’d literally been driven to the brink of tears
because I could not take another moment of DDRJ.
After raising this point, he casually informed me that you have to listen to
it on big speakers and be on ecstasy, otherwise referred to as “demon tablets.”
To which I cleverly retorted, “You have to be on a morphine drip to understand
The View. How dare you not like The View.” This only angered the lord
of the dance.
"The place was packed with gays and Asians. I either had to
take a demon tablet, or fake appendicitis and flee." I was finally swayed
to attend DDR when boyfriend agreed to pay for swanky hotel room
instead of crashing in some opium den, lying in a pile of glowsticks
and forcefully penetrated with a pacifier while tweakers dressed as
Big Bird and Snuffleupagus grinded each other beneath a disco
ball. The boyfriend, me, and the boyfriend's friend Eric headed for
Ryby Skye in San Francisco. I'd only seen the website for Rybe Skye
over the boyfriend's shoulder while he salivated and lovingly rubbed
a glowstick across his erect nipple. It made me think of all things
bad, a place for former drama students, Asians, plushies, and
slightly over-the-hill Euro-trash in neon fanny packs. I choked back
the tears and assured myself that this was just a phase.
As I walked in I honestly expected to see a person dressed as Winnie the Pooh
gleefully slamming a person dressed as Eeyore in the behind. I wasn't far off
from the truth. There were dancers in brilliant neon unitards gyrating behind a
chain link fence. To make this situation worse, Eric and the boyfriend were
sauced, and I was sober since I planned to take my first demon tablet that night
and was afraid to throw booze into the mix. Plus, I had a turtle head poking out
that I couldn't manage to squeeze out at the hotel.
The place was packed with gays and Asians. I knew one of two things had to
happen: I either had to take a demon tablet, or fake appendicitis and flee.
Soon, Eric made the acquaintance of a kind-hearted young Asian homo who offered
up three demon tablets. I quickly swallowed one, then began to panic. “What’s
going to happen? Will I grind my teeth out and run to the nearest costume store
to raid Sesame Street costume aisle?”
Nothing happened. I waited and waited, sitting in a chair while Eric and the
boyfriend danced their pants off. I pretended not to know them. I'd left my cell
phone at the hotel so I couldn't call someone and complain about how ridiculous
DDR was. Then suddenly, I felt it—an amazing feeling came over me that would
change my life forever…. My poo was crowning and would soon be ready to emerge.
Grateful for something to do, I scurried to the bathroom.
The bathroom was a land of horrors. The semi-attractive people on the dance
floor were, in reality, heinous, sweaty,
polyester-wearing, glitter-covered hoebags beneath the unforgiving
florescent lights. One was actually crying to her friend that nobody had hit on
her all night. I waited in line and kept my eye on the prize, the kernel of joy
in this miserable night: taking a huge poop.
Finally, it was my turn. I released my shiny log and left the bathroom
feeling new and improved.
After what seemed like an eternity of leaning against a wall watching
gyrating unitard-wearers, my suffering and DDR were finally over. The cab
dropped me off at the hotel, then took the dancing queens to their car to get
something. I went straight to the hotel room and awaited my scolding for not
liking DDR.
Much to my surprise I was not scolded, however, the
demon tablets had indeed done something: When I closed my eyes, I could not
go to sleep—I just saw all kinds of pictures. I pictured a big house, which
meant I was awake. When I got to the medium house, I'd be half awake, and if I
could make it to the small house, I'd be asleep. Well, I never made it to the
small house, and I never made it back to DDR. And that's a resolution I'm
sticking to.
|
Share this article
| 
