It was a good weekend…there was a pretty good mix of work and play. Until Saturday night I was downright balanced and responsible and crap. On Friday night I went with a friend to Hell’s Kitchen in Tacoma to see Hell’s Belles, the all-girl AC/DC cover band. I have never seen such a weird mix of freakpigs in my life. There were the slumming Seattle hipsters (guilty) and then there were people who had mullets and feathered hair and leather fringed coats and they were on the for realla. I think.

I have never been to a show like that. The lead singer of Hell’s Belles is such a red hot dynamic sex machine that anyone who was coupled was frantically trying to climb down each other’s throats. I saw hook-ups with people who did not know each other at the beginning of the night. I saw pseudo-lesbianism that had the sole purpose of turning on the girlies’ boyfriends. “Gratuitous!” I yelled into my friend’s ear. I think the only thing that kept the whole thing from turning into an orgy was all the broken beer bottles on the floor.

My good friend Scratchy and I went to Lake Forest Park Saturday morning to do some community assessment for a class. It was a good excuse to eat pastries and hang out with lots of high-income white people. We took lots of pictures that were hilarious, to us, anyway. I am embarrassed to say that I am whoa psyched about throwing some of the appropriate ones up on a PowerPoint. I know PowerPoint is the devil, but I love it anyhow.

And then I got stupid last night. I drank most of a pitcher of PBR, and then decided that the bus was taking too long to come, so I went off and drank some mai tais. The last place I went with my companion I ran into some perps I go to school with and tried to hold an intelligent conversation, which I may or may not have succeeded at. Then I went home and threw up. I would date myself in a second, if I could.

My companion and I woke up at six and had a disjointed conversation about life, the universe, etc, and I realized I go on the wig on Sunday mornings, because I sometimes don’t see my Frannie for three days on the weekend. I fell back to sleep and dreamt that I got back together with Frannie’s dad because we were both fed up of not seeing her for days at a time. I woke up and felt very queer, like it all made perfect sense and had happened. But there I was in my apartment, all not depressed or manic and not waking up at four am and trying to repress all those bad habits that I had shook years ago. All those things are better, but no Frannie.

I feel like I’m on the other side of something and I can hardly remember how hard October was. You can “what if” yourself to death about things, but you will never really know if you’ve dealt yourself a crap hand or not.