I had a busy weekend. On Friday a whole group of us went out. #22 was in town and Perl has moved back so we painted the town red. Pink at least. We went to the established “old fogies” pub in town. It’s full of 40 to 60 year olds getting their drink on. We wanted a place without loud music and 18 year olds. After a few hours we moved on to the skanky dank pit that we inhabited every night during our early twenties. (I think I can say early twenties now that I’m 25.) As Perl said “returning to the scene of the crime.” The night was fun. There was an incident with a bald headed, lesbian, punk. She tried to make me her bitch. She surprised kissed me and then kept trying to hold my hand. I get the shivers just thinking about it. Nothing wrong with lesbians, but she was just not my type!
What’s up with Blackouts? Practically everyone I know has a blackout when they drink. I know that’s a sign of alcoholism, but can it be true that 80% of my friends are alcoholics?!? It’s never happened to me and I’m not what you would call a light drinker. Now a days’ I rarely drink, but back in the day… Maybe swede’s are more sensitive to alcohol, like other ethnic groups who lack certain enzymes involved in metabolizing alcohol in the liver. I guess my Italian genes are good for something. But the blackouts my friends experience are really starting to get on my nerves. I’m not concerned about their health or well being, but there are whole after parties were we have been sitting and talking for hours, that they don’t remember the next day! That’s just irritating! The first person I knew who had blackouts was an old boyfriend. I told him that it was a sign of alcoholism and that he should stop drinking. He got really pissy and we broke up. Apparently I’m a bitch. Whatever. I just remembered, the day after we went out one of the guys was saying he didn’t remember anything after we got to the second bar, and I told him he should stop drinking. Some things never change. Like my heartless accusations.
Saturday they were having a “Äckelfest” at the Roxy. A group of us went there to see “Vase de noces,” “One man and his pig.” There’s so much to be said about this film, and yet there’s nothing to say really. I understood the whole having babies with the pig, and killing the babies, and the pig killing herself, but after the first 15 minuets of the poop montage, I was lost for the next 15 minuets of it. Did they think the importance of the fecal eating would be lost if there was only a few minuets of it.. as apposed to 30! I do however agree with my one friend that said it was interesting the way they managed to have an emotion intermixed with disgusting images in almost every scene. Love/bestiality, fear/childbirth, anger/dead piglets, sadness/poop and so on and so on. I still prefer to be grossed out by a John Waters movie myself.
I think that’s about all I feel comfortable sharing for now. Today is the man’s birthday. As his present he gets to punch me in the ovaries.