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Journal of No. 118


August 3rd, 2003

I'm almost as bad as Aaron @ 09:38 am

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From:rsheslin
Date:August 4th, 2003 11:21 am (UTC)
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What a tease! The link leads to a "protected" entry, so I can't find out in what way you're supposedly as bad a Aaron!
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From:essentialsaltes
Date:August 4th, 2003 11:51 am (UTC)

D'oh!

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Sorry about that, but I guess I'm glad the_undertow is using 'protection'.
I'm only as bad as Aaron in that I was using someone else's journal to post a fairly long entry. the_undertow mentioned the clubs Bar Sinister and Clockwork Orange in her entry. I responded:

Bar Sinister is dull and small. It's like 'Cheers' for goths, but if you're new there, they act like you don't exist. Angsty cliquish bastards. I only went once, and it was a couple years ago, so it may have changed for the better, but I doubt it. A friend of a friend thinks the lady who runs Bar Sinister is literally a psychotic evil bitch. I don't know how much faith to put in that statement.

I remember the last time I was at Clockwork Orange, Rebecca and I spent almost the whole night in the 80's room. Having lived through the 80's, we both generally despise the music, but somehow the DJ was only picking the stuff that we actually enjoyed. That was also the night that we made a temporary best friend in the world on the smoking patio...

This drunk-off-her-ass 98 pound girl with a slight Russian accent joins us out there, and I swear it's like she's a cat, Rebecca is made of catnip, and I am a jingly-toy. She's hanging sloppily onto our shoulders, babbling about how cool we are, and how we're all best friends. She finds Rebecca absolutely fascinating. This conversation goes on for a surprisingly long time, and I figure she's going to ask us for money, drugs, and/or a three-way.

Gradually, you could see her eyes getting wonky, and she wanders off. About five minutes later, she's puking her guts out on the sidewalk alongside the smoking patio... and no one (not even her new 'best friends') is there to hold her hair out of her puke. An hour and a half later, as we're leaving, she's still sitting on the steps outside the club. She's calmed down a lot, but she still remembers her best friends and she brings her puk-y self close to us again. We're glad to see she's not going to die, but get ourselves away as soon as possible.

Journal of No. 118