It's Murder on the Dancefloor

It's tough performing eight shows a week, two matinees. For me, it's part of my daily existance. Alltering myself to fit someone else's needs, must make one feel quite good.

One of my roommates is such fun, a real treat to be around. I look forward to coming home, and chatting all evening with her. I haven't had a friend like her in I don't know how long. We share some common interests, enjoy each other's company, and continualy make one another laugh, but we are fairly different.

She invites me to hang out with her friends, friends she's had for years. Right away, there's a bit of resentment and contsternation towards me, but that's understood when someone new invades the sacred sanitarium of friendship. These girls are very cool. They treat me well, and I feel they've accepted me, to a point. I think they feel I'm not a threat towards them. I'm safe. Reliable. Square. And to a point, that's true. But it's tiresome trying to prove to someone who's not of the same fiber, that a Square can coexist with a Hipster.

My roommate invites me to places, I wouldn't typically be clamoring to go to. But, I moved to the City, wanting to expand my horizons, experience new things. I come with her, simply because I like her company, and I'd love to get to know her group a little better.

This evening, we went to a dance club in Williamsburg or Greenpoint. It's all the same to me. The music was so loud, the lights were so bright, the people were so hip, I quickly lost my ability to keep up this charade. I desperatly wanted to leave, but I hung in there, for the sake of my dignity, and my social life. I followed my roommate, like a scared child lost in the mall, but she was all right with it. She made sure I didn't become lost, which I appreciate. Unfortunatly, she didn't realize I was lost the moment they stamped my hand at the door.

I left, and her friends seemed to support this decision. "Here's an easy way to the subway." Although my roommate was concerned, I didn't want my departure to hinder her enjoyment in any way.

I just walked the vacant streets of whatever pretentious town I was in, just telling myself not to show any emotion. I wanted to get lost, I was so hopeful I wouldn't find the subway. The lights of Manhattan teased me from across the river, and I knew I deserved that. I deserved it, because I shoud've known better.

Although scared and saddend by my poor choices, I pressed on. I refused to ask for help; I was determined to make it out of this on my own. And like other obsitcles in my life, I made it through.

Wallow in my sorrow, if only for a moment. Like a cocaine buzz, this to shall pass.

Join me this evening, at 8 at UCB for some Krompf. Thank you to those that made the previous evening, so blogable. Now, I'll go to my lunch table, and you go to yours. In ten years, we'll laugh about it - well, I will when I tell the story on Conan.

Oh, and you'll be happy to learn Jack-Ass is offically over and done with. But I am concerned for him. Emotional impotance is a very real problem in today's society; the Mental Health field has grown leaps and bounds, and I'm sure the right medication for your social disease, is out there. As for your physical impotance, again let me point you into the direction of proper medication. And please take comfort in knowing, I had the dubious honor of being the first person "bed" on your bed since you moved to Brooklyn. It's strange, because you weren't even in the room at the time. Nella guerra delle parole, vincerò sempre. Vaffunculo. L'Estremità.