Sunday, January 27, 2002

Drama!

I remember going to coffee houses and having fun. That was at least eight years ago. Things have changed now that I actually have friends that I've met only in the coffee houses. It still is fun to sit and talk to people while drinking lots of coffee. But since I've met the real life soap opera, sitting around seems to be a little...well...boring. Maybe I should explain....

There's a young girl who is in love with a much older man. She's a typical teenager with many, many problems. There's a boy there who is loud and obnoxious but don't let that fool you, it's just a cover. He's not from here, he comes from the state of insanity, and he's recently discovered that he actually likes to dress in drag. Then there's a girl who is just as insane but she's not as harmless. Beware of your belongings, they might just disappear when she's around. And even if they do disappear, she will deny that she has them. Trust me, she probably does have them. Oh, and while we're at it, don't pay attention to her. She will latch onto you like a leech and not let go. In the past three months that I've known her, she's gone to the hospital at least four times. Don't worry, it's nothing serious...unless you count hypocondria as a real medical condition. (I do.) There is a woman who I think is the most beautiful creature on earth, she is that pretty. She and her boyfriend have problems since they started going out. New relationships always have adjustment periods. Another central figure at this place is an interesting old man. He's not old as in "older than the hills"; he's old in that he is older than I am. Besides, old is a relative term. I know twelve year olds that think I'm really old. Then there is the Artist. He is always drawing or sketching. He's going through a rough period in life right now and I hope that soon he will be happy. I consider him one of my better friends. And now that I'm done with individual people, I'd like to explain the mobs. These are the people who always show up in groups. The first is a group that I would like to name "The Death Squad". Rest assured that they wouldn't kill you. They like to paint themselves up with all sorts of symbols, goth and demonic, and listen to death metal. Not everyone in their house does this, just the two main characters. I'm friends with them in the way that I'm not enemies with them. I'm also good friends with two of the people in that house, but these are the friends I never see or talk to much. One is never around, really; she's working on growing up and I'm pretty sure she will. The other...well, that's a story and a half. He's a lot like me, in a way, and that's all I can say about him. The other group is the anarchists. They go dumpster diving, they try not to bathe too often, but in general, they're a nice sort. They are also activists and idealists. For a realist like me, that is a line bordering between fantasy and just plain hopeful thinking. But I salute them nonetheless - there should always be at least one cause to fight for. Then there are the "children". These are the teenagers who are typical hormonal kids. They live in their own teenage universe. (I am not being mean. I remember being a teenager.) Some of them are incredibly annoying - they chew on flavored condoms, leave gigantic messes for the cafe staff to clean up (there's a sign that clearly states "Bus your table"), light things (candy wrappers, napkins, plastic, straws, paper, sugar packets, etc.) on fire...you get the idea. It's ten times worse when they're on drugs. Then they beg someone - usually me - to get them a glass of water. If any life is the epitome of drama, it's the teenage life.

And where do I fit in?

The answer - I don't. I'm the quiet girl in the corner. Rarely do people come to see me...they are always asking if I've seen someone else. Sometimes they even say hello to me. I am the quiet non-entity in the corner writing poetry, writing in a journal, writing a story. I am there for my own benefit but sometimes someone needs to have a serious conversation. I listen to people when they have problems. When I get bored of observing or listening, I tend to gravitate to the bar, where I am known and where I have fun. Maybe that's why, with all of the drama I see, I don't watch the soaps. (hehehehehe)

Monday, January 21, 2002

Bar None

How to get into the bar...
Open door. Insert body. Close door.
I had met some people at my favorite coffee shop. We became friends and after awhile, they wanted me to come drink with them. After resisting for several months, I finally did. It was okay but I would have liked to drink with my cousin. I kept drinking with them though. It was fun. And it kept being fun...until I was dropped like a bad habit by those friends. So then I hung out with another friend...and another friend...and you get the idea.

The danger of being alone...
I dumped my fiancee during this period and some of my friends dropped out of sight or left town. So I was hanging out in bars alone. It was...interesting. I learned a few rules about bars. If you are drinking alone, sit at the bar, stare into your glass (or at the bartender), and block out everyone else. Hug your glass tightly. If you need to pee, do it when you leave or take your glass with you. Never leave things - even your drink - unattended. Oh, and unless you're a well-known regular, do not leave your purse/wallet/hood/CDs at the bar. And don't leave your purse at the bar if you collect condoms. The bartender might just go through it to check for an ID.

The bar where everyone knows your name...
I'm a regular at the Palace of Rock. I will not use the real name of this bar, even though good ol' Paul said I could. Most everyone has nicknames and pseudonyms there so I'm not sure of anyone's real name. This bar is where live bands *sometimes* play. Live performers, it's cool...in a way. I go for Classic Country Music Night on Monday. D.J. Craig plays old and silly country music, sometimes the old gospel country stuff. He has an unbelivable collection of old country, both records and CDs. Oh, and if you want to get in good with the bartender (but you're not in the habit of sleeping with bartenders), go see his band and tell him that it rocked. I've heard many bands/singers/performers at the Palace of Rock, most not very good/entertaining/talented. There are a few I do go to see because I think that they are good and I enjoy their music.

It's the people that you know...
To look at D.J. Craig in the dim barlight, you'd swear that he's older than the hills. He's not but he really tries to sound as if he is. If he's truly in his late 20's, I wish that he'd stop saying that he's old. I'm in my mid-twenties and I know I have at least a decade before I'm really old. Then there's Thomas Swan (that's his "stage name" now. I think...). He's pretty talented, actually. Hell, I'd be lying if I denied that his appearence is quite pleasing to the eyes. Oh, and Craig isn't that bad looking, either. It also helps that Jeff the Bartender is cute, too, especially when staring at your beer gets old. For those of the male persuasion, I suggest staring at lovely, red-haired Angie. Just don't hit on her. And that includes writing songs just for/inspired by her. There's already a million. (Yes, I exaggerate, but I've yet to hear a song about Paul or Jeff. Hmmm...I might have to write one.)

Remember who you are with...
I've nearly picked up several guys at bars. I am very good at the ditching game, mainly because I'm out for the booze and nothing else. I like to be short and cute - the price for it, a pitcher of beer. Or a shot. I'm not picky. I'll pay attention to you. Just don't expect me to come back when I go to my car for cigarettes. I'll be hiding in another bar. There's only one guy I will go home with. I met him at the Palace of Rock, which is where I spend most of my drinking time. I used to hang out at a bar that was across an alley from the Palace of Rock. (I live in Wisconsin. It doesn't matter if it's a larger city - Milwaukee, Madison, Green Bay - or a two-horse town, it's almost a requirement that there's a bar on every corner. If you're lucky, there's a bar in the middle of the block, so that when the wind chill is fifty below zero, you have short distances to walk.) I mainly hung out there until some skinheads, whom I let sit at my table, hit on me. After that, I only go to the Palace of Rock when I'm alone. I met an Irishman there recently. How do I know that he's actually Irish? I don't, but judging by the way he was slurring, he might have been.

And what have we learned?
Eccentrics are alcoholics with a college education. I graduate this semester....

Saturday, January 19, 2002

A New Perspective On Life
I have to share something with the world. This is the stuff chain letter emails are made out of:
My sister-in-law just had her baby. This was a very anticipated baby, as she was dying to have a kid. My brother was really excited, too, thinking he'd put her - because that is what they wanted, a girl - in his backpack and take her everywhere. (Why his backpack, I have absolutely no idea, and I'm chuckling pretty hard right now.)
A moving, isn't-that-really-nice, statement. But there's a catch...
My sister-in-law was at work and her water broke, which was very alarming considering the due date was in mid-April. She was a little over six months along. When she got to the hospital, they were going to try to keep her from having the baby, basically committing her to bedrest until it was born. Their strategy didn't work...and my new neice was born. She's nearly three pounds. Almost a tragic story right there - except for the fact that this little baby was born kicking and screaming. The baby, in the less than 24 hours it has been alive, has already bitten the doctor and kicked herself, thereby nearly disloging the umbilical cord, because the doctors were trying to insert a breathing tube and she got mad. Lord only knows how this child will be...if how we are born determines our path in life, she will be a fighter. And there are many more fights for her to win - I hope - in the next coming months. I pray that she will be alright.
But there's my contribution to sentimentality. And the next time I hear "Life sucks" at my coffee shop, I'll just remind everyone how life truly does hang in the balance, especially when we begin. Don't think that it's less than a miracle that we are born. And that's enough moralizing for today. Next time: Bars. I hang out in them enough. And my good friends at the bar told me to write about them. Hehehehehehehe. So I will.

Wednesday, January 16, 2002

Here's my first attempt at doing this...and I trust that it will get better.

Faced with a blank page, I feel that I have to write. Ah, but then the question arises: What shall I write? Well, I guess I'll make it short for now, since my little coffee shop world hinges on my being there (right now as it stands, I fund quite a few people's caffine and nicotine habits...). So I'm sitting in front of a computer with bad graphics and a slight headache from the change in weather (I live in Wisconsin, and it finally snowed!) but I feel somewhat uninspired right now. Wait...I know what it is: I need food. [POOF! She makes herself dinner.] Now that I have food, I feel like writing. But I did promise to keep it short. I guess that I just wanted to write some eloquent introduction. It isn't working. I suppose it will be interesting once I dig around for some of my poetry.

So I'll leave you with some thoughts about snow:
I've always thought that snow was primarily for children. I remember the endless hours I spent outside in the snow, wearing bulky snowpants and bulky jackets. It was heaven to come in from the cold and peel off every wet layer of clothing - which, inexplicably, seemed to be all of them, since I could never figure out how snow ever got in my underwear - and drink hot chocolate while sipping chicken noodle soup. I remember the excitement of a possible snow day and every child's wish that school would be closed. We would call each other the night before to see if there was any glimmer of hope that school was canceled. I remember the elation when it was and the utter disappointment when it wasn't. But then I got older. Snow took on a new meaning. When I learned to drive, snow no longer was the joyful event I prayed for. Clear off the car, try to make it to school, get to school to find out that it will close an hour after I've arrived, which is just enough time for heaping piles of snow to gather on my car so that I spend more time cleaning it off. Drive home, get stuck in the driveway, shovel myself out, make it to the garage. Then I had to shovel it off of the driveway, the sidewalk, up to the door of our house, just so that I could get to the front door. Snow became a nusiance. I despised it. Now, I am not that much older, but I do have an appreciation for it again. It is pretty. I still have to clean off my car, and I still have to shovel, but somehow snow transforms the city streets. We are all equals when it comes to snow. It blankets the lawns, even the Jones' lawn. If you've lived in an area that gets snow, I'm sure that you have many, many stories about its fun and its flaws. Snowstorms are nearly a bonding experience, and most people that I've met have a story or two about that One Big Blizzard of [insert year here]. And with that thought, I bid you adieu, for I must go and shovel...