Monday, April 18, 2005

She's Back, Part One

It's times like this that I wish I could press a button and, with a snazzy star wipe, segue seamlessly into a Monkees-style movie montage of my life. A fast-motion action sequence of Brad and I cooking kabobs on the grill, cut with a shot of us flinching at an unexpected stripper's explicitly visible balls, then jumping to some footage of us breaking up the fight between his spooky fish would much more accurately sum up the ten days I spent in Ohio than whatever I'm going to try to stitch together here.

At the very least, I demand that you whistle "Last Train to Clarksville" while I recap.

I flew out of New York after work on Thursday with the good intentions of keeping notes about the trip in my complimentary Human Resources notebook. [The perks of my job are few and far between. In fact, I can only pluralize "perk" if I consider Sweet-n-Low packets among them.]

Needless to say, I forgot about this plan about six sentence fragments into my Thursday entry, which reads:

Boring day at work. Didn't get searched at the airport--the government isn't going to put me in a camp after all! Flight was uninteresting. Sat next to a guy who looked like the nerdy brother of [American Idol contestant] Constantine Maroulis. What a distinction. People should not entertain their children by asking them questions they already know the answers to. For. The. Whole. Flight.

Piecing together the rest of the trip from there--which is what the note-keeping excercise was meant to facilitate in a timely, organized, not-completely-stupid fashion--would be easier if I had remembered to e-mail myself the pictures I spent half an hour resizing last night. I'll post those tomorrow.

Let's do this chronologically.

Brad and I trekked it over to Oberlin on Friday, where we immediately consumed copious amounts of Black River fare. Having arrived just in time for T.G.I.F., I got to enjoy Oberlin at its least offensive (read: from a bench with a table full of beer seperating me from the oh-so-unwashed masses, whose rankness was somewhat tempered by the spring breeze). I had a couple beers, said the obligatory hey's, and got to see some people who I seriously missed--all with a soundtrack masterfully provided by DJ Vinylfiend.

It was only after consuming several beers and finding myself at a thrift store purchasing a bowling bag did I remember that "several beers" is roughly akin to "stupid drunk" when you drink as seldom as I do.

The bowling bag was so cool though, and at the low, low price of one measly dollar it was a total steal. However, it still had a bowling ball inside (labeled "Marian") which I wanted none of. Unable to convince the cashier to keep the ball, I did the next best thing: dragged it outside, hefted the bitch like a power-lifter, and threw it in a garbage can.

In sober retrospect I do not envy whoever had to remove that garbage bag. But even now, the truly fantastic noise produced when a fifteen pound bowling ball hits the bottom of a garbage can was worth it.

Trying to sum things up quickly: while in Oberlin, Brad and I spent some quality time with Ms. Kessler, narrowly missed seeing Mr. Ross totally fuckin' work it in a powder blue tux, and got in so many Wilder porch hours with quality folks like Ellen and Mike that I received a devastatingly attractive sunburn on my face.

Drag Ball was a trip, mostly because I couldn't believe I had nothing to do besides watch the show. I hung out up on the balcony for most of the show with Montana the DJ, whose "thrown together" girl clothes put each and every outfit of mine to shame.

On Sunday Brad and I (again sufficiently full of Black River homefries) kissed Oberlin a big fat goodbye right on the smacker and returned to his house.

No Sunday in the greater Cleveland area would be complete without a trip to Bounce to see the drag show, which, with the return of Jerri Michaels and the addition of Jennie P., has once again begun to resemble the bottle-breaking, name-calling, filthy-dirty drag shows I was weaned on. Some people spend their Sundays in church. I, however, choose to worship at the altar of duct-taped balls and fabulous lip liner, graciously praising the Lord as a drag queen with a tumbleweed of blonde hair pinned to her head pretends to fellate a microphone, then scrambles for a nickel while exclaiming "Madeleine Albright!"

To be continued after lunch. Part Two includes: dead bodies, skewered meat, tattoos, and the mystery of iced coffee.


Anonymous stupidboy said...

I'm so glad you're back Kathy. While you were gone I had to talk to my co-workers at teabreak and share the biscuits I keep hidden in my drawer.
Ever thought of doing a 'Dear Kathy' problem page style blog entry? All your readers could write in with our problems! Comedy gold!

12:38 PM  
Blogger joslik said...

Niiiiiiiiiiice. :)
Glad you're back!

12:41 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Hi y'all --

I'm glad(ish) to be back. Glad to be back bloggin', anyway, despite however disappointing it is to return to work.

And SB, no matter how long I stay away, never, ever, ever share your hidden biscuits again. They can bring their own damn biscuits.


12:43 PM  

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