Self Indulging in Dissonance

Posted: February 22, 2009 in P.I.C., Self Indulging in Dissonance

The pillows quickly formed a faux-feathery seal between my sore spine and the wall which it leaned against. A pink pastel pillow. A blue pastel pillow. Both cheap, flat, from ShopKo , and almost as comfortable as a mattress of drywall. However worthless, my lumbar was supported… enough. My knees were folded Indian style around my laptop; which felt oh-so-warm. My ‘Zennish’ Buddhistic entrancing flute & piano new age music somberly echoed throughout the house courtesy of A pumpkin spice scented candle burned nose tingling perfume into the air. This actually wasn’t as bad as a drywall mattress. And… I’ve never felt so queer (and so Zenny) in all my life.

Cue the transformation into a fictional character instantly self-gratifying…

My 85lb dobermans, Andre 5000 & Chris Rock, were snuggling with each other by the oscillating fan in the corner. Chris snores, Andre drools. I think their lips must be too flappy . *shrug*. I’m getting used to it. I’ve had friends like this too. Perhaps I’ll worry about fixing that problem once I’m able to reschedule the canine plastic surgery through that Mexican subsidiary company of PetCo. Nothing says “I love my pet” like needle and thread and duct tape.
The dogs were calm; a rarity I’ve come to appreciate. Although, ever since they devoured Lulu, my ex-girlfriend’s calico, nothing has been the same. They weren’t even phased when Enya starting chanting next on Pandora (utterly preposterous). They didn’t lift as much as a boxed ear when I slid off the bed to grab my monogrammed “D” red velvet bathrobe and head into the pool room. These days the only time they’d display any emotion would be from the smell of uncooked Kraft macaroni & cheese. Odd.

Instead of taking a quick dip in the heated pool, I forced myself to remain focused on the evening plans ahead of me. It wasn’t my birthday after all. People more Important than I would be there for the party in droves. People who were so important, in fact, that my meager humble status would intimidate them, causing an acute desire to pound down more Vodka-infused drink concoctions just to numb the heart flutters I ensue. Before you’d be able to say “the champagne of beers”, everyone of any measure of self-importance would be completely shnockered , tripping over their tongues to make important words work in complete sentences, moments prior to the time we should be leaving for more drinks with more important people at an important club somewhere downtown. That might have been the plan at least. I’d be left to pick up the pieces though. Shuffling & coaxing them into my yellow PT Cruiser. Dragging them down Main Street. Miraculously convincing the club bouncers that there would only be water from here on out if only they’d find it in their hearts to ignore what they were seeing. Important people have a difficult time seeing less-important-peoples-logic; especially sober-logic when the Important drunk people are already 3 sheets to totally toasted.

If I were to get in the pool now, then I’d procrastinate until 8pm; guaranteed. Hard to resist.

The birthday girl tried her best to put on a fake sober happy face… but her smile struggled to remain erect without melting into the concrete front steps of her condo. The freshly empty bottle of Crown Royal dangled between her two fingers until it finally fell and shattered into the dirt garden next to the remains of a Smirnoff & Southern Comfort bottle. She giggled manically to herself for a moment while blankly staring at a random support beam holding the upper deck in place. Great. The night just wasn’t going as planned; rather, as expected. At this point I’d be tempted to say “to hell with it all, let’s just stay home and play SkipBo” but her two wasted friends won’t stop talking long enough for me to get a worthy smartass suggestion in edgewise. Hey, I like being self-important and self-absorbed too! In fact, I sometimes make an example of it. Give me a chance to prove I can be like you.
So, into the car and away we go.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Had I obeyed my fortune cookie from Panda Express that morning, “You will be better off (in bed)”, then a hangover wouldn’t have been an issue.

By night’s end, my eyeballs felt like they were being sucked forward through a dusty hose by a ShopVac on one end and a sand filled gym sock on the other. We were all fully qualified as self-absorbed jackasses at some level during some point of the evening. A finger there. A finger here. Whispers and shouts and line dancing in the isles until the bouncers began throwing out obnoxious members of our group. In turn they retreated to a gay dance club on the 2nd floor of a parking garage, halfway between the Italian and sushi restaurants. The rest of the party fizzled out shortly after midnight and the birthday girl ended up leaving with the deformed-handed hotdog vendor on the corner outside of the club.

You mustard heard the puns would catsup at some point.


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