Saturday, January 1, 2005

Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Warehouse

It was just like Elimidate, but if everything went smoothly, I could keep them both.  Cecilia was a dazzling brunette with a smile that could terrorize your heart.  She was wearing a skin-tight purple jump suit with decorative flames extending from the ankle to the shoulder on both sides.  Emily was a beautiful blonde with the kind of neck vampires only dream about.  She was wearing sexy librarian glasses and a pimpin’ fur coat made from only the hottest endangered species on the market.  We were attending a birthday party hosted by an individual whose existence we had little regard for.  Like most college students, our true motives revolved around obtaining and consuming alcoholic beverages.  We had learned too much during the previous school week, and we longed to neutralize the rapid development of our brain cells.  We wanted to extinguish the plague of knowledge.  We wanted to be floppy and irresponsible.  After acknowledging the birthday boy, we hastily filled our new found plastic cups with boxed red wine and began to socialize.
    Before I had finished half of my wine, I was feeling unreasonably intoxicated.  “Ye gods!” I thought, “Some silly bastard spiked the wine!”  But spiked or not, this wine was making me feel lucky.  The sentiment was all too natural, knowing that my self-esteem was measured by my blood-alcohol content.  The drink seemed to be affecting my lovely dates in a similar fashion.  They appeared exuberant and highly attractive.
    Realizing the infinite possibilities my apartment could bring (as opposed to a house full of drunken fools rolling around on the floor), we collectively decided to depart.  Before I knew it, the three of us were stumbling into my apartment like a bunch of crazed lemmings.  Cecilia slurred something about “getting beer”, and that was the last I saw of her.  It seemed she had been elimidated by God.  She was predestined by The Almighty to pass out, and thus involuntarily abstain from whatever prospects the night had to offer.
    I had known Emily for about a year at this point.  I was intensely attracted to her ever since we first met, yet a supreme force of unspeakable irritation had thus far prevented me from putting the moves on her.  This force was stronger than a five hurricanes and more oppressive than a dictator with a giant laser.  It was Benito Fascismo - Emily’s boyfriend.  Benito was a towering 6’7”.  He had a shaved head and the muscular proportions of a comic book superhero.  He had served in the U.S. Marine Corps. for three years, which transformed him into a ruthless killing machine with a vague sense of purpose.  He protected his girl as though he were protecting Corporate Interests around the world.  This meant calling her every twenty minutes to make sure she wasn’t interacting with any males other than her master.  He had Emily on the short leash of American Imperialism, and she felt helpless like an innocent Iraqi being blindfolded and tormented by vicious canines.  God only knows how long this “relationship” had been going on, but it started well before I met this poor princess.

    There we were, standing in my living room, drunk as skunks.  My roommate had several guests over who were from out of town.  They were planning on spending the night.  Emily and I greeted the strangers with dumbfounded expressions, and sat on the couch to clumsily converse.  It became quite late, and the city buses had stopped running.  It was officially bedtime, and God’s plan began taking shape once again.  My roommate kindly offered his room to the guests, and rudely kicked Emily and I off the couch so he could sleep there.  My bed was now the only available apparatus capable of inducing slumber, so I casually suggested that Emily share it with me.  The Lord’s flawless scheme was leading up to this moment, however His work officially began a week earlier when Emily informed me that she had broken up with Benito.  She had freed herself from the chains of tyranny, but her complexion showed no evidence of liberation.  She was naturally experiencing uncanny trauma and confusion.  I recall her flustered expression as she reported the news to me.  I suavely uttered a few words of comfort, and a beautifully reassuring smile hijacked her face, telling me of my new and unlimited opportunities. 
    Now that smile had returned, and I knew we had an understanding.  Predestination, baby.
   
            

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