At the car wash, yeah

Lighter subjects: My weekend in review.

Friday night I hit up the War Room for Andy Caldwell. The usual suspects were there along with a ton of really annoying people. You know, the kind that elbow their way onto to the dancefloor just to stand around and talk. The kind that grind all up on the ladies then act pissed when they get rebuffed. I almost burned a girl's hair with my cigarette--twice. I often contend that the major reason for maintaining my smoking habit is to exact revenge on the dancefloor.
You know the crowd was annoying if Paul was screaming at some girl, "TRASH!! TRASH!!" Well, he said what all of us were thinking. The track selection was actually really good, and like K pointed out, it was like he was throwing away perfectly good music on total retards. Ah well, all nights can't be amazing, right?

Saturday day, did a bunch of nothin'. Tried to go shopping at Fred Meyer's but just got the feeling that all the people there were related to the people who were at the War Room. If you couldn't tell, I get peeved easily. That night K invited me to use an extra pass for the Decibel Festival. HELL YES!! Deadbeat was adorable wearing pants that were too big and a shirt that was too small. He chain smoked behind his laptop and smiled so big when the crowd applauded him. For me, he was a little too dub, and that's just not the kind of music you dance to (smoke to, maybe). Then came Akufen who threw the dirtiest basslines and bassiest kick drums right through me. It was one of those sets where your heartbeat takes on the beat of the music. If the bass had been any heavier, I'm sure people on the dancefloor would have evacuated their bowels. Here comes the lame part: I left early. I couldn't do it. I'm getting too old. I only made it through about forty-five minutes.

Sunday: Went to the car wash. One of the guys working there was scrubbing down the outside of the car before I went through. We made eye contact. I smiled. He smiled. I came out the other side and the towel boy is drying me off. Here comes the guy who was scrubbing me down. He asks me to roll down my window. I do. "I get off at 8:00," he says. "You should stop by around 8:15. My name is Francisco. What's yours?" Made. My. Day.
Did I return, you wonder? Did I go and have some hot car wash sex?
You know me better than that.
Y'know what I think is funny--how he knew I was gay. I mean, for me, I always feel like I have "FAG" tatooed across my forehead--but there was nothing, just a smile. Maybe I just have a gay face.

And, for your edification, a parody of the Paris Hilton car wash video.