Friday, November 11, 2011


i'm going to tell you something, but first, allow me to provide a bit of backstory. i have a little book swap going on with one of my co-workers, and last month she loaned me "the graveyard book," by neil gaiman. i loved it and remembered how much i like him as an author. i had read "anansi boys" and "neverwhere," and OF COURSE "stardust," but hadn't read "american gods," so i picked it up at the airport last week, on the sale table at powell's. well then i fell asleep reading it the other night and had a dream that i met neil gaiman and became BFF's with him. in the dream i was super giddy about knowing him, and had to keep reminding myself not to name-drop or brag. when i woke up i kept laughing about it all day. how someone like neil gaiman is a total rock star to me, but when i meet actual rock stars i don't care that much.

so. today i went to work and my co-worker texted me that neil gaiman had been at the club the other night, and that we had missed it! i was so bummed. i asked around and nobody knew anything about it, but then i remembered the the girl at the restaurant next door likes sci-fi/fantasy and so i asked if she knew anything about it. she was like, "yeah! he was rad!" my heart sank with that terrible feeling of having super missed out.

it reminded me of the time it was my friend brande's birthday and we woke up super early to go down to macy's and meet sarah jessica parker, who was there signing bottles of her new perfume. we got drunk on mimosas first and then got in the line. when we met her she seemed quite taken with us, she loved our outfits and weird hair, and when brande gave her an invitation to her birthday party that night, she looked almost like she might come. we got excited. well then i was all woozy and tired from lack of sleep and too much champagne, so i went home to nap before the party. i ended up accidentally sleeping straight through it! i woke up at 5am to ten missed calls and several frantic texts, all saying that SJP was there and where the fuck was i?! the voicemails were so convincing, i really believed she had shown up. i pictured her stepping out of her limo and having one polite cocktail with the glamorous cast of weirdos i call "friends," and then leaving. this was before everyone had camera-phones with which to document every tidbit of their inane lives for immediate facebook posting. this was back when i had just recently heard of "friendster," and was reluctant and dubious at the lack of privacy such a thing would inspire. my point is that there wasn't an internet trail to disprove the story. i believed it for YEARS. FOR YEARS i believed i had missed out on "the night that SJP showed up at brande's birthday party." and then kind of recently my friends revealed they had made it up, and that they never thought i would actually believe the story in the first place, and that when i did they just kind of forgot to ever tell me the truth. i was pissed.

well this time the story was real. one of my fave authors had come into the club and i had missed it. i could've had him sign my book, it's in my purse. and the graveyard book is still in my locker so he could've signed that for my co-worker. ARG. plus, i just would've really liked to have given him a lapdance.

other than that, today was a great day. a guy came in who was rad and crazy and then he won a bunch of money on the poker machine. instead of plugging it all back in to those stupid fucking machines, he quit while he was ahead. he bought me and my co-worker champagne, a long island ice tea for himself, and took the rest out in ones. MY KINDA GUY. he delighted in having us girls sit at the rack with him and tip the girl on stage. he only wanted one lapdance, and during the dance he said, "this is the kind of thing that used to make me fall in love. now it just makes me hard." eww. that was kind of the only gross thing he said all day. mostly he was hilarious.

one time he wanted to go to the bathroom, but his wad of ones was too big to fit in his pocket. he goes, "hey will you hold these for me?" i put my hand out. he started handing them to me, then goes, "psych!" and split them in two, stuffing half into each pocket. not laughing, i said, "ha. that was a funny joke." he goes, "i'm full of 'em." i said, "you're full of something." "AHAHAHAHA YEP!" he yelled.

when he came back from the bathroom, the guy goes, "hey, where's desiree?" i said, "who?" he insisted that he had been at this very bar the day before and that there had been a girl named desiree working. i said, "nobody called desiree works here." he looked at me like i was pulling his leg. he asked the girl on stage and the bartender, both said No Desiree Here. he insisted that he was right, and that these three women shaking their heads at him were wrong-a-dong. "i'll just ask patty when she comes in," he said. i told him he was probably thinking about magic gardens, where the bartender/owner is named patty. he was like, "no! it was here! you guys are pulling a twilight zone on me! but ok, ok, i'll play along," and then he stopped asking about it. imagine getting so drunk every day that you just wander around not knowing where you are or who anybody is. well, i guess i used to get that drunk every year for the entire week of gay pride. i'd pass out on the sidewalk, wake up slung over some foxy bulldagger's shoulder. "i couldn't just leave you there," she'd say.

the only other person i danced for was this guy who comes in and is super rich, but seems to be gambling away his fortune on those stupid poker machines. anyway once in a while you can get him to buy dances. he's very awkward and kind of condescending. when he says rude, awkward things to me, i try to cut him a break because i think maybe he has aspergers. also, i'm not sure why but i kind of like him. i spend a lot of time alone, and i think i'm sometimes kindredly drawn to loners. not like i want to hang out with them, but just like i understand them a bit or something.

working tonight. gimme gimme $$$

1 comment:

  1. Sorry you ddin't get to meet your favorite writer. I get that. My favorite write David Gemmell died while writing a trilogy about Troy. Thankful his wife published his the last book. It was still a great loss to the fiction world.