Trading Places

Few thoughts going floating around in my mind as I watch the married crowd go through their semi annual ritual of men's night, without going into detail to avoid exposing this sacred tradition with roots firmly planted in the historical era of slave owners sleeping with their female slaves. Tonight brings out the old college like behavior in most of the married bunch, granted, guy's night might be their only logical outlet in a life of marriage, kids, and a fulltime 9 to 5 job, fairly foriegn ideas to my 24/7 constant cycle of partying and loose consentual sex with women, the joy of being single. Few rent-a-hoes in the place, mobile strip club, assortment of alcohol deliberately placed in plain view to reinforce the mantra tonight, which is dominate male behavior that these guys have to supress in order to stay married, the smartest of the bunch is serving as the Master of Ceremonies, Pimp, and 5 Star General of Disorder. It's all an inside joke that goes beyond my time of knowing this group of guys, I am fairly late on the scene, so when the inner circle gathers they tend to isolate themselves in hopes of reliving the glory of youth with some financially distraught girls who need money for lifestyle choices, Gucci, Prada, two children and an unemployed pimp/boyfriend.

I'm on one of my sobriety jaunts again, due to a long summer filled with as much hedonism even the most battle tested rocker could not handle, out at least 3 times a week, combined with work/travel/party, it gets tiresome fast, if I can remember too much of it, pull what wits are left, do my job, leave, go home or back out of town where another circle of enablers reside to the festivities going on any coast to any part of the world, so I bounce around these outposts, satellites, and opium dens frying my brain, no need for CAT scans. Something is short circuiting my mind, misgroundings, hot plugged wires onto improper channels, thought process has turned into a hallucinagenic game of Keno where the letters, numbers constantly change till my CPU crashes in a massive memory dump, I arise somewhere unfamiliar with no idea how I got there, no recollection of the previous nights events, only clips, fragments, a badly edited movie, has meaning, sure, but solid syntax and easy to decipher, not really, but the fragments are clear there is usually someone else who can remember the moments during the napalm rain, firestorms, battling against the city, society, and death a one way ticket to a pine box, prison, or the funny farm. How I have managed to dodge all 3 might be partially be to my good nature and Irish heritage. But tonight I'm sippin beers, not really feeling this whole production of well rehearsed mannerisms, forced maled bonding and semi comfortable social antics. There are titties and g strings galore, yet it is so confined, nothing spontaneous, natural, or weird about this event, well maybe these guys have to be so secretive about this entire deal for fear of discovery. It's a bit obvious of what's going down, nothing more than caveman banging on rocks out on the hunt, eating psychadelic berries while laying up in the mountains for the weekend, shoot to kill, kill what we eat and if won't die then fuck it, primitive type stuff here, real biker mentality, all these suits during the day hours seem to have miraculously developed.

Tonight is my night off from playing head buffon at the Love Parade, this where the trouble starts, my reputation as fire eater, warrior and magnet for high voltage fun would have been appreciated for this ocassion, demanded, and unfortunately I have a friend or two in the Guy's Club who have witnessed and overly exaggerated my shenanigans to the rest of the Guy's Club, so now this mock pedestal has been erected in my honor as Hall of Fame degenerate, louse, and all around bad boy, I won't contest I have the ammo, it's just the context is out of place, there has to be flow, you know when it's there, the presence is overwhelming. It's like making a connection in my case with a woman, withing minutes you pretty much establish some time during or in some cases throughout the night sex will come into play. My flow arrives, I few friends who march onward through enemy territory with bullets whistling by just another day on the job, these rare souls make the Guy's Club look like a sewing circle.

People who read the blog know this, so to save time, the Guy's Club is bummed at my attitude tonight, just cause they are plastered and this is probably the only real time these guys get to hang together, not like the old days of summer parties at the lake, road trips, and early morning after parties, those days are gone for them, not me. I carry the torch so I am partially guilty in misleading Guy's Club into believing I would bring my A-game which I left at home, there is usually a resident clown who does such things as sprint naked down casino floors in major hotels, pass out in dumpster on the outskirts of Las Vegas, this man has no boundaries, like atomic partical collision, the net energy result is hard to see, explain, and maintain, theories of lunatics, chaos, intentional self inflicted harm like parading a wild beast in a portable cage, King Kong style. Sooner or later the beast will cut loose, trash the place then take a pound of flesh, so steer clear, give wide birth, learn from the mistakes of others, time plays on through a clouded veil of body shots, jello 151 cups, and liquor birthed as a result of mixing then different kinds of booze, tastes like hell, but gets you fucked up, all too true as this crowd would serve as a proper case. I would much rather work out the ocassional wild hair then retreat comfortably with a slight hangover, rest up Sunday, watch football, appease the wife, hang with the kids, order out lunch, then go back to work Monday onto the work carousel sans booze, drugs, and other vices, but lately until the past couple of weeks, waking up wasted, going back to a fresh pile of narcotics and the random hookup felt normal,, part of the game plan, I was calling my own plays, audiblizing, the coach was pulling his hair out, but results are all that matter, good results get you leeway, superior results put in you in a league reserved for rockers, politicans, and attractive actors and actresses, carte blanche, to do whatever, ask Ben Rothliesberger, Tiger Woods, or Iggy Pop, holding the world by the balls can be a powerful high, no one is out reach. Goddess pray at your knees, financial opportunities galore, but its a fine line between JayZ and J.J. Walker; it takes a special talent to take a taste and even more to known when to decline, something it has taken me decades to understand. The fun goes on; I hang around to talk to a few of the more recluse membersof the Guy's Club, people I see two or three times a year, depending who amongst the clique is expecting or getting married, now it's the Guy's Club, in which I am not invited to anymore, my behavior of late is even too bizaree for their temporary lustful tastes, but I hang around this particular night to watch wanna be players pay to fantasize about getting these 20 something women who outside of this business transaction would look twice at any of these guys. I might be wrong, most of the Guy's Club has money and positions of some degree, money talks in Vegas, right now especially, soon enough, people are either passed out, asleep, or going off the grid with the local talent. Sportcenter is on, Lakers won again, no surprise, I go to the bathroom, piss, look in the mirror and there is glitter on me from one of the girls, like so many other times, whether in nightclubs, from strippers, or out in the streets, final residue. The last recollection till sleep or exhaustion sets in for the night and those on stimulants it never really ends.