At the sound of the blog going off, the time will be Oh-My-God thirty.
I have mixed emotions about days that I go to sleep when the sun is coming up. I don’t mind taking an afternoon or evening nap with the sun still up, and I love to watch the Sunset.
But I hate, I say I hate, Sunrises.
The mixed emotionalism stems from the fact that if I’m climbing into bed and it’s that early morning bluish-grey, then it means that I’ve usually had a good night, which is why I’m climbing into bed at that ungodly hour.
But I still hate going to bed when the sun is telling my biological clock “Wake up, Stupid!”
And last night was no exception.
The dance, which always occurs on Saturday night at A-Kon, was pretty cool. It wasn’t really my style this year, however, as they tended more towards death metal and Goth music and away from techno and trance.
Death metal is okay, and I do like Goth music, but not for dancing. I don’t really dance that well anymore, actually (I used to be a pretty good dancer, thankyouverymuch) but I do enjoy just letting it all go and doing whatever the hell moves I want to techno music.
The best part about raves? Nobody else cares how you look either. I’m thouroughly convinced that if a highly advanced alien race where to view our various forms of dance, they would discover beauty, or at least purpose in all of them. And for the techno style? The beauty would be its hilarity, and the purpose would be in the fact that we all must act like spastic asshats every now and then.
I danced for a few songs, as they did play some techno. I then made a very intriguing discovery. I ain’t gettin’ any younger.
I’m also not in the shape I used to be. At this point in time, I have discovered muscles, joints, and tendons that I never new existed. This discovery has come purely through the shear amount of pain that every fiber in my being is sending towards my central nervous system, as if to say “What the fsck were you thinking, you spastic asshat?!”
So, I only danced for a few songs. Later on, I went outside to cool off (the irony of this statement is only appreciated by those who have lived in the Oklahoma/Texas area in summer), and met some new friends, staff members of the Con.
They were headed up to room 3333 in a few short minutes. This room number soon came to be known as the number of the bottle, and it is more evil than the number of the Beast.
As I have known since the first year I attended A-Kon, many of the Con-Staff members (and others) have their own little party on Saturday nights. My newfound
Keep in mind that this is a high-quality hotel, and many of the rooms are actually suites, so the concept of smashing 50 or so people into a hotel room to get them smashed is not beyond the realm of possibilities. It’s just not that comfortable. Inside of about 8 minutes, I realized why I’m straight. Guys are stinky, ugly individuals, and I sure as hell don’t want one kissing me.
No, this wasn’t a reprise of a previous post, but I did get the chance to observe a couple of fellow male attendees getting altogether too friendly.
That’s okay. A few minutes later, a woman walked into the actual bedroom portion of the suite, where I was hanging out with some people and trying not to choke on my anti-freeze colored beverage (which the bartender would not let me mix, by the way), when a very attractive and alcoholically grinning woman walked in, followed by about 20 guys. I almost said something, something along the lines of “Hey, what’s going on?” Instead, the words “Hehhhhh….” emenated from my mouth, stopped in mid-sentence by the sight of her removing her already skimpy top and bra.
Ahhh. I love how the Universe balances itself out. I’ll store that image away for future reference.
So, I watched the little show for a while (well, okay, maybe the word little isn’t appropriate here), and then hung out with my friends. We attempted to calm the swirling seas of venom in our stomachs by partaking of Pocky, the chocolate covered stick things I told you about in an earlier post.
I’d go into the Pocky-games story, but I’ll save that for a later date when I’m feeling brave and well-rested.
I proceeded to wander around, and found the skyway I mentioned in the last post. The situation remained unchanged, except for a few new faces, including one with a sign I found interesting.
The woman was wearing a set of beads, her shirt, and a sign. The sign read, simply, “I earned my beads, ask me.”
This did not register to me. You’ll forgive my perceived naievity, after all, as I haven’t slept yet (I didn’t have much alcohol, so that does not fit into the equation). The conversation proceeded somewhere along these lines:
Me: You earned your beads?
Her: Yes (Insert smug grin here).
Me: Okay…. (Insert bewildered look here).
Her: Alright, you know Mardi Gras?
Me: Ahhhh…. (Insert look of dawning realization)
{Ed Note: To explain my lack of multi-word sentences, my communication skills are usually the first to go when I’m suffering from sleep deprivation, which is also why I’ll be heavily editing this post later on.}
Me: You really are flashing people?
Her: Yup (Insert her flashing me in the middle of a crowded hallway)
Me: … (Insert stunned silence and smug grin here)
So, to recap, in one word….
Sweeeeeeeet.
Funny, I don’t remember there being this much bewbage last year.
And now, that flat horizontal soft thing known as a bed is calling me to that state of unconcious alpha-wave production known as sleep.
More later when I’m more coherent.
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