After Party

After the Mykki Blanco show (2 mosh pits, broken cinder blocks, honey) People wondered about an after party. “My house” I said. “I don’t want to go to any 15-person straight-person soiree” Mykki responded.

There were 50 some people. A DJ showed up. Fonzi and I complained about the burning-man style music and I asked the DJ to play something “less chill.” Kitty Crimes, Mykki and I huddled in Noah’s room. 

Benji and I did an impromptu Party Girl performance. I kept being surprised by new guests,  but enjoyed having them around. Peace and love.

Mykki Blanco is so smart, such a good conversationalist. We talked about upcoming plans with a little intersectional feminism thrown in as I chauffeured hotel-ward at 2am.

The party was still dying down when I went to bed at 4am. When I got up the next morning the whole house was clean.


Noah and I were talking about how we have both recently thought about accessorizing with crowns. I’m not much into jewelry, except for the thin silver bracelet Noah and I share, which bears our grandmother’s initials. Noah has a barbed wire bracelet and said the next step was to wear a wreath. I would even wear a big a prototypical king-style crown.  “Like your spirit animal.” Noah said, referencing a dream I had a few years ago. Then: “Ha ha, you have a spirit animal.” But Noah also had a spirit creature dream – that long-neck deer-dog. In both of our dreams we realized we shared a mind with the animals so…

“I look threatening enough to go to Whole Foods and get ingredients for raspberry smoothies.” We went to Whole Foods to get ingredients for raspberry smoothies. Clouds were hovering above the Sangre de Cristos and the gray day made the weeds in our yard look extra green. We talked about how nice it would be to drink cold raspberry smoothies on the chilly day and go hiking with Dion. Noah texted Dion, who said he would like to go hiking with us next weekend.

We made our smoothies, along with veggie sausage sandwiches, and watched anime. Xtian and MC came home from Arizona. We all hugged on the porch and talked about our weekends, then went to the show at Caldera. Crocket debuted “Snake Chama,” followed by Keyboard, and “Diesel Dudes” who all rocked underwear and rocked out. Drums fell, people wrestled, the band did push ups and Patrick Tabor swung a chain. A mosh pit broke out in the tiny adobe venue.

Outside we talked about “BYOF” parties, where everyone brings an amp, mic, and earplugs. All anyone can hear outside is feedback.

“Oh no, a bunch of feedbackers just moved into the neighborhood.”

“Except feedbackers feed people, cookies to the neighbors mid noise-complaint, pavlov’s dog type stuff.”

We segued into my favorite conceptual band: Party Girl. We’re gonna need a grant for all the personal trampolines.

At 1:30am, as Noah and I were eating ramen topped with curry and I received a stream of Party Girl lyrics from Benji via facebook messenger:

“Elbow grease- Bathroom tanning- Frequent flier- Bath salts—-
romantic comedy- oldtimer- milquetoast- back to school—–
hair removal- let’s do this- par value- couch potato—-
better late than never- gheri curls- cyber monday-golden boy——
cold blooded- ATM- To be honest- Jet Lag—–
good eatin- no filter- proper pronouns- fender bender—–
pale blog- home shopping- impact driver- side effect —–
non fiction- sandpaper- lab rat- little rascal——-
election year- semigloss – spare change- intelligent dance music——
Auto save- my hands are tied–reverse mortgage- hand crafted——-
a little off the top- learning curve- uncanny valley- Book club——
green card- wiggle room- same page- high maintenance – —-
luke warm- cruise control- rewards program- fire wall——
home brewed- Mac Mini- house party- first time for everything-
H.D.M.I.- Lord knows- La CROIX- Two to Tango——-
Caught dead- Whole nine yards- Triple Threat- Party Girl-
Party Girl-
Party Girl
Party Girl.”



Some Saturdays

Some Saturdays ago I stayed up until 5 talking with John. It was me doing dream inventory and John being critical and a good listener. I drew the bomb on the chalkboard and talked about accepting death, he said: “It’s the next thing.” When death is the next thing that’s the tautological truth. I had work the next day but was typically and recklessly happy to lose one sane state of mind for another imbued with the chemicals of friendship.


I was to DJ with Dirt Girl and Snarls at Dick Village (Skylight). The wafts of cologne and top forty drugged us to that dance floor. By the time I was playing my conceptual set of bird calls (a metaphor for gender roles) someone was stabbed on the dance floor and we had to evacuate.

We peed at the Meow Wolf space and waited for John to return and unlock the door to the Rat Bag. Benji and I jumped on the trampoline. Because I am an older sibling I cannot stop myself from bouncing other people higher.

While leaping we wrote Party Girl lyrics, pretending we had access to the alcohol that was locked inside, and pretending our band was more than a concept. We puked on the trampoline and from its plastic-mesh filter withdrew a tray of sparkling cocktails.