This thought crossed my mind as I sat in the warm Colorado sun, having just finished a bowl of high end commercial, puffing on an aAmerican Spirit, reminiscing on the bad craziness of friday night, and tapping away at my laptop, which is sure to see more strangeness before its tenure with me is through.

My timing at the start of the night had been shot in the ass by many events, namely my distraction and Roomie being called into work on some sort of engineering snafu, and as such, did not make it downtown to debauch at a sleazy ump-dist club with models at a sort of fashion show thrown by a prominent fashion photographer we know, (no worries, apparently he does this a lot).

He's an accomplished artist, and as down to earth and non-pc as I, making him good people. He's done a lot of high-end fashion work, art peices, and also layouts for a prominent adult magazine that features tasteful spreads, unlike the gawdy tactless prurience of such fine rags as Hustler, or Swank.

I walked into the living room to discover Roomie hunched bestially over some cocaine, and after a little bit we agreed to go meet him at one of our local hangouts.

So we caroused on our home turf, and met him at the P.S. Lounge, after swilling some beer at the Goosetown Pub and flirting with some girls.

Both the girls were cute, one's name was Kaitland, who had a certain flash, the other's name was Jenifer, from Michigan, who had a certain subtle flair and a perky nose. Both had decent senses of humor.

I had been cornered on the phone by Shelia earlier in the evening, and knowing she was around so approached this with dignity, discretion, and a certain respect. Shelia showed up at the PS after Roomie had diled her number on his cell, and tossed the phone into my lap. Hanging up would have been juvenile. So I left a message to avoid awkwardness that said I was at the PS, but leaving really soon. Didn't expect to see her. She showed in five minutes.

So, upon return to the Goose, Shelia was in tow with the clique, and to my surprise Jenifer was still waiting there with her fortyish co-worker, ed or ted or some bullshit. Pegged him for a guy who had fucked up in life, cleaned up, and got a decent shot at life bu being a clean, if not sober, chef at a fine restaurant.

My roomates were getting wildly out of hand. Shelia was talkling to the guys and some guy I had punked out earlier in the evening...(he had approached Don like a waterhead with a fork, and I simply turned to Don saying,"Just say the word. That's all I'm saying to you, 'Just Say The Word.', and turned back to him with mirth in my eyes. He he looked dejectedly at the ground and shuffled away. It was a joke, but I don't think he got it- no accounting for insecurities...), when I sidled back up to Jen...

me:"Hey, I just wanted to say 'Hi' and that I wasn't ignoring you or anything."

Jen:"Cool."

me:"Listen, I probably should go hang out with my friends, but I was wondering if I could call you sometime."

Jen:"Yes. Sure. I'd like that."

me:"Is it okay if I get your phone number from madeline?"

Jen:"Yeah"

Madeline is a bartender there who, if she dropped 15-20 would be smoking hot, and is a nice girl who happens to be Jen's roomate. Jen looks good w/o makeup and is low key. I like that.

And thus I dispatched with the awkward 'writing down of the phone numbers' scenario. Everyone always sees that, everyone knows whats up. I hate it. This was much better.

I rejoined my friends to witness a struggle between Don and Roomie, who had been horse-playing all night.

Later, roomie related to me the catalyst of the stuggle:

Roomie(slurring and enthusiastic, eyes turgid with the memory):"The most intimidating thing I ever heard was at the Skyline Bar, two bikers squared off, one fresh out of jail with prison tattoos. They stood toe to toe, and threatened to beat, maim, and finally kill the other, when the fresh out of jail biker lashed out saying,"I'm gonna' beat yer' ass. I'm gonna beat you bloody. I'm gonna knock you unconcious and SUCK YOUR COCK!"...how horrible is that...so intimidating...imagine that...nothing worse than being helpless whil a big, hairy faced biker sucks your cock."

So, apparently he turned to Don spontaneously and bellowed, "I'M GONNA SUCK YOUR COCK!", as evidenced by his incessant salubrious salutation to various members of the clique throughout the night.

Roomie makes me wonder, sometimes.

I arm wrestled Roomie and smacked his fist on the table with a hard, wet, thud, which caused him pain. Don melted off, and was nowhere to be found at 2:05, high time to hunker down somwhere like the beast with two backs.

We searched around, and learned that he had been taken by the police while trying to re-enter the PS Lounge in search of his ex-girlfriend who tends bar there and has a wandering eye for me, hoping to happen upon a conienient lay. She's a pretty girl, nice with some flair, lead singer in a punk band with real platinum blonde hair, and according to Roomie, a loose pussy. She's been around the block, which is all fine and dandy, but on this scale, is not something in which I take part.

Apparently there was a little scene after the police found his empty one hitter.

The scene continued when they tookk his furry, slavic looking hat. He woke up sans shoes, (which they remove from difficult inmates), and no recollection as to how he ended up in the drunk tank.

Roomie and I went home, with Shelia in tow, and she made many phone calls trying to ascertin Don's rel;ease time. (Don is her ex-roomate. Both say nothing happened (Don describing her as asexual). I don't care, really, but following in a friends footsteps, so to speak, has never been my style, and vice-versa. On my part, I've never really thought about it, and I think that guys who know me don't want to follow my act up, for whatever reason...)

After a bit, Shelia came to my bed, and I fucked her well.