21 March 2004

Jake and I went out to a bar last night to see one of his friends, who was a DJ there. We didn't really have any particular agenda. The main point was so that Jake could show his friend that, indeed, I am a real person. Evidently, there's been much talk about me in Jakey's little circles of friends, and Jakey has the unfortunate attribute of believing I'm perfect, or some shit like that. So, the friends think I'm some sort of myth. Literally.

So, we went out to this bar in Tumwater. As soon as I stepped indoors, I wanted to leave. I wanted to sit in the parking lot outside and shiver. Anything -- anything -- but this shit...

First of all, the place smelled like years' worth of spilled beer.

Second, the music was up SO loud that, standing next to each other, Jake and I were forced to pass notes.

Third, there was a dance floor, and everybody on that dance floor looked exactly alike. And they all looked like people I'd gone to high school with. They were wearing the "Preppy's Night Out" outfits. All the girls had huge asses, and all the boys had horrible rhythm on the dance floor. They were grinning and drinking beers. A few of them were grinding on each other. I think a couple of times the grinding couples swapped partners, but it was difficult to tell, since they REALLY all looked alike.

Mini-yuppies.

It was fucking scary.

Yeah, I would have rather stayed outside and shivered in the parking lot.

I cannot wholly explain the feeling of anxiety I had in that place. It reminded me of high school. It reminded me of being the only one who couldn't dance. It reminded me of being the only one who didn't understand why people wanted to go to that crappy homecoming shit when they COULD be at a coffeehouse with a journal. Those nice, uniform mini-yuppies reminded me that I'm the fucking weird one. That I'm a goddamned freak. I've known that all my life -- that I'm not really part of any crowd, that I can't be even if I wanted to -- and sometimes, it's comforting. But, in high school, as it is in loud bars and clubs, it's ugly and I feel fearful.

I mean, that's NOT my turf...

I amused myself by scribbling notes to Jake in the back of an ATM receipt. I wrote: "Welcome to Canada." He got the joke. I felt less alone in my freakish little world. I sometimes wonder if Jake might secretly be one of those "cool" people. He's a good dancer, and he smokes like a movie star, and he much prefers stupid comedy movies and throw-away pop bands to MY freaky movies and music. This notion has sometimes struck fear into my heart. Not so much because I'm afraid he'll notice I'm a freak and dump my ass for a "cool" girl. It's more along the lines of a fear for his immortal soul. You know, every Linkin Park song you hear rots another brain cell, and buying their albums pretty much denies you the right to go to heaven. And I LIKE Jake. I don't want that to happen to him.

I secretly cheer when Jake enjoys something non-mainstream. I damn near cried when I caught him watching a few minutes of "Fire Walk With Me" a few days ago. It was so wonderful.

Anyway...

I managed to sit in this bar and not freak out.

...And then they started doing karaoke.

Cripes. Fucking hell, I hate karaoke. I mean, it's cool when it's good, but when somebody messes up the words or gets nervous, I get nervous too. And I hate that. I think nervous people should be banned from ever doing karaoke.

The first guy was okay. He sang Pearl Jam's "Jeremy." I couldn't help but think of Chris, gnashing his teeth and flailing around in his seat at the Belmar, singing that song. He would have kicked the shit out of this guy. This guy just couldn't do the high notes.

Then, some jackass fucked up all words to AC/DC's "Back in Black." I was unaware that mini-yuppies knew that song.

Then, a girl with a significant ass did "Baby Got Back." Jake and I sang along: "L.A. face with the Hoquiam booty..." I was recently informed that Sir-Mix-A-Lot is actually saying "L.A. face with the OAKLAND booty," but I have been to Hoquiam, Washington -- where the center of town IS the McDonald's -- and believe me, it would make perfect sense.

And then... Then this girl sang "Stay (I Missed You)" by Lisa Loeb.

...And all her little mini-yuppie friends went wild.

And I started to think about the year that song came out, and what I was doing all of the millions of times it got played on the radio.

I remember sitting in my room, with its fungus-orange carpet, writing stupid love letters to Aaron, who had already stated, straight out, that he hated me and thought I was a freak. (Although, believe me, he wasn't one to talk...) I remember trying to learn to cast spells with my best friend Jayden. I remember Centenary Street -- the church on Cenenary Street, where, every afternoon in the summer of 1994, I danced clumsily in the basement and mooned over the piano player. We were rehearsing for a production of "The Wizard of Oz," but I don't remember those parts, really. I'm told it was a terible show, and I shouldn't put it on any résumés or anything. I really only remember having friends for the first time in my life. I associate friends with the smell of mildew and old stone, and with rancid A.A. coffee.

I remember being in love with damn near everybody I saw.

I remember being traumatized by each and every person I decided to love. Sometimes they moved away. Sometimes they got together with cute girls, or cool girls, and never gave me a second glance. Sometimes they were gay and fell in love with each other. Dammit.

I remember that on boring weekends, I listened to Casey's Top 40 and wrote down the title of every single song. Lisa Loeb was number one for like, 10 weeks or something. She broke sales records, and she didn't even have a real album out, just that one song.

Jayden wrote out the lyrics, and then typed them up on her word processor, and sent them to me in the mail. She said it was "her song," because she identified with it so much. She would slap me if she knew I was telling everybody this, but it's true.

Gahd knows, EVERYBODY thought that song was about them.

Including the mini-yuppies. They were loving this song.

And it occurred to me for the first time that night that these people weren't my enemies. That maybe even those old high school tormentors, the cool kids, aren't really so bad. So they're "normal." So what? What the fuck NORMAL people ever did anything exciting in this world!? I may not have the upper hand in a club, since I sure as hell can't dance or drink anybody under the table, but I do have the upper hand as far as having a life of a decent quality.

And anyway... these mini-yuppies, all of whom looked exactly the same, were my peers. They weren't LIKE me, and I wasn't like them, but there WAS something we had in common. It wasn't just the Lisa Loeb song. It was a little tiny culture that we made for ourselves. Or maybe that somebody made for us. Every single person in that club was within three years of my age, and every single person knew that song. We had all been in high school in 1994, and we'd all been moping about some cute person. I realized: this doesn't matter now -- not yet. But maybe this is the sort of thing that matters to old people. This is why old people get together and listen to stupid old music. It makes them feel like they've got something in common.

For as much as I like that song, it is pretty damned stupid.

~Helena*