Two nights out and a personal challenge.

It had been a jammed up, moving, and good day at work. The boss was on the warpath, but I didn't care. I was enjoying the music that I had blaring (this knob goes to 11), and bouncing around dancing all day. I worked at my own pace, and got more done than I have in three weeks. It felt good, and even the effective "screw you boss lady, I'm doing this my way" that came out of my mouth was happy and fair.

And the beat went on.

With the five o'clock bell I tore off down the road and head home. I was living on fumes and cokes, and a whole lot of adrenaline. Amazing what not sleeping can do when you mix it up with a good mood.

Got home, cleaned up a little bit, and, after reading a bunch of graphic novel loving (Cerebus: Church & State. I highly recommend it), I bid my family adieu, and made great time up the 110, off at 3rd, down and around to 4th, left and to main and parked in the little lot where the homeless people pretend that they work. Locked the car, stared at the police car and ambulance across the street (there was a car accident) and made my way towards the alley that holds the double secret probation entrance to The Smell.

Now, I guess I just had my brain on backwards, but I swore up and down that it was only $3 to get into Club Blip. but somewhere, it turned into $5, and I missed out. This was truly unfortunate because I only had $4.50 to my person. And the door girl wouldn't let me in for the love of $0.50. So I waited outside to see if folks would come out and I could bum a lousy two quarters.

I stood. And I stood. And I stood. And I tried calling around. Nothing. So I went in search of change.

I walked back to my car, and dug around. In the glove compartment, in the little armrest and under the seats. Fifteen cents. Pathetic. I popped the trunk. Nothing. So I did the only thing that a young man in Downtown LA and not sign of an ATM can do at a moment like this. I hit up the panhandlers in the parking lot.

"Excuse me, man. Do you have fifty cents?"

"Nah, man. I don't."

"Thanks. Hey, bro--do you have fifty cents?"

"I wish. I don't get paid until the end of the night...Hey, is that your car down there?"

"Uh, no."

It should be noted that the panhandlers who hang in the parking lot on Main and 3rd pretend to be parking lot attendants and "charge for parking." And from what I've gleaned, do pretty well by it. Or perhaps I'm just being an asshole? Hmmmmmm....

I make my way back towards the The Smell and manage to find Liz and Carlos standing outside smoking a cig and hovering over the spike tape that is left over from some movie that filmed in the alley some time ago.

Liz fronts me the 4 bits to make the final $5, I go in, get my hand stamped and--right as I'm heading towards the caverness inside that is the dance floor--my phone rings. It's Maggie (cruciverbalist), trying to figure out just where the hell we are. And understandably, since The Smell isn't the easiest place to find if you've not been there. I've got three times under my belt, and even then, I forget which one way street to take to hit there.

I talk Maggie to the alley ("No, head towards the guy yelling now. No, the guy. I can see you, cross the street!"), and after a couple of quick hullos, we head in.

It was a fun night, mostly. Maggie and I sat and chatted. Juan and Courney showed up and hung out. Karen (kar3ning) came by for a while, ane we talked poker and other card games (she's going to VEGAS! this weekend).

Then came some dancing. A good bit of dancing. Dancing that made me feel my shin splints come back. I have to wear better shoes when I'm dancing on concrete.

At one point, outside, I co-opted people into an impromptu game of Duck-Duck-Goose, as I was hyper, and folks were standing around smoking, and what else can you do when your friends are standing in a circle talking? I mean, really? But due to the alley's geometry, and where people were, both Liz and Karen managed to tag me. I'm really out of practice with my DDG skills.

After a while, I bid my adieus and wandered back to my car, cruised home blaring the old school rap sounds of Slick Rick and a whole lot of defrost. Home again, and then, after sitting around talking with my mom about travel plans, epiphanies, and dating, I crashed out.

---

And the beat went on.

Today was the most kicked back, half productive day in a while. But then, the boss lady was on vacation. The beauty of this was the creation of a significantly layed back office and--strangely enough--higher office productivity. Hmmmm...I sense a trend.

We closed up quicker than usual today, and everyone was out the door at two minutes to five. I made ridiculously good time up the 405, up the 710, and into Compton, and then home. After some standard online time, and yet more reading, I burned myself out for an hour on the couch.

One should never try and powernap when one is already exhausted. Funny things happen to one's head.

Jumped up, cleaned up some, and made ready for Dave and Drew (snuff_daddy) to arrive. Nine o'clock, and out the door, and off for Underground. Upon arrival, we sat in the car a moment and passed around Dave's flask of Stroh, which is Swedish Rum, and is deadly 81% alcohol. With a warming effect. After we each coughed up a lung from too big-a-swallows (what wonderful stuff), we crossed the street and made our way towards The Tempest.

We were the first three people in the door, and we bypassed Dia and Larry, and went straight for the bar, where Johnny so nicely made us quite happy. Ah, sweet nector of the alcoholi--er, connisuer.

The night was filled with dancing, drinking, dancing, drinking, talking about people and stuff, drinking, hanging out, and drinking. And in between, drinking.

The night ended with a drunken Drew getting hit on (so what else is new), Dave dancing (DAVE!!!), and me bopping around the cocktail party. We gathered up troops, packed in the car, and cranked up The Bloodhound Gang. We dropped Drew's friend Maeve and her boy Robert off at Maeve's place, hit the 101 south, and sang along to "3.14" while exchanging knowing, obnoxious glances.

I got home to an empty house. And yet this house is not quite quiet, and this is not a bad thing. My ears are a'buzz with sound of three days of high treble, and good fun. And a smile is still stuck on my face--And another night out yet to come.

Let's see how long I can keep this dippy grin. And how much wider I can get it.