The following is a fictionlized account of a disastrous lost weekend, as experienced by "a friend of mine". All the names have been changed to protect the innocent and the assholes.
I always feel a little less sane after leaving Poughkeepsie. There's something in the air there that renders whomever lives within its roach-infested boundaries a complete and utter asshole. I lived there for, oh, thirteen years--way too long, needless to say--climbing my way through the city's school system. I go back every now and then to see my best friend and very first hag, one Ms. Karma Sorito. At this point she and her mother, Dharma, are the only family I know. It's been months since I've last seen her, despite talking nearly everyday online or on the phone. Along with our friends Harvey and Tessa, they're the only reasons I bother going back to a town I vowed to destroy once I had the suitable means.
Since April, many a change has occured in Karma's life. Where should I start? One can't rush into something like this, so perhaps I'd better start from the near beginning. Dharma was dating a man, let's just call him Insane. He was a nice guy, at least he appeared to be for the first few months he was living with them. Then, something snapped and Insane had to be taken away to a mental hospital--five times. This last time was the last straw. Dharma had gone into surgery to remove a few melon-sized lumps from her lady area, to stop any spread of cancer. Thankfully, she's ok. But at the time she had come out of surgery, well, she obviously wasn't. And this is the time Insane chose to fuck up badly, by stealing money, stealing Dharma's medication, lying about both instances and just being an all-around ass cunt. He freaked out after being confronted about it. Then the cops came. Then Insane was gone. A very familiar scene in the house of Sorito. While he's locked up--er, seeking counseling for his problems, he continues to contact Dharma, making promises of changing, trying to bribe her with money and sobbing all over the phone and in letters.
Insane's abrupt exit coincides with that of Dick's. Dick and Karma dated for a year, maybe two. But for the last year of their association, Dick lived in Karma's bed. That's what boyfriends and girlfriends do sometimes. OF course, for that last year of their association, Karma and Dick weren't dating. At all. They had broken up and he continued to live with her because "he had no where to go." Karma--please keep up here--had found someone else, Rick, and was dating him clandestinely for the year that Dick camped out in her sheets. Dick found out, yet there was no explosion. But remember this, kids, with an asshole, there's always an explosion. And there is no bigger asshole than Dick. He's the kind that refuses to admit that he's an asshole, while everyone around him knows it but attempts to love him in spite of it. Love can only stand so much, though. Everytime I came up to Poughkeepsie, Dick would ruin my stay with the swirling dark cloud of drama that enveloped him and that house. My love for him dried up like a year ago, but Karma still held on. That was until Dick tried to kill Rick with a golf club. Fast forward to Dick having to move in with his best friend--also one of Karma's best friends--Harvey.
For the first time in a very long time, I came home to Poughkeepsie, to the house I called home, and there was silence. There was peace. There were no grown men crying or punching holes in walls. No screaming about some perceived slight, followed by even more tears. The house was settled. Well, except for that knife Karma found in front of the house. Someone was stabbed, Karma found the weapon,, unaware that it was what it was, and threw it in her garbage. Then a cop showed up alerting her to the prior events, and suggesting that she get tested. Y'know, just in case. Oh, and there may or may not have been a revolver somewhere in Dharma's garden. Other than that, though: peace. So, I arrived late Friday night witht the hope that this weekend would be superfantasticallyawesome. July 4th weekend! Ow! I had already decided on calling into work on Monday, July 3rd and extending my vacation to four days of smokin' and chokin'. It started well.
Karma, Harvey and Dick met me at the train station. Even though they weren't dating anymore, Karma and Dick still tried to remain friends. Awkward. We piled into Karma's car and the next thing I know we're driving to Wappingers (the Wop-Wop) to get some e. We got six pills, three between Karma and I and the other three between Harvey and Dick. We gathered on Harvey's back porch to smoke as the pills kicked in. Topics for discussion came so easily: the weather as our impending doom, Harvey and myself finding some good dick with a job, killing Insane should he ever come back and our testimonies in the subsequent trial. You know, the normal stuff. It was so nice. Talking, smoking, rolling--what was a bad week was melting into a great weekend. At about 2:30, though, Harvey's landlord's disembodied voice commanded us to "take it inside". Fearing that Harvey's mothter would come outside and eat our hearts, we quickly finished hitting the bong and skiddaddled to the nearest bar.
Living in New York, Manahttan especially, gives me a certain vantage point. Some would say it comes off as pompousness, but I just call it, "me being better than you are." Bars and clubs cannot possibly compare to the ones I've visited on my late night crawls through my beloved city. Unless the walls are covered with vomit and the people are shooting up on the pool table, color me unimpressed. So I was already a little cautious about going to this bar, the Winchester. Karma shared my unease because we also just don't like people. They're sort of a waste of time, if you ask me. My fears were realized when we stumbled into the Winchester--little did I know that tacky was a uniform. If I had a dime for every ill-fitting strapless halter top I was forced to be in contact with this weekend, I could have bought those heifers some good taste. Yet, I digress. I tried to keep quiet and not judge anyone. Karma, Harvey and I were watching "Dr. 90210," thinking it odd that this show--of all the programs on TV--would be on in this particular bar. It was the episode with the twins who both wanted to get their asses lifted. Or maybe it was breast lifts. They could have used either, as well as a nose job, so I'm not sure. The three of us were talking when this stringy-haired bitch and her gap-tooth decided to butt in. She walked away shortly after, taking her rats nest hair out of reach of my awaiting claws. By then, I was ready to go. Yet, Harvey and Dick insisted we stay for the Drink. As if this mysterious concoction would make us forget we were in the third circle of hell, but who am I to refuse a free drink? That Sex on the Beach was fabulous, though.
The bar was a slight bump in the road of an otherwise smooth, thoroughly entertaining ride. Karma even brought Harvey and Dick back with us to her house. Dick had been banned by Dharma in an attempt to avoid any gratuitous drama. We were smoking a blunt when she came downstairs. Karma had this brilliant plan to put our hands in front of our faces so she wouldn't see us. Dharma came down and I could see through the corner of my eye that she clearly could see us, then she threw her hands up in the air and went to the kitchen. "Did she see us?" Um...yeah. I mean, we were on e, but we weren't that fucked up and of course she saw Dick sitting on her couch. Karma was volunteered to offer her mom the blunt as a sort of peace offering. Or at least to distract her as we swept Dick under the rug. There was no rug, however, and Karma refused to be the sacrificial lamb. So I volunteered. Dharma was fine with Dick being there--must have been something GOOD in the air that night, cough, cough--just as long as he didn't upset anything or anyone. And surprisingly he didn't. At least not on Friday night.
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