Johnny America


Try­ing to For­get Your Girlfriend


11:30 pm: Ar­rive at base­ment show out­side Louisville. The band hasn’t shown up yet. Be­gin to get drunk; rum and Cokes on ice —most­ly rum. Stand in the cor­ner of the kitchen, still wear­ing avi­a­tor sun­glass­es. Try to look cool, put out a vibe.

11:41: Band shows up and be­gins to lug their gear down­stairs. Give nod to the drum­mer, some grungy-look­ing kid wear­ing a pink t‑shirt shirt that says I FOUND BOBBITT’S PENIS. JEALOUS? Feel jeal­ousy for a split-sec­ond, then think about where I can find a shirt that’s as awesome.

12:10 am: No­tice blonde girl look­ing at me from couch in the liv­ing room. Short, curly hair, nose ring, tat­toos on her arms. Rap mu­sic is play­ing as I try to look cool, bounc­ing my head in rhythm with the thump­ing beats.

12:12: Neck be­gins to hurt from the bounc­ing. Start to be­come nau­seous. De­cide to stop.

12:25: Find it weird that the band hasn’t played. Watch the drum­mer with the bitchin’ shirt jump on­to the red couch drunk and scream­ing how he’s go­ing to reen­act the Pas­sion of The Christ. Peo­ple gath­er around, but I snake through the crowd to the din­ing room. I don’t care for Mel Gib­son movies.

1:01: More rap mu­sic as I stand in the cor­ner. The cho­rus is a bar­rage of or­ders to shake my ass and pimp my bitch­es. Shake my ass and pimp my hoes. I think why not, sounds like fun, that I should try to loosen up. I climb on­to the cof­fee ta­ble to shake my ass and find some bitches.

1:03: Shake my ass a lit­tle too hard and get out of con­trol. Fall flat on my back off the cof­fee ta­ble. Peo­ple laugh and point and dump beer on me. Lift my­self up, walk back to the liv­ing room, and plop on the couch. Note to self: pimp­ing bitch­es isn’t for everyone.

1:20: Blonde girl sits down next to me and tells me she saw me danc­ing, says she want­ed to re­mind me I’m white. She asks me if I want to make out and I say I’m not sure, she says okay. She sits back in the couch and cross­es her legs and holds my hand. It feels warm.

1:42: In the base­ment the band fi­nal­ly starts to play. They’re called the Elec­tric Faggots.

1:50: Find out that the Elec­tric Fag­gots suck. Their set doesn’t last very long. One of the band mem­bers drags the passed-out gui­tarist up­stairs next to me and the blonde girl. He pro­ceeds to strip him naked while every­one else in the room writes all over him with red mark­er. The blonde girl writes I SHOOT TOO SOON next to his pe­nis. I laugh. We make out.

2:10: Blonde girl tells me she is ac­tu­al­ly a les­bian, but she’s been with men too. Things feel weird, but we con­tin­ue to make out, drink­ing beers and down­ing shots be­tween kiss­ing and groping.

2:15: The les­bian and I fuck in the up­stairs bath­room. She tells me I’m good and I think of Jane, the girl who just broke up with me be­cause she turned out to be a les­bian. Ask this les­bian if I can call her Jane, and she says she doesn’t mind.

3:02: Sneak back down­stairs while blonde Jane sleeps. Have more beers and shots, then pass out in the cor­ner of the kitchen.

?:?? a.m. (some­one stole my watch): Wake up, sick from the night be­fore, still think­ing about re­al Jane. Re­al­ize there’s red mark­er vis­i­ble along the side of my nose. Some­one has drawn on my face, some­thing aw­ful I’m sure. Fall back to sleep.

Filed under Fiction on January 4th, 2007

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