Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Chat With My Buddy Bill

Lisa: UGH! How much is appropriate to reveal on a blog? Too much and I can't take it back. Too little and it seems pointless. I've painted myself into a corner!
I can't talk about K's job stuff. Can't talk about L's health/illness. I don't want to talk about my own crazy "issues" bullshit.

Bill: don't hurt anyone

Lisa: No, of course not. I just can't seem to notice or think about anything else lately, you know? Nothing funny or ironic or blogworthy in the slightest. My blog is suffering! I haven't been able to post anything!

Bill: writers block
Bill: i've heard of that
Bill: there's always bathroom humor

Lisa: Okay. Say something funny.
Lisa: On second thought…
Lisa: What's something interesting that's happened to you recently?

Bill: seeing plastic surgery live at the supperclub last weekend

Lisa: Hmmm. Yes. This can work. I'll add you as a blog dialogue character...
Lisa: So, what’s this now? You saw plastic surgery performed live?

Bill: yup - doc was having dinner with the rest of us on our beds - the DJ was playing club music - the transvestites and others were running around playing, and the doc came out on the floor in the spotlight, like something out of Rocky Horror Pic Show and performed facial botox on the transvestite and this other woman who worked there... numbing and needles and grimacing and all that

Lisa: Beds?

Bill: the place is a big bed around the outside
Bill: huge comfy pillows
Bill: people come around and give massages during dinner
Bill: you don't order
Bill: u come and it’s all a surprise
Bill: the food, the entertainment
Bill: eat from 7:30 - 10:30 - then turns into more of a club
Bill: altho music and clubby the whole time
Bill: there is one in SF, and two others i guess in Rome and Berlin
Bill: restaurant (excellent food!), club, theatre, massages, beds...
Bill: u just turn urself over to the whole thing and let them take care of it
Bill: was almost a $1000 for 4
Bill: kept ordering Veuve Cliquot champange
Bill: first time i ever got drunk off champagne i believe

Lisa: Huh. And facial Botox was part of the entertainment?

Bill: yup!
Bill: one woman was handcuffed to someone else and went around handcuffing others
Bill: and the bathroom has all these wall cuff things...

Lisa: We live very different lives, you and I.

Bill: you'd love this place
Bill: fascinating
Bill: u can sit back and take it all in

Lisa: Yes, it does sound fascinating...
Lisa: Okay. Got anything else to add to your story?

Bill: well, there was a separate room with about the equivalent of 4 king beds and pillows - and a DJ - like a bounce house for drunk adults
Bill: take off your shoes and dance on the beds - whole room was really just the beds...
Bill: everybody likes to bounce on beds =)

Lisa: What's a bounce house?

Bill: blow up thing for kids bday parties?

Lisa: OH! We call that a Jumping Thing & rent them for Labor Day block parties.

Bill: now u know what they are officially called

Lisa: But we just drink and bounce, no dancing. This is the midwest, after all.

Bill: yep, been there
Bill: oh and one guy was dressed like the blond object of passion from rocky horror - seemed like to me - he had short shorts - told him he had a great ass - i think it freaked out the other guy we were with

Lisa: Nice of you to notice & to comment. I’m sure he appreciated it.

Bill: well, he did have a great ass...

Lisa: And I can put all of this on my blog?

Bill: the supperclub???? i don’t care…

Lisa: Yes, please. I'd like to.

Bill: it’s just a random story - what's the point?

Lisa: For my writer’s block? That’s why I was asking you, remember? Sometimes I think you aren't paying very close attention. =)


Aunt Allyson said...

Well now.... thanks for the entry. Interesting. I have not heard of this but I have heard of other wild things to do in our fair city by the bay.
I am curious what L & E will think of this?
Very cool of Bill to be okay with you posting this.

David said...

Writer's block is a curse. It's a toxic curse that I wish I can put into a hermetically sealed jar, dig a hole to the center of the earth, to the red-hot liquid core and drop the jar in. Or send it out to the vacuum of space and watch it die, slowly of course; a long, slow and yes painful death in the cold depth of space.

There are days when I write in my story I'm working on...and the thoughts and words flow like magic. I don't even have to think. And I care deeply about what I write. It's a carnival ride on my thoughts and ideas. The pen can't keep up...come on pen, write faster, damn you. The thoughts are not mine; they're placed there by someone else and I'm just regurgitating them This is Rock'n Roller Coaster. Yippee!!!

Then there are days when I pick up the pen and the notebook, and they are both objects I don't recognize; strange, foreign objects, dead in my hands. And no thoughts come, nothing. Brain dead. And there are other times when the thoughts come, but you know, I don't give a flying shit about what I'm writing and I'll curse to hell anyone who does. It's useless drivel and I hate it. I'll burn the notebook. That'll be more fun. More productive. I'll cook dinner over the flame and piss on it to put it out. Watch the dying embers of useless thoughts.

I hate writer's block.

Shelby's Mum said...

Yes, but you write beautifully about writer's block.

Lexi said...

Champagne, jumping on beds, turning all food/entertainment decisions over to someone else??? I smell a PBG road trip in our future.