Chris

It was like the forces lined up. I bought an old, “totaled” Volkswagen Dasher, for 140 bucks. Shortly after a friend of mine who had recently inherited millions of dollars asked me if i’d like to live with him, and spend 50 grand on whatever we please. I was washed up at the time, living in my parents’ basement, and the offer didn’t sound so bad. So in the “wee” hours of the morning i wrote my parents a note that was well written, but in the end declared that i’m off to go spend 50 grand.

Shortly after my arrival at my friends’ house we bought tickets to go to Maui. I did some grocery shopping, but found that it was a pointless task. We mostly ate out, and well. I was stoked. I was getting manic, taking ephedrine, and acting as my friends’ personal trainer. We had a membership at a nice club, and i recall the “ripped fuel” supplement making me a little crazy. Manic depression and ephedrine = fired up guy dancing around the parking lot of the gym, spewing motivational jargon like Anthony Robbins.

I would make pilgrimages North to visit Santa Rosa, where i had gained a reputation of “that manic guy,” but i was still appreciated by some. One night my friend Ludi, and I took a ride from Santa Rosa down through San Fran, freestyle wrapping to beats the whole way. I was driving, not knowing where i was going through South San Fran, while Ludi would steel the rap from me, and I from him. We didn’t hit one club, we just drove, and literally I had no idea where we were heading, but we eventually found the freeway and made it back to his house.

Back in Corte Madera, I recall waking up and saying to myself, “i am going to find myself today.” I walked out of the house and saw a young kid, and said to him, “what’s your name?” He replied, “Chris,” as i slapped him five. I went about my way but but stopped my feet and thought, “I said I want to meet myself today,” so I walked back to him. By this time he was with two other friends. They were all 11 years old.

Before you knew it we were on bikes and riding towards the mall. They wanted go-peds, and I had a bunch of bad checks to write. After a group meeting at the mall, we headed towards the go-ped store. On the way there Chris noticed that there way a synchronicity in the cop cars that we saw on the way to the mall, and on the way back.

After the go-ped store wouldn’t take my check, I told the kids about how we could build our own go-peds. At one point Chris said, “when are we going to cut down a tree?” Back at the housing community we swam, I met one of their mothers, and we barbequed. They all helped out with the clean up, doing their own dishes, etc.

On another night in the city, Ludi, and myself found ourselves at club Liquid. Midway through the night i took a break from the dance floor, and went for a walk down the block in the mission district. I recall some gangster talking about stabbing me. I had an extremely loud shirt on. It was bright red in color, and made of fabric that i haven’t seen much of since. On the way back to the club i ran into Clearance. He is a laid back, down to earth, jive brother, and he hugged me with out knowing me.

About 10 min later Clearance, Ludi and I were off to an “artist only,” underground party. I recall dancing around, and occasionally pushing my manic street preacher charisma borderline too far, claiming to folks, “i’ve only had one hit of pot.” I peaked out with regard to the “artist only” rule of the party, and went into the bathroom, and debated taking off all my clothes, and exiting the party as the “true” artist, making a deeper statement than the dj’s and people projecting film on the walls.

On the way home I had Ludi drop me off in Novato. It was Sun morning, and I felt compelled to attend a charismatic Christian church service. I was drawn to that church cause they would do the good ol’ head bop thing. Where the pastor bop’s the believer’s on the head and they faint, or fall, or something.

Across the street from the church i met a couple Mexicans standing by a pick up truck. I told them about the church, and the activities that take place inside. I believe i told them that I wanted to find out if it was all real, and planned to approach the alter. I then took out my wallet and slammed it on the ground. The contents of my wallet scattered. Cards, papers, etc. The Mexican guys picked up all my “life” documents, and proceeded to escort me to the Church.

I entered the church and found it empty. I found my way to one of the classrooms, and took a seat next to a window with a view. Not too much time passed before I was escorted out of the building. A young man told me that that church is not yet in service.

Back outside the church I found myself trying to make communication w/ crows, and a puppy dog being walked by some guy. I remember believing that the crows were connecting with me, and the guy had to drag his puppy dog like a corpse in order for it to give up on my stare.

I eventually struck conversation with some of the “early” church goers. I forget all what we spoke about, but I remember the younger gentleman telling me, “you better be ready for rapture.” One of the pastors walked by and said he’s off the work.

Later, i found myself in a classroom, eager to answer questions about God, when the door opened and I was asked to step out of the room. I found myself in another room being scolded by the Pastor, and questioned by Police Officers. I spoke about how ADD, OCD, BI-POLAR, etc, are all connected. After some time the pastor “dismissed” the Police, and assigned me to be watched over by a husky member of the congregation.

I remember absorbing the sermon, and agreeing and disagreeing with parts. I recall being very fired up. At the end of the service, my chaperon asked if I want to walk to the front. I recall “the apostle” not giving me the head bop, but the associate pastor coming toward me with his hand out. It seemed like we were chest to chest, swaying back and forth, before I fell. I was given a brochure saying, “now that you are saved…,” when I got up.

After the service I had a meal with some of the youth of the Church, back at their house. I was very tired. One of them was nice enough to drive me to Corte Madera, where I was staying. That night i stayed up staring at the shadows on the wall, watching them move and morph.

The morning after visiting the Apostolic church, and watching the shadows on the wall, i awoke to a knock on the door. Sure enough it was a cop. I was manic and told him so. He told me to show him my medication. I went into the kitchen, and came out with a bottle of tylenol pm, a bottle of kava kava, a bottle of wine, and had an orange balancing on my head. Shortly after I was in cuffs, and remember acting out a part of David Lynch’s, “Fire Walk With Me,” as I sobbed.

At the local “crisis unit” the man who received me was bleeding from his neck-ear area, which i though was odd. After filling out the paper work as if I was Christ, putting the Chris and T, from Thomas, my middle name, close together, I was escorted into a back room and shot up with haldol… tough stuff.

I woke up sometime later in Fairfield. There I was fed risperdal, and did the usual things: impressed the staff with my intellect, and understanding of mental illness, and got entertained by the other clients. One guy came in and when i asked him why he was there, he said, “just for a physical!” I asked him how he got there, and he said by an ambulance. He would go on tangents, and yell out, “I’m getting paid,” over and over, and would claim his stake in life which was that he worked security. In the back yard area he wanted me to act like his cigarette was a joint, and smoke it with him. Another guy in there laughed the whole time I was there. He must have seen or heard something reeeeeally funny.

After my 72 hour hold, I called for my friend Ludi to pick me up. By this time my buddy Yuban had dropped off my stuff, and my my trip to Maui, and spending 50 grand was in the dust. However I wasn’t trippin, I was still Manic, even through all the meds. Ludi allowed me to drive us back to Santa Rosa, and I recall putting a ding into his car as we pulled into the local coffee shop.

To be continued…

another two hospital trips, and more trips to the apostolic church to come, for this episode…

the triangle

Being a starting, 17yr old freshman on a University football team definitely had it’s advantages. For example, some of the seniors would take me out and get me and my friends into the bars. I recall being fed crazy shots by some of my new, older friends. The part of town we would frequent most often was called the triangle.

I don’t remember the name of the bar, but i remember that my friends Shush and Alpo were out with me on one of my triangle adventures. Shush and Alpo were both freshman in college as well. That night we closed the bar down, but didn’t head home after we were kicked out.

About 45 minutes before closing time I recall heading towards the back of the bar to use the bathroom, and noticing a pile of misc. kegs. I checked to see if any of them were full and sure enough some of them were, including a keg of Guinness. I became desperate and filled with anticipation, and wondered how? If there could be a way… I looked up and to my surprise there was a back door next to the kegs. I immediately lifted the keg, and carried it down the back steps into an empty, almost eerie back yard. It was covered in long dry grass, and shared a fence with a bunch of apartments, condos, etc. It was dark, and I walked the keg to the back corner of the fence.

After the bar closed, Shush, Alpo, and I waited for the remainder of the bar employees to vacate the building. Once this happened we drove around the block looking for a way to get into the back area of the bar. We found ourselves defeated at first. Tall locked gates to the right and to the left. Finally one of us scaled a fence and let the other in. Alpo waited in the car. Shush and I found ourselves scaling decks, and fences trying to find the backyard of the bar. Finally, “bingo,” we found the pot of drunken fun at the end of the shadows.

The process of getting this keg back to the street was amazing. I would lift it up to the 2×4 near the top of the fence, and shush, balancing on the beam would hold it in the wedge. Then I would hop the fence, Shush would hand it over to my arms, and I would set it down. We scaled fences, and decks. It took all we had. When we finally got it out to the sidewalk, sure enough a roller was heading up the street. Shush froze claiming that, “they’ll go rite by,” while I bolted into the back yard of the apartments.

Once in the back yard I found a central hallway that also led to where shush was. At the end there was a door with a non-transparent window. I could hear the cops questioning Shush, and I walked up to the window to hear better, and try to get a peek. Sure enough the cops saw my shadow. They begun to question me, so I put on an old lady voice, and shouted some nonsense about not wanting to be involved. They continued to grill me so I retreated back to the back yard of the apartments. They were onto me and I could hear their fast moving footsteps. I tucked myself into the front-left corner of the yard, up against the house. I could see flashlight beams, and finally one went right across my chest. So I smiled, put my hands up and walked out. The cop said, “what? you think this is funny? and punched me in the stomach.

Back at the station we found ourselves handcuffed to benches, while the officers tried calling everyone they could, but nobody would press charges on us. So they kicked us out the back door, by the dumpsters. It was like four in the morning, in San Francisco, and we had no idea where we were. I don’t remember how we made it back to the dorms that night. I’m thinking Alpo got some beauty sleep. As for me and Shush our dream of having our own keg of Guinness was fought for, and almost pulled off.

Foot and Armpit man

Craigslist is a great tool. It is a culture in it of itself. You can buy and sell things, get a job, hire somebody, learn about a community, find a life mate, etc. However, it was the rideshare feature that generated this story.

Right around the second time I was attempting to finish my last college course I scored my first ride using craigslist. It went great. I drove a cute young woman, her sister, and her grandmother from Nor Cal to Seattle. It was the grandmother’s new car with all the bells and whistles of today’s Mercedes’, and they were delighted to have me drive.

In the year that followed I scored about 9 more rides up and down the west coast. Craigslist had become my ticket to ride. It is the cheapest way to travel relatively short distances, and you meet some interesting cats. Riding the greyhound bus is always an experience, but scoring a ride off craigslist is like spinning the “wheel of fish.” You never know if you’re going to ride with a carp, flounder, or a group of guppies.

Just before attempting to finish my last college course for the third time I scored what would be the most notable ride off of craigslist to date. I had scored a couple jobs that involved me driving down to the Bay Area. I worked, visited friends, and had a date to see my niece perform back in Washington State.

After finishing my job I coordinated a ride out of sac. In Sac I visited with friends while I waited for my ride. My conversations with the ride offerer seemed a little off. I believe he told me he was on his way from vegas to portland. He spoke of taking a route that would not go through Sac, but changed his mind, saying that both routes are about the same distance. He then acted surprised when I told him that I was headed to Olympia. This made me a little suspicious because my ad said, “Need ride to Olympia.” He then increased my sense of caution by saying that he’d gladly go four hours out of his way to get me to my sister’s house.

I informed my friends of my uncertainty regarding the ride I scored. They all became a little concerned as well, but sure enough my ride showed up. The driver emerged from the car and looked absolutely harmless. He was relatively short and a little quirky looking. I was relieved that he wasn’t a “red neck” or a gangster.

Once in the cramped, small automobile I found that he was tired. I suggested that I drive and we switched spots before getting on the freeway. I did have a little buzz from the shots and beers I had enjoyed earlier with my friends, but I was ok to drive.

As tired as the driver was we began to chat. It didn’t take me long before I learned that he was a costume designer and that his ex-boyfriend was a ballerina. I let him know that I don’t judge gays, and that I have a couple gay friends in Sac. I also told him that my friends and I act kinda gay when we’re drunk. This intrigued him.

We continued to chat, and about four hours up the highway his hand went to my knee. My body jerked forward as he asked, “just let me know if you want to take a quick release break?” I replied, “a quick release brake?” “No, I’m doing fine,” i replied.

He began to get all “hot and bothered,” and began to squirm in his seat, while rubbing his hands around his mid section. He began to describe his under ware to me and inquired as to what type I had on. In a reluctant tone I replied, “boxers?” He then reached over and begun to dig his finger into the side of my jeans. He was on a boxer investigation, but again I told him I wasn’t into it.

For the next hour or so everything we talked about would lead back to him giving me a blow job, so I stopped talking to him. I stopped for a breath of fresh air, and to purchase a red bull, and when I re-entered the car he noted that my hair was oily. I told him him that I hadn’t had a shower in a couple days. He replied, “that is hot, that is so hot.” He went on to tell me that he’s “a total foot and armpit man.” He even told me a little about how his ex didn’t shower much.

The rest of the trip was pretty mellow. When looking for food he did tell me, “this is a good exit to get on then off.” I was enlightened regarding the gay code. When I finally arrived at my sister’s house I was beat. He said to call him sometime, and that he was going to be working in that town. I crashed and missed my niece perform.

I’m going to a big playhouse tomorrow to see my niece perform… wish me luck.

New Years Eve

It was getting close to New Years eve, and I had recently flown from Seattle to SF to enjoy it with some friends. The plan was to start our night around the Union Square area. Before heading to the square we spent some time pre-gaming at our hotel room(s). I don’t recall much of what we put in our systems, but i’m sure we left the hotel “buzzin’.”

When we got to the square we found it blocked off. The Square was relatively crowded, and there were police officers blocking the entrance(s). We were bummed to find ourselves locked out.

After getting rejected at the gate I began to look for an alternate way into the square. I noticed a path through some bushes, and snuck right through. Immediately after I made it through the bushes an officer walked up to me and asked, “are you staying in, or are you staying out?” I replied, “I’m staying in.” Within a matter of seconds I turned and saw Shush “galloping” through the bushes. However, he got caught, and got me caught too.

I watched an officer grab Shush, and as I was watching a cop “slammed” me in my back. I tried to turn, only to feel another blow to my back. I turned again, same thing. Finally I turned around to watch the cops fist crunch against my face. Within no time I was being beaten by a mob of cops. Someone from the crowd shouted, “don’t do him like Rodney King!” My friends Heanan and Scho, who somehow made it in, tried to help. They were both thrown face down into the cement. I recall Scho oozing blood from his forehead. We were all thrown into the “paddy wagon.”

The paddy wagon was pretty much empty, with the exception of one or two guys. The problem that would help us and haunt us was that the cops were intending to fill it up. Shortly after settling into the pitch black truck I realized that I had a large “Bud” in my pants pocket. This problem took some teamwork to resolve. I turned back to back with Henan and Henan got the bag out of my pocket. He then turned back to back with Scho and Scho pulled the bud out of the bag, and passed it into Henan’s fingers. Then Henan turned his back to me in order for me to squat down and eat the bud out of his fingers.

About another 45 minutes passed by and we still hadn’t left for the station. We had gained a couple new “troops,” and Henan had to pee really bad. He was about to let it go when his vocal tone turned serious and he asked, “Phillips, will you pull it out?” It was reverse of the bud removal process only Henan wasn’t feeding me bud with his fingers, I was struggling to get Henan’s penis into mine. Sure enough he peed on the floor.

Back at the station we went through the usual process, “bend over, squat down, lift up your balls, spread your ass cheeks, cough three times,” etc. We were then placed in a holding tank. I remember one of the inmates looking for a light for the joint that he pulled out the side door of his shoe. The only one not to get bailed out before processing was Henan. After I got bailed out I sat with his mother and reassured her that we had not broken a law. We were all let off with diversions. The law agreed to let us off with our one “get out of jail free pass,” as long as we promised not to file a civil suit. Go Figure.

SF State Football

I was training hard during the Summer of 93. I got a free membership to an “upper class” gym through my uncle. I was 17, weighing 175, and my bench press max was 320. I was very inspired, and would get my cousins, as well as my uncle to hit the gym with me. I recall doing “deep” squats with 315 pounds, three sets of 15. I also remember running stairs. They were outside and connected two streets that were separated by a hill. I would sprint up them and jog down them over and over. Today, walking up once would wear me down.

After a couple months of training in Seattle I headed back to the Bay Area to start football camp for SF State. This would be my first year playing “college” football, and I was only 17 yrs old. Upon arrival at SF state I got in line with the rest of the players. The line was long and extended out of the Student health center. Inside we were treated like meat. The health staff measured us, weighed us, and frivolously examined our bodies. After that we were herded onto a bus. A number of hours later we reached CSU, Stanislaus. It was a California State University located in a “warmer” part of the state.

Our training camp schedule went as follows: breakfast, meeting, practice, weight training, showers, meeting, lunch, practice, showers, dinner, meeting, sleep. It was hard core. However, we got to indulge in a buffet three times a day, and were given an hour of free time before bed.

I excelled in this camp. I was the first freshman to go “heads up” with a senior in a drill. It was before we were supposed to be hitting, but it happened, anyway. He came at me and I didn’t back down. The head coach, who was known to sit back and observe, walked out to me and told me, “good job.”

After a couple weeks I began to get the attention of the seniors. I recall watching the films of one of our practices. The Offensive Coordinator pointed out how my “style” was more affective than one of the team captains’. The 1st string player would often times stop his feet, and “juke” his way around the side. I would put my head down and smash my way through. It wasn’t long before I was second string out of about 7 running backs.

Near the end of camp the running back in front of me got hurt. I was now scheduled to start in our opening day game against St. Mary’s. The coaches were flabbergasted. A 17yr old freshman was going to be their starting running back. There were only a couple other freshman that hadn’t been “red shirted.”

Back at Gator stadium we continued to practice. The week before our 1st game we had a scrimmage. My first carry was a success. It was a “dive,” up the middle, with the fullback lead blocking. I gained about 8 yards. However, my second carry didn’t go as well. It was a sweep around the left side. I exploded off the line, and carried the ball around the corner. I quickly gained about 6 yards. All that stood between me and the End Zone was a corner back. I decided to fake to the left and go right. My attempt failed. When I planted my foot to fake my ACL tore, and I fell to the ground. I was in a lot of pain.

Back in the medical “hut” the doctor examined my knee. The head coach was with me. When my coach asked for a status report, the doc shook his head. That meant I was out for the season. Later the head coach shed tears, and yelled at the rest of the team for not being as committed as me. I never saw it, but I guess news regarding my injury reached the SF paper. “Promising young running back from Novato, out for the season.”

Highway 1

I spent the second half of my 5th manic episode at Andrew and Wills’ house in Santa Rosa, CA. Their living/working quarters were part home, part recording studio. The place was always a mess, and my bed was a couch in the dingy garage.

I’ll never forget the state of the room that Andrew slept in. There were random art projects scattered about, some on the walls, some on the floor. His bed was a small futon. A flashing yellow road sign intermittently lit the room, and the room was partially flooded. However, he managed an event center, and I don’t recall him ever missing work. Sometimes he would share his Red Dog beer with me when he returned home from work.

People would come and go, some for business, some for pleasure. Several nights a week we would stay up late drinking, smoking, and playing music. I was manic and liked the setup. Andrew would get a little annoyed with Jesus related talk. One day I tried to make him loosen up by playing guitar and freestyling homosexual related lyrics to him. It didn’t help the matter. He was an extreme atheist, and I was a manic street preacher. Nevertheless, we managed to get along.

One night Andrew and I got the impulse to drive out to the beach. We wanted to play guitars around a fire. On the way out of the house Andrew grabbed some old acid that he had in the freezer. We made a pit stop on the way to the coast and acquired some free news papers to get the fire started with. At this point we dropped some acid, as well and a mixture of psych pills I happened to have on me.

By the time we got to the coast I was starting to feel the effects, and Andrew was passed out. The anti-psychotic that I still take to this day was strong enough to knock out a person on LSD. Impulsively I headed south on highway 1 for San Francisco. At that time in my life I was driving a nice mazda RX-7, and the cliffs and curvy roads sounded like a good time. It seemed like I was peeling out for an hour and a half straight.

Once in the city I gravitated to the Mission Dist. Andrew was still asleep. I woke him up and we headed for the BART station. By this time it was light out. We then hopped the toll gates and got onto the train to Oakland. Under the bay I used the BART like a surf board, standing in the door wells, crouched, and with my arms out. Andy sat and was drawing the scene in his sketch book. We took a short walk around Oakland and returned to SF. Somehow we make it back to Santa Rosa later that day.

The end of EBP

EBP, my 10th grade clan, broke up abruptly. On the last day of the year Nob’s mother, our main buyer, purchased us a keg of Lowenbrau. I think that was the only keg we scored that year. We usually ended up with “party balls.” Anyway, a few of us stayed up that night trying to put a dent in the keg. The rest of the troops were scheduled to trickle in the next day.

The next morning we were wasted and friends started to trickle in. We had to make a Safeway run in order to get cups. On our way out of Safeway one of the employees shouted, “you forgot your keys.” I turned to watch him toss them on to the floor, down the aisle, and into my hands. I gladly accepted them.

In the parking lot I searched for the Ford automobile. One of the keys said Festiva and there weren’t many cars in the lot. Within no time I was racing around the parking lot. I don’t think I even had a drivers permit at this time. After I got my fix I parked the car and left the keys on the dash. That would be my one and only official joy ride.

Back at the house the drink was back on. We drank and drank and drank. It was still early in the morning. It was before noon, and not even the whole tribe had shown up, before I passed out face down in the back yard.

Shortly after I woke up I had to go pee. I did my business and then looked in the mirror. My eyebrow was gone. Somebody had also gotten to one of my armpits. My shock turned to rage. I went on a man hunt. I was throwing blows right and left. “Who did it,” i yelled. Finally Henan fessed up. Turns out it was He and Scho’s older brother. Scho’s older brother had left the party so all my rage was focused on Henan. We wrestled around and eventually smashed into a large glass window. At some point someone tried to knock me out with a large piece of wood by hitting me on the head from behind. Finally, the fight was broken up.

I ended up in a bedroom, laying on a bed. I was balling and one of my friends was trying to counsel me. Nob’s mom walked in, accompanied by Nob and some other members of the clan. She told me to chill out and I called her a bitch. Nob then jumped through the air an landed a good one on me. At that point my mother was called to pick me up. Soon after that I was escorted out of the house by my mom. I cried and yelled at my friends.

Back at home I dropped like a rock. When I awoke it was night time and everybody was asleep. My rage kicked back in. I grabbed an ax handle, my mom’s keys, and pushed my mom’s car part way down the street. Once I was far enough away from my parents ears I started up the car and b-lined it straight back to Nob’s house. Luckily my sister saw me from the other side of the street on her way home.

Back at Nob’s I searched for a way into the house. I got into the back yard and tried to open the sliding glass door. I was having no luck, or “good” luck I could say, when my dad showed up. He found me laying in the side yard of Nob’s house with an ax handle in my hand.

Yes, EBP broke up that day. I was the leader, and what turned out to be the glue. Some of the guys started a new gang, some stayed friends with me, and in the following year I was absorbed into a new group as well. The black eye went away, the armpit hair grew back, and I eventually appreciated the lack of eyebrow. I recall going golfing with a snazzy, blue-curled, drawn on eyebrow, later that month…

Justice League

One night, during my third manic episode, I found myself in Marin. I forget whose house I was at, but who ever it was they had to go to bed. It was a week night and I was itching to get into something exciting. I decided to call my friend Tom. When he answered I asked him if he wanted to go to “the city” with me and find the place to be. He told me he was down.

I picked him up and we we went strait to a club called Liquid. I knew it to be a hot spot; even on weekday nights. When we got to the scene it turned out to be pretty happening. We danced and mingled for a while, however i wasn’t fully satisfied. I wanted to find the “place” to be.

Eventually, I went out for a breath of fresh air and a breath of smoke. I walked up to the corner and back. On my way back I became drawn to a Latino man standing by the curb. Like a meeting channeled by the Gods I walked up to him and said, “where do I need to be?” He stared up and out to the stars and said, “Man, you need to go to Justice League.” I got the cross streets and Tom and I were off.

In front of Justice League was a mob. As I led us up to it the “sea of people” parted. It was like they didn’t even see me coming or notice us passing by them. They were all preoccupied with their cigarettes and conversations, but they moved. I walked straight through the mob and into the building.

Inside I was absolutely amazed. The venue was unique and there was a public enemy style of band on stage. I remember there was a large circle in front of the stage with people break dancing in the middle. Their moves were current and amazing. Then I realized that Tom wasn’t with me. I walked around and searched for him around the bar. No Tom. I then walked outside and found him squatting up against the wall of the building. I said to him, “aren’t you coming in?” He replied, “it’s passes only.” For a moment I felt the fear of not being able to get back in. Then the felling of the “channel” took back over. I told Tom, “If he asks again tell him I’m your pass.” We walked right in with no questions asked.

I led Tom to the dance circle. The circle was crowded, yet we had a few feet of space around us. It was like we were packing a force field. I got my fix on the “breakers” and went off to take a leak. When I went to exit the restroom I noticed the backstage door. I walked right in and sat down with the artists. Immediately a joint was passed to me. Tom peeked his head in the door, I said he’s my friend, and the joint was passed to him. We closed down the club, backstage. The force was definitely with me that night.

Wrong Number

I believe It was the fall of 99 when my friend Henan moved into my parents’ basement with me. The basement was acting as a temporary retreat for me after having another semester of school destroyed by another manic episode. It didn’t seem like Henan was living with me very long before a young woman called the house and had the “wrong number.’

I was in the basement totally zoned into a documentary on the history of the church when Henan came running down the stairs eager to tell me some news. It turned out that some young woman called my parents house and had the wrong number. Henan went on to tell me about how he gave her “the run around,” acting like he knew her, etc. She played into it, suggesting that they meet at a bar in Belltown.

I was somewhat entertained by his excitement, but when he asked me to accompany him to Belltown I declined. I was really into the documentary. After being begged for a while I put a tape into the VCR, pressed record, and we were off.

We ended up at some “yuppie” style bar that was new to us. We ordered a couple drinks and waited with anticipation. Sure enough, about 15min later a young woman walked in by herself. At first she walked by and said nothing. Then she walked back and asked, “are one of you guys Henan?” Henan replied yes and she requested that he come to her. She then asked him if he’s good in bed and he said yes. She replied, “let’s go.” He then informed her that I was with him. She told him to bring me along and that she had a friend at her place.

We entered the apartment and began to talk. It turned out that the host was training to be a tattoo artist, and was also a pot dealer. Her guest seemed kinda like a punker, and I don’t really remember her story. After mingling for a little while the host suggested that her friend and i go out and grab some beer.

During our “beer run,” the punker chick and I talked, and stopped at a bar before heading back to the apartment. At the bar we sipped on a couple drinks and did a little making out. I remember crawling across the pool table, kissing her, and spewing some sort of sexual “smack” talk. She basically told me she was down to fuck. Then she got a page from the tattoo chick.

On the way back to the apartment the punk chick informed me that her friend had to do a drug deal, and that I should wait across the street where Henan and I met the friend. She told me that Henan was there and that she and her friend would come and get us after they were done. She then asked me to give her my beer so she could put it in the fridge to keep it cool. Big mistake.

Henan and I waited and waited. As much as an hour passed. We’d been ditched. We were both pissed, but i had a very specific sort of anger welling up inside me. I thought to myself, “that little cunt stole my beer.”

We walked back across the street to get the beer back, but the gate was locked. We decided to wait for someone else to enter, and follow them in. Sure enough some people entered the building and we sneaked in behind them.

When we got to her door we the first thing we did is gave a simple knock. No Answer. So we knocked again, and again. Finally, she replied, “whose there?” When we told her it was us she yelled at us and said, “face it, you’ve been had!” I yelled back, “I just want my beer!” She yelled back, “I don’t have your beer!” After some more yelling back and forth and banging on the door she let us in.

Inside the entry way the yelling continued. She seemed to be alone. I told her again, “I just want my beer.” She told me again that she didn’t have it, but I could clearly see one of my beers on her kitchen counter. I then told her, “bullshit. that’s one of my beers right there.” I then took a step forward. I was going to walk into her kitchen and look in the fridge.

She then grabbed the beer bottle from off counter, and lifted it up above her head like she was going to strike me. Reflexively, i punched her in the face. She dropped to a squatting position, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. I then gave her a couple light kicks to the body. At this point she was screaming for help.  I gave a quick look for the beer, then bolted. We stormed out her door.  We were disoriented and had forgotten where we had entered the building. We ran out the first pair of doors we saw, which happened to be a fire exit. The building lit up with lights and loud sounds as we ran to the car.

I don’t think I ever finished watching that documentary.

Mert

About three quarters into my stay in Bellingham I got word that there was going to be a “hippie-rave” style get together in the coastal hills of Sonoma County. My good friend and I decided we’d attend. After all, we needed a break from our shanty living situation. He opted to fly, and I opted to go Greyhound.

At the terminal in San Francisco I waited a couple hours for my friends to pick me up. I browsed the area a little, had a smoke, and returned to the terminal to sit and wait. I sat with nothing to do, and quickly became bored.

A short amount of time passed before I noticed an elderly man looking at me. I thought nothing of it, and went back to spacing out, and thinking about the night ahead of me. A few minutes later I noticed him looking at me again. The next thing I knew he got up and sat right next to me.

He introduced him self as Mert, and told me he was 90. He said, “look, I have no teeth,” and removed a crescent piece of chewed up-filler paper from his gums. Then he showed me his ID card. Sure enough he was 90.

He began to tell me about his life. I was fine with it. I’m the type of person who enjoys conversation with all kinds of people. After listening to for a while he told me that I have a good looking face, but he phrased it in a non shalant manor. However, a few minuets later he said it again. At that point the light on the situation turned rainbow in color.

He went on to compliment all parts of my body and told me a story about taking a Taxi, and how his first Gay experience was with the driver. He told me how in recent years he had paid to give oral in the Castro dist. of San Francisco. Then he propositioned me. He asked me if I would go to the men’s room and allow him to suck my nipples. Most people would have gotten up and left, but the voyeur in me wanted to stay. i simply told him, “hey now Mert. I don’t go that way.”

He continued to bathe me in his gayness, telling stories, sizing me up, and re-propositioning the nipple offer. At times his gayness would peak out and he would say, “aye yay yay yay yay,” but the true peak of his words were yet to be experienced. He finally let it all out when he told me that he wanted to put me face up against a wall, while i “totally” let go, and suck my butt hole.

My friends finally arrived and Mert tried to give me his info. I introduced my friends to him and we went on our way. I’ve got to admit that Mert made my wait seem a lot shorter.