Friday Night Report: Nothing to

Friday Night Report: Nothing to report. I did nothing. It was nice.

Saturday Night Report: ModCom cocktails at Jonathan and Trinas fabulously restored Ship of the Desert, then off to Atlas (the new old Muriels) where we were quickly catapulted into the frightening underworld of Straight Nightlife.

Okay, I'll admit it, I did suggest that we do something different, for once we should go someplace we would usually avoid. I was wrong, okay? Horribly, horribly wrong. I've not seen that many unattracive overweight straight girls poured into black sleeveless spandex since... well, last month in Las Vegas. And they were all huddled in a pack on one side of the dance floor, just as they were 4 years ago at their senior prom (probably the happiest memory they have) ... waiting ... for what? The other gender pickin's were mighty slim (wrong word, thin, no - hopeless - yeah, that's it, hopeless.)

Take for example, my ex-husband Frank. Not really my ex-husband (as if!), but Michael and I amused ourselves for 1/2 an hour pretending that this guy across the bar was my ex-husband - c'mon I had to do something to save the evening! "Frank" was clad in a baseball cap, safari shirt, elastowaist-sansabelt Dockers, and running shoes. At one point, I had to remind him of the restraining order "500 feet FRANK!" and that if I saw him near the trailer again tonight, I was gonna call Randy to come over and KICK HIS ASS! While this amused us to no end, "Frank" of course, had no idea that I was actually talking about him, he thought I was really talking about my ex-husband. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer - but probably the cream of the crop in the eyes of the Spandex Club across the dance floor. It was then that I noticed that they were all looking at me with that "You fucking bitch! I saw him first!" look that scared the hell out of us, so we fled to the safety of the Icon Lounge down the street. The only difference between Atlas and Icon was the music ... and they had better looking hookers.

The road goes on forever, and the party never ends. R. E. Keen