So the other day. It's Friday and I'm at the bar with my friends, and we're talking about what we're planning on doing on Saturday. I, for one, am planning to go to Soul Power, which takes place in a speakeasy and a DJ plays old 45s of soul and surf music from the 60s and go-go dancers shimmy around under red lights. It's very, very nice.
A friend says, I'm going to DGAF to hang out with our friend Molly.
"You're doing Molly at DGAF tomorrow?"
"Yeah, it's the black light party."
I think of a few seconds.
"I'm going to that."
Not really a bright idea, though. I've been to DGAF, which means Don't Give A Fuck, many times before and I determined that I hate it there.
In short, DGAF is fluorescent, smoky, slippery lazer light orgy for the 18-21 set. It's where you go if you're in college, that much is for sure. It's where you go if you want to wear fishnets and underwear, if you have dyed pink hair and facial piercings, if you want a boy with fist-sized gauges in his ear to literally spit his saliva into your mouth, and if you like guzzling 'Gansett and paying cover to do so, and if you want to make out with people so a photographer will capture it, and if you like heavy bass.
In theory, DGAF should be a good time. I've tried with good intentions to have fun. The thing is, it never ends up happening. I can't get drunk enough to let down my guard. I get freaked out when the girls with their tattooed arms and belly shirts turn into little animals. The music is a trip to listen to, but it makes me want to sit on a couch and feel the vibrations rather than swing my arms around and rock my head forward. I also feel old. No one I know (other than my randomly dedicated mid-20s male friends) goes there. I drink slowly and sit, or walk around, or go to the patio, watch the freak show, feel gross, feel lame. To me it seems like DGAF is a form of aggression therapy + a voyeuristic photo shoot. It's a release for some, no doubt. But I have no desire to cut loose like that.
REGARDLESS, I went anyway. Why? The only reasons were: it was black light themed and I had access to Molly, MDMA, pure ecstasy. The thought of the two was super appealing. I'd been to blackout parties before and I've done Molly before, never together. Recipe for a slutty, trippy good time.
I put on a black outfit, grabbed a yellow highlighter and went to meet up with my friends. I met up and they had bags of glow sticks, light up spiked bracelets, blinky things, etc. I asked someone to draw an anchor on my chest with the highlighter. We swallowed the capsules of Molly. We drank water, we waited a few minutes. We decided to head to the club.
After a totally unnecessary reckless car ride, I got out of the car sweating, burping bubbles of air and feeling what must be pure poison reacting in my belly. I felt like I had swallowed vinegar and baking soda. I felt very queasy. As we're walking, I tried to stay quiet but was forced to take a detour and slip into a parking lot with my boyfriend, who was chewing a flavored toothpick. He was consoling me, giving me escape options, being a real peach. I hurled, it it burned and it didn't relieve me. I got more nauseous. I hurled again. As I rose up, I felt my eyelids stiff and my neck rigid and my ears popped and my mind kind of felt like the low end of the radio dial. I started to talk out my feelings to my boyfriend and I could only smell the REPULSIVE sickly mint that oozed from his toothpick.
His eyes were as big as saucers and his was gnawing steadily on this toothpick and his face was lit up. I could tell he's been hit by the roll and so have I. I felt fine now. So we entered the club.
Typical colors smashing against each other swirling lights and WOMP WOMP WOMP music. I felt stomach reactions again. I went to the bathroom. I tried to steady myself but I felt like I was stuck in sound waves and every vibration shook me up. I puked a little more. I leaned against the stall. I though, "This always happens to me." I got up and toward the mirror and I was standing among girls who were glittery, torn up, Spandexed, fishnetted. I was wearing a black miniskirt from H&M and loose black tshirt.
The night consisted of me couching it, sipping water, being simply dazzled by the light show, the creatures, the groaning mechanical sounds of the dubstep. I colored in quite a bit of my friend's arm tattoos with the yellow highlighter. The pain in my stomach stayed with me all night. My eyelids felt like vinyl window shades that wanted to snap and roll themselves up. Staring at light trails and feeling strangely disinterested in movement. Feeling depressed about that. Feeling depressed that I could feel depressed while on uppers. I felt like sparks are coursing through my body, but slowly. My boyfriend was in full force twirler mode. He was elated, exhilarated. I made sure to keep my morbid comments to myself.
Because I'm local, I ran into a few people I knew. One drunk hipster who recognized me and gave me a hug. A hippie nerdy type who is actually very nice and chatted with me about a movie project we had both worked on and asked me earnest questions. I went onto the patio and was violated by the foul smells of menthol cigarette smoke and beer. I doodled on myself.
Toward the close of the night, I grabbed a seat off in a dark corner at a deserted bar. I could keep my eye on the dance floor, my friends freaking their bodies and waving their glowing arms around. A dude approached me, as dudes do, when the see a girl sitting by herself at a club, her face glowing yellow under ultraviolet light.
He was from Georgia, he was a sailor on a submarine, he called himself "the best prostitute in the world because he's in the U.S. military." Somehow he told me he can touch any dude's dick and it wouldn't be weird. I asked if he's gay (no, just southern). He asked my age (30). He was shocked (obviously). We shouted/whispered to each other over the music and started discussing depression, pain, loneliness and passion. He told me if someone cut his arm with a knife he'd do nothing because he can't feel pain. I told him that I keep coming to this place but I never have fun. He propped his fingers up on the edge of the bar and walked them over -- "you need to put yourself on the edge of something." We were having a surreal, brief, deep connection.
My friends found me, at the very moment. I introduced them (his name was Trevor). My boyfriend emerged. I introduced them. I got strange looks from my friends and Trevor got the hint and said goodbye, it was nice talking to you. I agreed. I wrapped my arms around my boyfriend, who was still chomping away on his droopy, soggy toothpick. He is so handsome.
We survived the drive home. I threw up one more time. I ate a slice of multigrain bread. I washed my face and scrubbed off the hearts and whiskers I had drawn on myself. I didn't feel buzzy anymore. I resented myself for being sick and a wallflower. I brushed my teeth and I went to sleep.
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