3:00 PM
Camper:Hello?
Nate:Hey, what did you do last night?
Camper:Dennis was in town.
Nate:Let me guess: You drank yourself sick and did nose drugs and now today
you're hungover and have a huge headache?
Camper:Yes.
5:00 PM
Camper:Hello?
Rich:Let's go get some food.
Camper:No thanks. Dennis was in town.
Rich:Oh. So you're hungover?
Camper:Yes.
6:00 PM
Camper:Hello?
Vanessa:Want to get a drink?
Camper:Ack. I can't even think about it. Dennis was in town.
Vanessa:You haven't even left the house today, have you?
Camper:No.
Last Night:
So Dennis was in town and Michelle and I hung out with him on Friday night. It was
about 11PM by the time we got together, so there wasn't too much time to get too
drunk. I had about one drink more than necessary, so on Saturday,
I was thinking I got off easy. I didn't think Dennis was going to have time to hang
out again that night. A Dennis visit devoid of misery is a rare gift.
But then the phone rang. Dennis was at Mecca with friends from the Art Expo he was here for, and wouldn't I like to join? So I did. I changed from my casual daytime outfit (light denim, t-shirt) to a fancy gay restaurant outfit (dark denim, shirt over the t-shirt) and off I went.
We hung out there for two drinks. I'd never been to Mecca before, but I was surprised at how not-annoying it was. (You only hear bad things about the place.) The drinks were swell, except they use olives with pits in the martinis, and they say the food is good but pricey. The music was very gay but not too loud as to be annoying, but every now and then a big curtain would open and a video would play on a big screen TV on the wall, then close again after it was over and they mixed it into the next song. It seemed rather unnecessary.
Anyway, after that we went to The Underground SF (maybe we should all call it "the former Top" instead, because the new name is embarrassing to say or write) for Club Blah Blah Blah (that isn't so great either). The usual freaks were there- Adrian and Deidre, Marcy Meow, Tilsen and David, and my neighbor Metal Patricia. The music was not so great at first (and the sound was horrible), but either they played better stuff later or I got drunk enough not to care. The bartenders pour "on the rocks" drinks 3/4 full in a regular-sized drink glass, so you're really getting two for one.
We had a few of those, then decided to stay for the after-hours. At this point in the night the details get hazy, but the after-hours was someplace nearby on Haight Street. I remember standing in a hallway talking to random strangers. And I think that's what it was- the hallway in an unfinished basement of a house. Whoever threw the event set up a mini cash bar and we all stood in the hallway and talked until we realized that that's what we were doing. Then it was time to leave.
All in all, I wasn't completely out of my head wasted, nor were we out past 3:30AM, nor did we ingest anything significant that should have lead to the terrible, horrible, raging hangover I had the next day. The only reason for my misery is the presence of Dennis in San Francisco. He is the bringer of pain.