Urka turns 30 today, Happy Birthday Urka!
Ok, so Urka's family came out to Sac-Town this weekend, along with a flock of birds, alums from the Fresno chapter of Phi Mu--founded at Wesleyan College in 1852. It was quite the assortment of peeps. Anyhow, Saturday was the big dinner and dance affair. We ate at the Riverside Clubhouse in Old Land Park. It was very shi-shi. It had a nice bar and a gorgeous patio with a clay wall that had water cascading, the backdrop for the acoustic affair that took place later in the evening. We drank wine, shared many tales of the Urk (many that centered around her penchant for napping, earning her the nicker, "the sleeper.") Then after a collective rendition of "Hotel California," we took the show on the road.
To the tune of olde skool MJ jams, we pulled up to the posh night club, "The Park." I knew what to expect. What awaited us inside was overpriced drink, flocks of desperate birds and throngs of metro-sexual cattle that I knew in my heart--if it came down to fisticuffs, I could take down any metro-man if the night swung that way.
After a few dance numbers, I wandered solo, to observe all about me losing their heads. A thousand leagues of emptiness. I sat down on a big pillow that was resting on a bench. Flames kissed the night in a ambiance that would anywhere else seem ghoulishly arousing to the Young Master, but my soul wept and my mind wanted to relocate. To another time. To another dimension. In another life, it would have seemed like the ideal night to find love again. The feeling I had was quite the opposite. I rejoined the group and the night ended in a blur.
Sometimes, I get all Holden Caulfield about life. I can't help it. I observe and critique simultaneously. My brain is wired that way. It is my blessing. It is my curse.
What a life, eh?
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