What an insane couple of days.
Clearly I've gone to another level.
I'm not quite centered, cause that's not fun.
I'm not quite, zen, cause that's not fun.
And I have not lowered myself to strike the drunk and crazy.
Thursday's Cliterati was crashed by a woman who was beyond the legal limit.
When I got to the reading, I was met by my buddy Stacie and given the heads up about an employee who was very drunk and upset because there was a cat in the walls. She apparently spent the day drinking and trying to get the cat out and at 8pm was unsuccessful in retrieving the cat, but had the sloppy drunk part very well covered. After watching her come out of the bar and sweet Stacie going up to her to try to comfort her about the cat, where crazy (this is what I will call the inebriated one) started going off and beating the shit out of her car. My car was parked very close to hers. I say was because when crazy went back in to get her keys because, and I quote," I'm outta here. Nobody cares about the fucking cat!" I moved my shit. I'm not trying to have more damage done to orange OK. She has been through enough. Going into the bar crazy decided she wanted another drink, Jagger at that.
Can I just say here Jagger bad!
Very bad when one has been drinking it all day.
It's just bad in general.
No good comes from Jagger.
Just ask my friend who bendered on it one night and woke up with goats!
Don't ask cause what happens in the goat barn stays in the goat barn.
But I can honestly tell you he will never look at a bottle of Bad Jagger the same again.
Crazy, argues with the bartender, she decided to make her own drink.
She opens the open mic with a drunken diatribe about how she loves god, she's worked so long here, nobody care about the goddamn cat, we are all going to heaven, nobody cares about the cat.
And in the middle there was crotch grabbing (her own, thank god) and belly slapping, again her own. When she grabbed her crotch it was accented by a guttural chanting of CLITERATI. Nice.
Only 20 minutes.
It was like watching a train wreck.
I have a theory about crazy.
If you give crazy an audience.
Crazy will want an audience.
If you clap for crazy, crazy will come back.
When you see crazy coming it's best to feign invisibility.
When she finished some folks clapped.
I knew she would be back if she didn't pass out.
In the middle of a poets reading she walks up to the main power box and shuts down all the power. Walks up to the performing poet and starts going on about ,"listen to the cat can't you hear him, who the fuck cares about poetry when the cat's in the fucking wall!" She goes on louder and ruder than I could ever be then she grabs the poets pages. I stand up because I think she's going to grab this woman. She walks up on her, gets real close and I step between them. I try to walk her away from the girl and there is some shoving that happens. My friends grab me before I do something stupid like, knock the fuck out of crazy, or get knocked the fuck out by crazy and they get her out of the bar.
You never know what will happen at Cliteratti or should I say Kittyratti.
no cats were harmed in the writing of this blog.