lycanthropy

Last night, as I headed out to a poorly attended punk show, I realized that, through the layer of yellow haze, the moon was full. Or at least mostly full. When it's more than half, I usually can't tell the difference.

If the people who lived in my part of town had money, they'd be called eccentric, but since they're all flat broke, they're just plain crazy. On my way to work yesteraday, I noticed there's a group of folks living in a maroon Ford Aerostar mini-van, nestled in the bulb of the cul-de-sac at the end of the block. That's not odd, I suppose, seeing as the creek is a popular campground for the town's transient community, but then again, it was still daytime, and the moon had yet to show its face.

I couldn't hang at the punk show. There were little more than a few handfuls of people there, and most of them were in the smoker's patio. I only went to see a coworker's performance, and after he was done, I nursed my pint of New Castle through the second band's tedious set. I was bored, and pretty lonely out in the show area, so I decided to press my luck downtown.

Most of the walk was pretty quiet, until I got to third and noticed the throngs of mini-skirted females heading to this dancehall sort of bar (a really stinky one at that). Many of them were identically dressed: cropped tops and tennis skirts in bright day-glo colors. Class is officially over in this college town, and though finals are looming just days away, the streets have been crawling with kids looking to make the most of the last couple days in their homes away from home, away from their parents' watchful eyes. Their voices were as loud as the colors they were wearing as they gathered on line for the club. A popular local '80s cover band was playing, and the kids were looking to revel in the nostalgia of songs that were released before many of them were born. The full moon watched with its indifferent eye and I said "bless you" to a woman when she belched.

I made my way to Meathead Tavern, where I've been spending too much of my time lately. It stinks worse than the dancehall, and the press of bodies in the tiny environement only enhances the funk. For some reason, someone in this town thought it would be a good idea to outfit 95% of the bars with carpet, a decision that had baffled me since my arrival.

I bumped into a gaggle of my coworkers who were already settled into their seats on the drunk train. My ticket remained unpunched. Honestly, I'd been avoiding the conductor because I'm growing tired of the aftermath: waking up to a couple hours sitting on the bowl. It's not fun. Though it'd be worth it if the previous night was more interesting. Lately, I haven't been thrilled. Being at Meathead Tavern for any length of time, however, is just asking for trouble, but I managed to ease into a hearty buzz at my own pace.

After last call came and gone, and the lights were turned on, we headed out, and I ended up at the diner with two kids almost a decade my junior. We were served water in a karrafe, and I'm amazed one of them didn't puke on the table. It had to be after 3:30 when we left, but they were convinced this party was going on by my house, and since I was heading that way anyway, to go home and sleep, they followed along. We were tailed by a sketchy group of dudes, we heard gunshots, and about three doors away from the supposed location of this alleged party, they turned around and headed home. I got home and went to bed, my belly happily full of steak, eggs and English muffin.

Tonight, I went to a play, and the moon seemed just as full. For the second night in a row, I fretted over my choice of shirts, something I almost never do. I looked at myself in the mirror--looked and fretted. I tried to convince myself that I looked fine and that no one was going to care anyway, but still I fretted. Eventually I didn't care, and the loose short-sleeved button down was comfortable, which was welcome in the warm and somewhat sticky air. The play was okay, but I was happy to get out and do something that wasn't just going to the bars. I went with my roommate and her boyfriend (who's becoming my roommate also). After the show, they had to head out of town, and I was left to my own devices. I was one of the first to show up at a party at the Queen Bee's brother's office downtown.

My choice of shirt still irked me, and those who were gathered at the party's early stages were rather worn out. The Brother told me to make myself at home and fix myself a cocktail, so I did. He looked perhaps the most haggard of all of them, telling me that he'd gone a little too crazy the night before, and the rest reported that they'd been at this party or that--parties thrown by local businesses, parties thrown at exclusive golf courses, parties that the dudes living in the van in my cul-de-sac probably wouldn't have been invited to.

More people began streaming in and the mood lightened up fast. I left for a bit--unfortunately just as Uber Milf arrived--to go meet up with my friend who was celebrating his birthday. We watched a really fucked up movie made for the Masters of Horror series by Takeshi Miike that Showtime refused to show (Bravo did however, and I can see why Showtime wouldn't touch it; it was really fucked up). We drank a couple beers and I convinced him to roll back down to the party.

Uber Milf had gone, and so had many of the others, but the cooler crowd remained. More cocktails, more conversation, two retrievers who had 40-inch verticals, and I turned out to be the last one to leave.

The streets were completely empty. Other than roving police--who had nothing better to do than watch me as I crossed the street--it was just myself, the full moon and people who pick through downtown garbage cans. I made it up to the diner when I remebered the gunshots from the night before, and checked my wallet to see if I had cash. I thought of walking the rest of the way, but I don't like being the only person on the streets, so I ended up getting the cab. There are always a few cars parked in front of the diner. I crossed the street and when I got to the corner I passed a couple drivers making idle chitchat. One of them called out and asked if I needed a cab. I said I did.

He asked me where I was going, and I said that it wasn't very far, and that I would usually walk but I don't like being the only person out at night. He chuckled and made a right. Halfway down the main drag, he told me that he was going to grab a bite to eat and head home before I'd shown up, and then he mentioned that he was talking to the other driver about how this full moon had produced more crazies than any other he could remember. I hopped forward to agree. I told him about the prayer circles I'd seen in the middle of sidewalks, and the gunshots, and the various other random occurances that had happened over the past two days.

He said (and I'm paraphrasing), "There was this woman in here with her friend last night, who was just insanely horny. They were splitting the cab with these two dudes in their 20s, and the women had to be in their 40s. One woman was sitting up front, the other was in the back with the two dudes, and she was just all over them."

I laughed, and as he pulled to a stop in front of my house, he said, "wait, it gets better."

"Eventually, she asked me if I thought it was okay if she slept with her nephew. I said, 'No! What the hell are you talking about?!' She said that he wasn't really her nephew, but that he was four when he was left with her family. 'Now it's 20 years later, and he's back, and he's really hot,' she said. We ended up at the 7-11 on East Avenue and the women went out to get beer. As soon as they got into the store, the two dudes just opened the cab doors and bolted. I told the women they went in the opposite direction."