entry #120 - saalouny el nas !

                                    

                                          

After our cocaine fix in the toilet stall, and after Sean's soul kicked out of his body for a solid minute post snorting, he went back to conscious, we headed hand in hand to the dancefloor, and he finally gave me the dance I'd been waiting for all night long. We only stopped dancing, when I drunkenly stepped on his feet for the tenth time in a row, and I told him I needed a cigarette to make my raging high just a little bit more bearable. So here we are now, right outside the security exit of the night club: I'm smoking a cigarette, and I'm addressing drunken, death stares at the bouncer who gave me crap for my shitty Jordanian passport before my partying night even began. Not very differently from his standard, Sean is drinking, drinking his third glass since we walked out of the dancefloor. Standing hip to hip with him, I feel safe enough to claim he's starting to smell like a legit liquor factory, and I don't know how to feel about it. I tried to talk him out of ordering his third half glass of whiskey in a row, shit fucking scared after he almost went blank on cocaine, right before my eyes ... but he didn't care, he slapped my ass, ordered nonetheless, and added all of his drinks to Gerry's bill. My boyfriend is shit drunk and high, but as you can tell, he has this odd power to remain incredible lucid, no matter how much shit's in his system. His humour and his revengeful spirit are clearly stronger than his drinking problem. He's so present to himself, that before ordering his own drinks, he asked me if I wanted anything for myself ... à la gentleman. Except that the money that bought my sparkling water was another man's. If Gerry even counts as a man, I wonder. 
'Where is your necklace from, girl?' A girly voice speaks from right beside me, and before I can turn my spinning, dizzy head and see who's that... a hand gets a little bit too close to my neck, and grips the pendant of the big, chunky, gold necklace I'm wearing. I leap back, definitely surprised by the physicality, but I have a good laugh out of it, when I see the face of my offender. It's a blonde girl, she's cute, and she appears to be rather harmless, sober, and nice. She's looking at my pendant necklace, instead of looking at my boyfriend, whose head is perching in the hollow of my neck, and it says a lot about her decency. I like this girl... and when I say that, I mean that I vibe with her a lot because she doesn't look at my boyfriend like some other girls in this club do, and she even likes my handmade ornaments ! 
But hang in there. I can see patterns in my life. Jewellery patterns, but also more than just that. Whenever I'm outside a night club, having a cigarette break, on my own or in good company that it might be, a total stranger chimes in and asks me where my jewellery is from. It happened yesterday, and if I ain't just tripping real fucking hard, it's happening again tonight. As the hand that beads 'em exotic looking ornaments in her spare time, I feel flattered about such comments to say the least. I am a simple, crafty girl: someone appreciates my creativity, I feel happy as fuck, and somewhat accomplished. I'm giggling like the idiot that I am, and for as drunk and high as I may be right now, I'm thinking that I should start to bead some jewellery to later put it up for sale... outside night clubs. I've found my niche market, and it looks as though as it's the emergency exit/terrace of night clubs in North America. Oh myyy, my merchant dad would be so proud of me ! I got the creativity, the crafty hand, the humour and the knack for sales straight from Yasser the Don !
'Bead-lehem'. Another girly voice speaks from right beside me, and my eyes go star shaped the moment I reckon it's Chrissie. So, my brunette best friend is here with his Jesus Christ of Beyt Lahm lookalike boyfriend by her hip, ready to leave the club to have some steamy sex at the hotel I reckon... and she's cracking Bethlehem puns. Cracking Bethlehem puns straight before getting in her car, destination pound town with mr. Soundgarden. While I'm laughing like an idiot, much for a change, blessing her because she has an above average QI, above average knowledge of geography... and she bloody knows that my necklace is an authentic Bethlehem creation, made with lots of habib by an authentic Bethlehemi girl ! The blonde chick furrows her brows like she has no idea what my brunette best friend is talking about... and I crease. I crease, and I near damn suffocate on the smoke of my own cigarette, for how hard I'm laughing.