Photos and Words of Patrick Calder

I live in Washington, DC with 1 cat named Pixel, 6 cameras, 3 computers, 158 movies, 286 books, and 1 bowling pin. I own the Design Foundry and pretend to be a graphic designer by day.

Please keep in mind that this post is more than 3 years old. Opinions change. Tastes change. Everything changes. I may still agree with or like this, or I may not. But everything is kept up here for archival purposes.

Club, club, club / December 19, 2004

I should be too old for this. But I don’t care. I’m having fun, despite myself.
By 10:30 tonight, I was ready to go to bed. But that’s when Kier called to let me know they were headed for the Black Cat. Aaron was celebrating his birthday with a crawl down 14th Street, finishing the fun at the club during their Brit-pop night.
It’s obviously going to be a good night when you walk in the room and see your friends surrounded by beautiful girls.
And sugar. Lots and lots of sugar tonight. Candy on the tables. Cheap sodas at the bar.
God help me… even though I’m a skinny white boy with no rhythm, I danced for the first time since college. Danced terribly, no doubt. Probably the person people nudge their friends to look at. But it was fun, and who cares what people say about you when you’re having fun.
Got my ass pinched twice, too. Never saw exactly who did it, but I’m fairly certain it was guys both times. You know… no one has pinched my ass since I was in Puerto Rico.
That’s this week.
Last Saturday, a really fucking-cold night… we were at Chiaroscuro; a one night Goth club down in Southeast. Didn’t dance, so it wasn’t as blood-pumping. But I was surrounded by hot chicks in fetish wear; so it had it’s benefits. Cool clothing shop on the premises, where nothing is over $20. But the best attraction was probably the really hot, freaky lesbians making out in the back. Straight out of really cheesy porn.
If only I didn’t reek of cigarettes when I got home. Not even cigarette smoke… just cigarettes. Tobacco… filter… paper.

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