Sin At The Street

"Back in school, we used to dream about this everyday. Could it really happen, or do dreams just fade away, Now everybody is singin' now, it's in this town, woo ooh, So we started a group and here we are kickin' it just for you" Boys II Men from "Motown Philly"

My tolerance level to my meds has become a huge topic of discussion here in the Asylum. No inmate has ever shown such a high resistance when it comes to substances that alter the brain waves. Luckily for me that means my Dixie Cup overfloweth. As the concentration of good stuff gets higher, the effect is less wondrous. This lull in my liveliness was a source of glee for the nurse, as it's usually her misery that feeds my giddiness.. With the shoe on the other foot I find myself thinking of another time that my tolerance level started to impact my life.

Before there was a certain married red head to occupy my time I was just turned 21 and employed in a low paying job. I needed wild adult nightlife at bargain basement prices. A high school friend that I was working with at the time had a second job s a DJ at a bar called Basin Street. He informed me that Thur day night was $1 drink night. YATZEE! That's what the future alcoholic in me needed, good drunks for under twenty smackers. I had to check it out.

All I can say about the place was it was dark enough to hide many a flaw and bright enough that you had to use you hands to walk. It was dark, that's all I'm saying. So with the advantage of bad lighting and cocktails cheap enough to make Scrooge happy, I was set to move to the rhythm of the night. The problem with my timing was that the music of 1991 was, well, crap seems like too nice a word for it. This was a hideous time when the clubs were ruled by Gonna Make You Sweat and Things That Make You Go Hmm, from the never to be immortalized in the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame, shit sandwich that was C&C Music Factory. If that wasn't bad enough you could add a pair of hits for Color Me Badd, the second D was for "depression" One year later Nirvana would change the way we all thought and dressed, but 91 may very well have been the worst year for music in the history of strung instruments. Oh, did I forget to mention Jesus Jones and Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, feel it, feel it. Thank God for the dollar refreshments. Without them, unbearable.

Bad music aside, Basin Street was full to the rim with girls every Thursday. A happy hunting ground if there ever was one. So I endured the cheese that my pal spun. After just a few weeks I was a regular, with tabs running near 30 bucks a night, that's drinking. Hated the music, but the booze being cheap made up for a lot, and Jamie made up for the rest. Jamie had as ass like an onion, it would bring a tear to your eye. I had never seen a backside that made me lustful before Jamie, and I didn't see another until Corporate Monkey posted that new default picture of hers. Both those cans are world class. Jamie's backyard was a sight to behold and even more lovely when grinding on me on the dance floor. Cause yeah, enough $1 Heinekens and I start thinking I'm Deney Terrio, Dance Fever Madman.

We did end up in a game of naked twister one night after a party at my house, splendid party, but for some reason we never hooked up again. We danced, we smooched in the parking lot, but we just never got around to being a couple, just wasn't in the cards for us. Too bad. But still pretty memorable.

Did you have a bar at 21? Did you hate that music? Did you have a Jamie?

Dixie Cup of Love: Jamie and Corporate Monkey for opening my eyes to something else.