A Dark, Whimsical Wintery Weekend (Patreon)

I’m writing because I can’t speak and I need rest. Luckily, that’s rest after a much needed burst of living life, and I realize more and more lately I need the good bursts of life. This was needed, and now, I need rest and time to process.

Processing.

At the beginning of this trip, I felt Ayumi was a monster. While now she lays quietly and contently on my lap as I sip a maple tea and write this, she was a force of chaos for me in the first days. She’s a well behaved dog, but recently she needs my attention and care more and more. She’s aging, and along with that comes new challenges that can be hard to balance when everything is a whirlwind. This last gust of activity left me breathless, and I wasn’t rested and ready. The excitement I had packing Ayumi into the car for the 13 hour drive to Memphis and enjoying the rest stops with her transformed into anxiety as I realized she wasn’t being her usual self at our destination. Where I expected her to excitedly meet new friends, she was instead barking at me when I thought all her needs were met. What did she want?

I had a big party and all the preparations that went along with it to attend to! Late nights paired with my deeply ingrained early mornings created a cocktail of sleep deprivation and exhaustion that I channeled into being a stabilizing calmness, but eventually my muscles began to ache for rest after a long day of chores. There was just an hour before the party and I wasn’t ready. I’d have to sacrifice getting ready in exchange for a nap if we were going to have a late night. Arlo so kindly offered me her room, and I nestled up in the quiet corner of the house between her two body pillows.

Ayumi wouldn’t have it. She was restless and wanted my attention. Where normally I’d sleep like the dead, I restlessly tried to calm Ayumi, and eventually gave up and laid the idea of sleep to rest. It was grave, but I needed to get ready. As I resigned myself to the idea, I listened to Arlo’s small army of goths and other alternative friends assembling to finish decorating and preparing. I felt the intensity of not being ready crush me harder to the bed when I knew I had to claw myself up and find a way to gather myself into an acceptable pile of bones suitable for a friend’s funeral themed “Death to my 20s” 30th birthday party. I had to pull it together before people started pouring in. We expected a full house.

I sneaked off to the tiny restroom in the back of the house in an attempt to covertly try to apply my makeup and fix my hair. Eyeliner for my watchful eyes, lip gloss to smooth my words, a headband for comfort, I worked to calm the butterflies fluttering about my ribcage. With a deep breath, I entered the social space and shifted around, trying to find a comfortable way to get settled into the gathering party. I knew few people here. I made my way to the front of the house to watch the parade of people entering and talk to Arlo’s artistic roommate that has a companion ball python. We chatted idly and comfortably as the house filled and filled. Once the conversation died down, I made my way through the house to the back to let Ayumi out. Somewhere along the way, I met an interesting pair. A tall man with long hair pulled into an elegant ponytail, and a short, stout woman in a dark and soft-as-black-kittens oversized poncho dress. The connection was made that this is the couple Tamzin is dating and moved down here to. I had been eager to talk to more polyamorous people, and they joined us outside. The cold was intense, and our conversation, brief. My anxiety munched on my organs while the cold fed on my skin, and once Ayumi finished, I moved inside with her. Feeling like I missed connection because of my own emotional imbalance, I moved towards the kitchen to seek out some social lubricant.

Not knowing where to look or who to talk to, I leaned in the doorway between the kitchen and the back room that led outside. Murph, a man I saw as a bit of a stand out in a group of standouts by virtue of appearing less alternative made his way towards me, announcing a smoke for himself. He was one of the few people I’ve met previously. As he tried to excuse himself so he could make it through the doorway and towards his smoke, I leaned against the doorframe on the side he intended to slide through and smiled slyly.

“What’s the password?”

“There is none.” His tone didn’t match mine, and my stomach turned. I also turned, to the side, and once he was through, turned my back towards him. “No one needs a password to smoke.” He continued on, his lengthier indignant response bit at me, and I rolled my eyes. So much for playful banter.

“Unfun.” I shot back, as if the remark would cut into the wings of the butterflies that were beating against my insides. I needed something to soothe me.

Alcohol. Where was the alcohol?

I sought out Arlo and asked about drinks. She gave me a quest to find Tamzin, our lovely mixologist of the night. I could do that. I met Tamzin in high school through Arlo and looked forward to another familiar face, this one more comfortable. Upon finding her and politely requesting a brew, Tamzin performed some quick magic. With some precise pouring of Kaluha, white rum, and a dribble of grenadine, Tamzin gifted me a Grim Reaper elixir. While it was a shot, I sipped it to enjoy the notes of cherry and mocha.  Before I finished, an elegantly dressed man I immediately recognized as “Vampire Vaughn'' amongst his friends offered me a glass of the bottle of wine he was sipping from, and I gratefully accepted. The potion left my gut soothed and the insects in it sleeping. Nerves calmed, I followed Arlo into her room to accompany her during her finishing touches: a few jewelry pieces. In a deep v cut, short, form fitting black dress paired with a pentagram chest harness, she looked seductive and stunning. I watched her apply jewelry as we chattered about Tamzin’s remarkable shot. Chasing alcohol with alcohol and a little more, Arlo recommended to me a sweet shot of Tamzin’s Kiss of Death next. What a thing to ask someone for…

“You’re a wizard, Harry!” I looked up to see who the sudden, strange quip came from, and a mini Hagrid-shaped figure was half crouched in the doorway, then springed up and left. Our fellow polyam in the black poncho. Arlo and I burst into laughter at the unexpected encounter.

As Tamzin walked in, Arlo beat me to the punch in the drink request, and Tamzin turned back and got to work on it immediately. I followed after, briefly miffed that I lost my chance to make such an interesting request, but eager to try a “Kiss of Death.” It was her own variation on the Grim Reaper that Arlo and her named together, and the concoction was a blend of flavors only matched by the whimsical duo themselves. The flow of alcohol and medley of people brought me into a curious, spicy, and tipsy state.

The night was a blur of interesting characters. For the first time I can remember, I felt under-dressed as I flitted from person to person, noticing the fine, gothic details these funeral party-goers had in their attire. It’s not often I find myself in a house full of a variety of queer, alternative people.

In the crowded kitchen, I leaned up and into a tall, beautiful woman in a black military styled dress with white crosses to speak over the buzzing party noise-level and complimented her with the warmth of all the potions I had consumed. Her beauty was enticing, and I aimed for an engaged conversation. She smiled back at me with a thank you.

“Hi!”  Across her, a woman with beautiful, burning pink hair piped up, before I managed to continue the conversation. My enchantment broken, I turned and expanded my warmth to her. She also was stunning, and seemed welcoming. Her hair, her smile, her whole look…

“I’m her girlfriend.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head, while she maintained a smile that still felt incredibly kind. Oh, shit. Accidentally disrespectful, I thought.

“Excuse me, haha. I love your hair by the way. Oh, uh, nice to meet you!” I politely bowed out, ejecting myself forcefully from the overflowing kitchen. I could feel my cheeks burning, probably brighter than her pink red hair. I hoped it appeared to reflect my intoxicated state more than the fiery embarrassment I felt. The house was lined with people, and I weaved through them. I landed in a brief conversation with a fully figured woman in a gorgeous wide brimmed hat with spiderweb details. Later, Arlo would tell me she’s a delight to talk gender theory with, but after complimenting the bat wings on her cute black Mary Jane shoes, I was captured by her sensually dressed partner that had an equally witchy look. Witchy, she was. We immediately hit it off, and in my drunken haze I felt mesmerized by a conversation on her new and full moon rituals. I’ve not gotten to talk to someone in person about their own rituals and practice, this was a delightful treat. In a pause of conversation, I admired Ayumi wandering through the forest of legs, seeking attention and love. She was in good company. Thorne and Jackson, Arlo’s part siamese, beautifully blue eyed cat and her friendly black cat both also received much love and affection.

The endless flow of compliments moved naturally as I appreciated each look. This felt like my people, and the conversations solidified my sense of belonging as I moved room to room, chat to chat. I saw a nonbinary person with black eye makeup that felt fitting of a warrior scribbling drawings into a notepad. Serving up a bit of chaotic goblin energy, they excitedly flipped the pages of pencil art as they gushed about what art was their’s, and what art was their partner’s. Later, I found out through Arlo this person was also polyamorous. Unknowingly, I met their other partner when Arlo tugged me away from one of many conversations now lost to the realm of inebriation.

“Come play beer pong!” Oh, lord. I’ve never played beer pong before, which confirmed Arlo’s decision to get a long table set up in the back room for it. I followed the queen of the night through her grove of goths to the back room where the solo cups were laid out into the customary triangles.

“I’m a little drunk for this,” I meekly protested.

It didn’t matter. My first shot rapidly circled the rim of one of the cups and settled into it, I felt out of body as I cheered loudly and threw up my arms. Delightful! I may be able to play this. So I got cocky. Shit talking immediately erupted, and it may be my fault. I’m uncertain. All I remember was the exciting tension, the innuendoes, and the referee desperately trying to keep us on our own sides. Our opponents were a delight, one shittalking back with a gusto, the other one, a sweetie in a cozy looking black and red striped sweater and a chunky black spiked collar. The softer spoken one I later found out was the other partner to the drawing goblin I met in the dining room. The softer demeanor didn’t stop her from also getting into the shittalking. I sunk many more balls into the depths of their cups, taking them out one by one. A bit of beginner’s luck, maybe, but I was very pleased with myself. Hole after hole, we sunk our balls into them quickly as Tamzin danced and cheered with long morticia-like sleeves waving as a pair of goth pompoms. We were down to one last cup. The opposing team had several left. That last one, someone in the crowd mentioned, is the toughest. That proved quite true. Time after time, I overshot, undershot. Arlo also kept missing. Slowly, the other team stripped away our triangle formation. Too soon, perhaps, had I said such confident things to the other side. They screamed in celebration as they shot a ping pong ball into our last remaining cup, I howled.

“Redemption!” Arlo exclaimed, “We can have a chance at it! One last shot!”

We both missed. It didn’t matter, I was still breathless from the exchange, satisfied from the deep pleasure of it. It had been so intense, and the gold glittering of the jewelry on our spicier opponent glinted in my memory throughout the night like a spark of flame.

There were comforts of the night. The alcohol kept me warm, and so did the black kitten of my night, with the cute button nose Tamzin had mentioned to me previously when describing her partner. This black kitten let me occasionally hug and lean on her when I’d bump into her, and I took a quiet comfort in that when I needed a stabilizing presence. Arlo was also a healing well of physical affection.

Seeing her surrounded by friends bringing this big celebration together felt inspiring. After a moment of nursing my wounds, I stepped outside just in time to see Arlo smashing an “Arlo’s 20’s” cake with a bat. The atmosphere was heavily accented by a bonfire’s light licking along the shadows playfully. What a way to enter your 30s. After the ritual death, we then listened to a mock eulogy Tamzin wrote for her. Tamzin, in her dark apparel projected a strong voice down over the crowd, and Arlo’s expression made it clear she was drinking the words in with pleasure. I felt joy at her joy, comfort at her comfort, her supports felt supportive to us all.

As we came in, or perhaps before we went out, I had a moment where I went to get that healing touch as I often seek out: a bit of platonic, sometimes more, skin to skin contact or embrace. In my drunkenness, I might not have registered her kiss on my cheek if not from the whoops and hollering from the party in response.

There’s so much lost to that night in my memory, but much of it I hold close to me. The night wound down with Vampire Vaughn trailing behind as everyone else filtered out. Him and Arlo started up a pokemon battle game with Arlo as Tamzin and I relaxed on the couch and watched. We all chugged waters with a “liquid IV” mixture I found flavorful, but a bit too salty for actual enjoyment. Eventually we all downed our anti-hangover drinks, everyone that was going to had left, and Tamzin, Arlo and I all fell asleep. As we slept, a big winter storm came to bring the coldest hell to us in the south.

The next morning was a winter wonderland. Or perhaps more aptly, a winter slumberland. We averted hangovers, but post-party exhaustion still hung over us and weighed us down like the snow weighed the grass down outside. I barely managed to get up and go live for stream, I can’t believe I managed. Arlo and Tamzin joined briefly, but I had little creative or conversational energy. Tamzin’s partners came to the rescue ! The long haired man I had briefly met at the party in the beginning was going to come make us vegan alfredo, and chicken separately to add for the meat eaters. As we waited, another of Arlo’s friend that had to miss her party brought champagne for her gift, and filled the otherwise dark and quiet room with laughter. Eventually the other two of the polyamorous throuple joined us, and I listened to the growling of the little black kitten who was still decked out in the coziest looking furry black snuggie. She was dealing with a loved one being manipulated by a self described “love witch.” Curious. I’ve seen these on instagram, giving tips on manifesting ways to cut people out of their desired one’s lives. I aimed to provide a quiet sympathy and all of us tried to keep warm under piles of blankets. The world outside was cold, the kind of weather the south isn’t necessarily equipped for. The man of the polycule came to tuck towels Arlo offered into the windows to keep us all from drafts, while there was a pause in his kitchen activities. Arlo’s roommate and the bringer of champagne came in from the cold, and he notified us all he pulled our windshield wipers up before the storm could freeze them to our windshields. Everyone here felt so thoughtful and warm.

Once dinner was made, we sat around a flickering candle and had alfredo with a delicious champagne. I enjoyed the taste of the champagne. The creamy noodle sauce with the popping carbonation of the drink, then the dry aftertaste driven away by indulgence of the alfredo was the perfect comforting cycle. After dinner was finished, and everyone settled back into the circle of furniture, the cook struck up a conversation with me about DnD. He saw on my Insta that I was playing a druid. As it turned out, he was currently in a phase of playing all different kinds of druids. We started discussing mechanics, and he had a lot of interesting stories and thoughts on the race. As I watched the candle light dance across his face, I knew the conversation would be a breath of fresh air to feed the dying ember of inspiration my current druid character had been. Huddled under my mounds of blanket, I drank deeply of the serene, nourishing atmosphere. It felt safe.

I’m trying to carry this as inspiration as I return home and realize there is still winter left to brave. We have to take moments of rest and replenishment to tackle the challenges in front of us. The trek home brought me through a winter storm raging at my own home. The stark contrast of my solitary one bedroom sanctuary with the partying and nourishing community hit me as harshly as the snow storm hit the first night home. Another winter slumberland, this time keeping my kindling going alone.

Processing.

What a wild ride. After the party, I told Arlo the story of the military dress woman and her pink-hair beauty. Arlo soothed me, laughing a little. They were polyamorous…I misread the interaction based on monogamous assumptions. I chuckled at myself. What a wild ride. The communities she connected with inspired me. Rather than struggling to feel understood, I mostly got to just have fun and connect. These people felt like my people, and to see so many in one place created a longing in me. Arlo and I started a snap streak while I’ve been home, one of my many long distance relationships that nourish me. She saw the craving for in-person community in me, though, and occasionally teases about me moving there. The thought makes me clench my teeth and smile. I’d love to, but I’m not done where I am. Memphis, its beautiful alternative community, and Arlo will be in my heart though.