the catherine chronicles

Todo por un porro

Acá al lado, mi preciosa amiga Catherine en toda su gloria. Con Cath solíamos ir al Spa, mi boliche preferido de los miércoles donde Paul Sevigny pinchaba su mágica mezcla ultra rockera. Una vez llegamos temprano y estaba tocando una banda. Como tenemos gustos opuestos - Cath odia el metal, ama la marijuana - me dejo arrastrar hacia un pasillo donde ella arma dos porros. Uno, sin que me de cuenta, se lo pone atrás de la oreja, el otro lo fumamos. El recital sigue a full. Yo me muero para ir a ver de qué se trata pero Cath no quiere aventurarse hacia el escenario. Gana la lealtad hacia mi amiga así que aprendo un cigarrillo a la espera del dancing. Llega una chica del security y nos dice: ladies acá no pueden fumar porro. Nosotras: pero si es un cigarrillo. Ella: bombona ¿y que tenés atrás de la oreja? Nos da dos opciones: tirarlo al inodoro, o salir y volver. Bastante enojada, sigo a la boluda de mi amiga hacia la salida. La banda acaba de terminar. Veo un montón de gente disfrazada de Gene Simmons. Le pregunto al chico en la puerta: ¿Quién tocó? El me mira como si fuera una marciana. Contesta: Uhmm…Kiss!!?! Catherine, ese día te quise matar. Pero quién nos quita lo bailado…el porro estuvo rico y la noche fue, por supuesto, totally crazysexycool.

All for a Joint

In this picture, my friend Catherine in all her glory. Cath and I used to go dancing at Spa, my favorite Wednesday night club where DJ Paul Sevigny regaled us with his magical mix of vintage rock n roll. One night we got there early, and a band was playing. As we have opposite tastes – Cath hates metal, loves grass – I let her drag me off to a secluded corner, where she rolls a couple of joints. One she sticks behind her ear, the other we smoke. The concert is going full blast and I’m dying to check it out, but Cath has no desire to fight her way through the headbanging masses. Loyalty to my girlfriend wins out, so I light a fag while waiting for the dancing to start. This chick from security comes up to us. "Ladies you can’t smoke no pot in here," she says. "What do you mean?" I say. "This is just a cigarette." "Uh-huh. And what’s that behind your ear?" We were so blitzed we forgot all about that small detail. Out of the goodness of her heart she gives us two choices: a) flush it down the toilet or b) leave and come back later. Pretty disgruntled, I follow my stoner girlfiend to the exit. The concert has just ended, and I notice all these kids running around in full Gene Simmons stage make-up. I ask the doorman: "Who just played?" He stares at me like I’m the world’s biggest moron. "Uhmm…KISS?!?" Catherine, I could have strangled you that time. But why deny it: your weed was wicked, and the night that had just begun turned out to be, of course, totally crazysexycool.