Once upon a time, I used the term “rave cave”. What it meant then was the idea of existing only at night. Say, to stay out until eight in the morning dancing like an idiot in enormous neon pants and a hooded sleeveless half shirt with both wrists slapped with candy to come home exhausted, sleeping all day, waking in a pastel mess at around 6 PM, only to go do it again. It could mean for several days at a time, you would not see any light except that of the encroaching morning. It was my freshman year at college and it felt like a little community of Teletubbies was guarding me at all times. Club kids were then, just as they are now, not quite right per se, but very, very welcoming.
It was a backwards step to move forwards. Worshipping cartoons. Subsisting on Pixie sticks and after parties. Being swallowed by colors not found in nature and skipping around, kids making up silly new names for themselves like LaLa and Scooby and passing Ring Pops to an “unce unce unce” beat in the dark.
It was for many reasons. My friends loved it, venues would let me in even though I was only seventeen, I thought Bad Boy Bill might be a soulmate of mine, or at the very least, bt.
It was leftover from high school, somewhere between Connecticut and DC were the last vestiges of the 90s that we were too young to experience so we play-acted with everyone else.
I listened to the yellow album and danced in my room with my two best friends at the time and we were all small so it felt right. A sleepover where we couldn't get into trouble for blasting the music loud and jumping on my single bed. It was, for all intents and purposes, pretty ridiculous. Also, to look back and see me running around with a facefull of glitter and jumping like a fool to anything with a beat is pretty embarrassing. But then again, I imagine looking back on me now, lost in the cave of work, where the only light of day I see is a gray slant from the window at my back, coming home just to sleep, may not be the prouder moment either…
Today it is gray outside and I am drinking lots of coffee and thinking about where the time goes and why. There are no clocks in my cube cave. Unce unce unce.
It was a backwards step to move forwards. Worshipping cartoons. Subsisting on Pixie sticks and after parties. Being swallowed by colors not found in nature and skipping around, kids making up silly new names for themselves like LaLa and Scooby and passing Ring Pops to an “unce unce unce” beat in the dark.
It was for many reasons. My friends loved it, venues would let me in even though I was only seventeen, I thought Bad Boy Bill might be a soulmate of mine, or at the very least, bt.
It was leftover from high school, somewhere between Connecticut and DC were the last vestiges of the 90s that we were too young to experience so we play-acted with everyone else.
I listened to the yellow album and danced in my room with my two best friends at the time and we were all small so it felt right. A sleepover where we couldn't get into trouble for blasting the music loud and jumping on my single bed. It was, for all intents and purposes, pretty ridiculous. Also, to look back and see me running around with a facefull of glitter and jumping like a fool to anything with a beat is pretty embarrassing. But then again, I imagine looking back on me now, lost in the cave of work, where the only light of day I see is a gray slant from the window at my back, coming home just to sleep, may not be the prouder moment either…
Today it is gray outside and I am drinking lots of coffee and thinking about where the time goes and why. There are no clocks in my cube cave. Unce unce unce.
4 comments:
Sure you were stupid, but I bet you looked cute.
Ah, those were the days. I used to wear a T-shirt with a big yellow smiley face on it. Unironically.
Oh god I can't even get into what I was wearing when I was seventeen.
Though for some reason it's cool to wear that crap again now...
I'd go back there in a heartbeat, terrible fashions or otherwise.
[Can you say baggy pants, bubbly platforms and PIG TAILS!?]
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