I should point out that I rarely get drunk. On any given day I usually have either no alcohol or a 3-oz glass of wine with dinner. But a couple times a year I come home from work on a Friday night and decide it’s time to get hammered. A couple of White Russians later and I’m feeling GOOD! Which is around the time I decide a “Goth Dance Party” in the girl cave is long overdue. I dig out my club clothes*, crank the Industrial music, turn on the LED Christmas lights, make sure the disco ball is in a reflective mood, and dance like no one’s watching. Which is usually the case. Although sometimes I spot one of the cats staring with saucer eyes like “who are you and what have you done with mommy!?!”… Meanwhile my poor husband is usually downstairs in the living room with the volume on the TV cranked [to drown out the club music], sipping wine like a civilized person. My platform buckle boots and Willy Wonka goggles are 2 of my club gear favorites:
So a few weeks ago, after 2 White Russians and a half hour Goth Dance Party, I decided I was feeling particularly creative. I poured another White Russian, rummaged around in the art studio [girl cave] and found 4 “do-over” canvases just begging for a new coat of paint. I grabbed my blue and green acrylic paints and started finger painting over the original paint. After that, I grabbed some red and white paint for detail work and started splatter painting. Each time I finished a canvas, I’d set it on the floor of the girl cave to dry. Then, at some point, the wonderful child-like euphoria that comes from being really happy drunk convinced me they needed more splatter painting. I remember grabbing handfuls of paint and flinging it towards the canvases.
Fast forward to the next morning [after the aspirin] when I wandered into the girl cave to survey my work. Complete jaw drop followed by a loud “O M F G!!!” The paintings came out pretty cool, but OMG the mess! Paint everywhere! All over the girl cave [walls, floor, tool bag, computer desk], a large hand print on the girl cave door, paint in the upstairs hallway, lots of paint in the master bathroom. Not to mention all over my club clothes and boots. Even some on Darwin! [NOTE TO SELF: next time the urge to create art while intoxicated hits, please change into paint clothes and cover the girl cave in plastic, ala Dexter…]
It took 4 hours of sitting on the floor with a giant bucket of soapy water and a putty knife to get the paint off the floor. I ended up painting over the paint I got on the walls, door and window frames.
The only other time I’ve painted while intoxicated was back in 2007, when I created these [still 2 of my favorite paintings]:
I was sort of a social late bloomer. To put it one way, I spent 29 years as a caterpillar until finally emerging at age 30 as a butterfly, spreading my wings and discovering my true self. So throughout my 30’s, I enjoyed a lifestyle I should have pursued during college or in my 20’s, if I hadn’t been loping along as a caterpillar. I’d get all gothed out in platform boots, fishnet tights, fishnet shirt, black t-shirt, bondage skirt with chains, studded arm warmers, studded jewelry, club goggles, black eyeliner, etc. and head into Boston to Goth Night at ManRay, TT The Bears, or Ceremony. And sometimes when I visited my brother in DC I’d bring my club gear and he’d get all decked out in his euro club clothes and we’d hit up the DC Goth clubs. It was a blast!
Goth clubs appeal to me because no one judges you, no one talks to you [unless you want them to], and everyone dances alone on the dance floor, in their own little space, respecting everyone else’s space – love that. It’s dark. There’s mirror balls, flashing colored lights and loud, thumping beats to dance to. No groping, grinding or physical contact. Just me, in the dark, surrounded by other social misfits, where I could let my guard down, shut my eyes, and dance for hours. I always felt like my internal batteries were being recharged. But once I hit 40 I decided I was too old for clubbing in the city. Probably stupid, but it’s how I feel. So getting all gothed out and dancing to loud Industrial music in the privacy of my girl cave a couple times a year recharges my batteries and connects me to the part of myself usually kept dormant. It’s cathartic and good for the soul. And thankfully I have a husband who loves me for me, no matter how weird I get 🙂