The Lezbanese Palace Soundtrack
It’s been about five years since we relinquished our sublet and vacated the Lezbanese Palace. The four of us lived together for slightly shy of twelve months, which stretched and sprawled to feel much longer. Our early days have been documented in stories like this one, and there are many more that I have the good sense to never, ever share.
Lately, I’ve been feeling out of sorts, as exposed by the string of blue-sounding, borderline whiny post-summer posts, and this evening, I got thinking about the Palace, the things we were each wrestling with that year, where we’ve been between then and now, new things on the rise. For instance, L. and K. have a family, and R. is moving into another shared house this weekend, after years of traveling place to place. She’s been threatening to revive the Palace tradition of cooking dinner while sporting underpants on her head. I thought about the ladies while I cooked dinner, fed my kitten, tore apart the closet searching for something lost, and while I drew a hot bath against the first autumn chill.
And, beyond simple nostalgia, I remembered this.
It’s something R. and I listened to over and over and over, till L. and K. threatened to take our computer privileges away. Oh my gosh, even after six or seven back-to-back plays we’d still cross our legs and bend at the waist and laugh till we peed. Yes, peed. Not almost. Actually.
Holy crap, that’s funny stuff. A little dumb around the edges, but also very funny. And, just the thing to make me smile after a rather cruddy month, a rather cruddy day.