FLASH
Exposing
the seamy underside of Dallas nightlife
Apartment in Manhattan:
$3,500. Professionally
moving my stuff: $3,800.
Flight to LaGuardia: $250.
Getting off Planet Dallas: Priceless.
So
Long and Thanks for the Mammaries
Eleven is normally a good number.
In craps, it’s a winner. In
sports, it’s the number of players on a football team.
In life, it’s when the chiquitas start showing up at bars.
But when it refers to the numbers of years you’ve lived on
Planet Dallas, it seems more like a prison sentence.
Maybe that’s because time on
Planet D is like dog years. Eleven
years is really seventy-seven, which truly is a life sentence when
you’re cellmates are Velveeta Kings and animal print wearing
strippers.
Well, thankfully this convict has
busted out and escaped. After
eleven long years in the Planet D lockup, I finally took my own advice
and moved off Planet Dallas, going from the Big D (and the D stands for
delusional? desperate? disillusioned? dysfunctional? disturbed? what?)
to the Big Apple.
In one four-hour flight, I’ve
gone from a city that never sleeps (because of drugs) to a city that
never sleeps because there’s actually shit going on.
From a city where you can stay out to 4:00 AM at a couple clubs,
drinking water or Red Bull or doing drugs, to a city where you can stay
out to 4:00 AM at every bar drinking whatever you want.
From a city that has a no culture to a city that defines culture.
But I’m not happy or anything. Ecstatic is more like it.
Actually there are things I’ll
miss about Planet D. I just
can’t think of any right now.
Seriously, though, I will miss
the many good friends I’ve made.
I won’t miss the pseudo-friends who ask me if I have a roll or
a line or a cap for them simply because they saw me once at Seven.
I’ll miss knowing all the door
guys and never waiting or paying to get in.
I won’t miss going to those same bars over and over and over
and…
I’ll miss $5.00 drinks.
I won’t miss drunk Velveeta Kings spilling them on my GF or me.
I’ll miss the eye candy Planet
D offers a single guy. I
won’t miss that most of them had the intelligence of cotton candy or
the stability of nitroglycerin.
I’ll miss all the great
ammunition Planet D provides for a humor column.
I won’t miss seeing it night after night, week after week, year
after year, decade after… well actually I’m getting out after just
one decade.
And of course I’ll miss writing
Flash, though I will be doing special guest appearances from New York.
In fact, I’ve already discovered the New York version of 972:
the bridge and tunnel crowd, people that live in the outer boroughs that
come into Manhattan to party. 212ers
are just as elitist as 214ers. I’ll
fit right in.
So be looking for the first Flash
in the City episode coming soon. Until
then, goodbye, and I’m sure some of you are saying back, good
riddance.
P.S.
By the way, my partner in crime
in the great escape to New York is a bleach blonde stripper with fake
tits. Oh, and she lived in 972 when I met her.
I guess the old saying ‘you write what you know’ really is
true. Gotcha.
-
Flash -
flash@usexposed.com
