2002-03-05 | 6:06 p.m.

corduroy licorice would often make a mountain out of a molehill. once he designed a luxury ski resort with an extravagant lodge and several black diamond runs on one mole's hill.

***

i had my first personal goth experience this weekend. a friend invited me to join her at a local club with a gothic theme, which included a whipping room and fire eaters. we were a bit intimidated since we are not normally denizens of the dark world, but we donned the de rigueur black, powdered ourselves pale and decided to strut our stuff, come what myth.

i felt the need to dress the part a bit, so earlier that day i'd gone to a local goth store that ascension had introduced to me. luckily, there was something suitably dark and velvety with silvery fasteners running across the shoulders on the sale rack. gore score!

i also greased my hair a bit to come up with what my goth partner called a successful "rocky horror picture show" look. excellent. i was tempted to wear my dominatrix boots, but since this was my darkside debut i didn't want to blow my wad right out of the cemetery gate. i must have done OK because our male companion remarked, "nictate goths up well."

when we arrived at the club, the parking lot attendant gave our get-ups his hearty approval. good start, but what would the undead heads think? approaching the door, we were comforted at the sight of a redneck bouncer who checked our i.d. his bandana-ness definitely diluted the stygian promise of the coming abyss.

once inside, apart from a vinyl bikini-clad gal leashed to a 'lil blonde "pet," a middle-aged peewee herman-type wearing devil horns and eyeshadowed cheekbones, and a geisha-haired marilyn manson lookalike, the place was pretty tame. even the whipping room was a disappointment. the lame lashing we witnessed might as well have involved a wet noodle. i didn't expect the afterworld to be so mellow, but it was a fun night and i wanna go back. maybe next time i go i'll dust off my bad girl boots and really vamp it up.

***

when not draped in black at the witching hour, i was kicking it with my maternal unit. she was babysitting my sister who'd had her tonsils out last week. due to a few days of bedside mannering, my mom was getting a bit stir-crazy. being the dutiful daughter i am, i took her out for lunch and shopping on saturday and sunday to give her a break.

it was great having quality time with her. i forgot how damn cute she is. she really says the darndest things. i'm sooooo lucky to have sprung from her loins.

the kicker of her comments, though, was when she was talking about sex in the city. i loaned a set of my video tapes of the show to my recovering sis and caretaking mother as entertainment during their larynx lockdown. my mom hadn't seen the series before, so i wondered if it would be too racy for her...but she loved it!

on sunday when we were pulling into the mall parking lot, she started describing the episode where charlotte begins hanging out with a chic lesbian contigent and realizes how much she enjoys just-female company. then my mom says, "and at the end, that one woman confronts her, explaining, 'if you don't eat pussy, you aren't a dyke.'"

my mom quoted that sentence. to me. eye to eye. with a straight face and no sign of blushing. i can't believe i didn't drive straight into the wall of the parking structure. then she demonstrated her reaction when she'd heard that line on the show...leaning suddenly forward in her seat, slapping both hands to her chest and giggly squealing "oh my!"

my mom is the cutest darn thing ever.

<----������� ---->