"Lannie Did A Bad Bad Thing"

(or "Why Lannie Stopped Drinking")
Last update 27 August 2001

About 6 o'clock I headed downtown for the San Jose Afribean Music Festival, a free festival in Guadelupe Park. I had to park the Buick a ways and hike. The evening was warm and it was a long walk, so as I passed Original Joe's, I decided to go in for a quick refreshment. Phil the bartender made me a wonderful martini (Gibson, actually--the one with the pearl onions) straight up, and you get to have what's left in the shaker, just like a milkshake. Phil asked where Heartbreak High was, and I told him, "We've all been there, baby!"

Fortified, I made my way to Guadelupe Park. As I neared the park, I could pick up the beat and then hear the music of a great Carribean samba band. I couldn't help but start dancing! The crowd thickened, and everyone appeared to be having a wonderful time. The crowd was very mixed, the usual jambalaya that shows up at San Jose's outdoor festivals, whites, blacks, browns, some asians. Lot's of folks in traditional African garb as well.

I walked around and looked at all the vendors's booths. I bought a couple of silver toe rings and a few other pieces of jewelry. I even found a nice red purse I had been looking for forever. Genuine Gucci, and it only cost me $30! And it went with my skirt, how could I resist?

Then of course there were more wonderful bands playing wonderful music, and I danced, danced, danced.

Almost everyone was very nice to me, although I was getting read like crazy. I asked one vendor if she had seen any other trannies there, and she said there had been some around that afternoon. There were a few guys that had a problem with me. Funny thing, it appears that black guys think the right way to humiliate a trannie is to yell, "Mister! Hey Mister!" at them. Then they don't understand why I don't turn around. Oh well.

About 8 pm I headed over to Post Street for the South Bay Association of Dee-jay's (SOBAD) street dance. But on the way, there was Original Joe's, so I stopped in for more refreshments. Phil was busy so the other bartender made my Gibson. Playfully, I told him, "You'll never guess what I have in my purse!" showing him my nice new red Gucci purse. "What?" he asked. "Another purse!" I laughed, and showed him that I had shoved my little silver disco purse into my new purse. He was mildly amused.

Fortified, I headed for the event on Post. It was not free as I had thought. They had the street blocked off and it cost $10 to get in. But it was fantastic! Now it was getting dark but they had the street all lit up. The main stage was right off Market, and they had large cannopy over the main dance area. It was cooling off a bit so it was great dancing weather. It was pretty full, but not overcrowded. The crowd got thinner and thinner as you moved away from the stage, so you could pick the density you're most comfortable with. The main stage was heavy techno/industrial, and there were a few more smaller stages further down the street with other varieties of rave music. The crowd was younger and less ethnic than at the Afribean festival, but still quite diverse. Again, I was the only trannie I saw. Here, nobody hassled me at all.

So again I danced, danced, danced. After a while I thought it would be a good idea to get something to eat, as I hadn't eaten all day. I spotted my favorite Mexican restaurant, but they had just closed. The BBQ place had a line flowing out the door. So I went into this bar. This gay bar. This very very gay bar. Which I did not figure out until I sat down. The bartenders were pointedly ignoring me, but I got to talking with a guy next to me at the bar. He was very nice and we had a great chat, and compared notes about Tinker's Damn and other gay bars around town. (Here's a hint, girls. He said Mexican men love trannies, and that I should hang out at Mexican bars!) I told my new friend that I needed his help to get a drink, and he helped me out. I decided to win over the bartender with the great Lannie charm, so I asked him, "Guess what I have in my purse?" "It had better be $3.50," he replied. Sometimes the Lannie charm does not work on gay guys.

Then I found out that the dance would be over at 10, not midnight, as it had said in the paper. So I excused myself and blew out of there to get in some more dancing while I could. I was having a great time, and then I spotted something interesting right up front near the main stage. A break-dancing circle had formed. I had not witnessed this before, and it was very fun. Guys (and a couple of girls) would take turns jumping out into the middle of the circle and showing off their moves, being head stands or back spins or whatever. Some of the kids were very good. I was seriously considering taking a turn myself (nothing fancy, just show off the trannie you know), but then the music stopped and the party was over.

I headed back to my car, when what do you know, there was Original Joe's yet again. In I went for a final nightcap. Fortified again and with the pearl onions constituting dinner at that point, I headed home.

But oh, no, Lannie can't leave well enough alone. The night was still young, so I popped into Tinker's Damn to see what was up. Their drag show was running (not nearly as outrageous as TrannieShack) so I couldn't even dance. I did have another drink, but nobody was particularly sociable. So finally, about 11:30, I headed home for real.

At that point LANNIE WAS TOO DRUNK TO DRIVE. But foolishly, I did. As I was driving along 280, I noticed I had missed my turn-off onto 880. I got off at the next exit (Race Street I think?) to turn around and get back on the other way. Somewhere on those unfamiliar streets, I encountered a fork in the road. I could not decide which tine to take, so I decided to drive over the island in the middle instead. Unfortuneately, there was a pole on the island with a sign like YEILD or something. BLAM! BLAM! I bumped over the curb. CRASH! SLAM! I drove right through the sign. I guess I knocked the pole clear out of the ground and it sailed over the Buick, crashing down on its rear to take out the rear window and smash the trunk. Goddess help me! But the Goddess was looking out for me, and (1) I did NOT get injured, (2) I did NOT get arrested, and (3) the car was still driveable, barely. I never stopped, I drove directly home and thanked the Goddess many times. And I called some of my dear friends and blubbered to them at length.

Pix of the mushed Buick are below, if you'd like to look. It's totaled. It's a 12 year old car that I've had since it was new in '89. 110k miles on it, and I was thinking of replacing it anyway. So that decision got made.

Here's Lannie's new wheels, a '97 Mustang GT with the 4.6 liter V-8, 5-speed manual trannie (he he), 45k miles, black baby! Everbody asks, so I'll tell you I paid about $15k. But I wasn't exactly negotiating from a position of strength, since I went shopping en femme in a mushed Buick!

And now you know why Lannie has quit drinking.

(I hope you enjoyed the light-hearted way I told my little story, but be assured that I am taking this warning from the Goddess quite seriously indeed. --L)

Point of Impact!

Notice back window is gone

The pole must have flew over the car and came down on the back end.