rockin' the lobster
Today I'm 31, which means that I've owned the Dress for a Decade. If it weren't for the slightly threadbare patches on the elbows, you'd never know. Same for me, if you substitute "dark puffy shadows under the eyes". Hee.
Had a wonderful time on my Monday night retro dance-a-thon. With the notable exceptions of Dirk & my knitsibs, the night was full of happy faces and surprise guests. We started the night with dinner at Las Iguanas, where the Boy & I fell upon the corn chips like wolves on the fold. Scherezade was there, fresh from her European tour; as well as Katherine, a girl I knew in highschool; Stacy (who came with the triple gifts of Gary Oldman, striped tights and cup!cakes!); JimZed, who entertained us all with stories of Good Ideas from his university days; and Mason, who did a special guest spot for a half-hour. The really interesting thing was the variation represented by the guest list. Katherine knew me well, but more than ten years ago; we haven't seen each other since graduation (we had to wait until we both had sons for a reunion to be possible. Or maybe it was Facebook. I'll never tell.) I haven't seen Scherezade since the night we went crazy Brit-pop dancing last October. I met JimZed at the TMBG concert last month. And Mason, who expected to find the deck stacked with knitters, was surprised to know no one but myself & the Boy. (The knittas came out on Saturday. Monday was their day off.)
This mix of personalities may have been what made the night so smooth: instead of wallowing in the Old Days, we had tonnes of funny stories and observations that suddenly had a new audience. Every once in awhile we would geek out about one thing or another, and JimZed would yell, "Nerds! I'm surrounded by nerds!!" (The funniest part of this for me was not explaining to the unaware that he writes comic books and spends a goodly amount of time at cons. As we established later, he makes his living "feasting on the sweet flesh of nerds." [insert slurping and gobbling pantomine])
After a good three hours testing our server's patience (actually, she quite enjoyed our conversation and admired Stacy's skill with a cupcake), we rocketed off to the Dance Cave. As is usual on space flights, some of the boosting units spiralled away once liftoff occurred: in this case we lost Katherine (wee boy and overdue nursing), Mason (pregnant wife), and Scherezade (jet lag). Fortunately, we managed to pick up Little Spider and Coraline, who just happened to be smoking in front of the Cave. What luck!
Bloated with a full serving of enchiladas and glass after glass of water, I was not feeling it when we walked in. In fact, my first attempt at a dance ("Close to Me") was awful. Couldn't find my rhythm. Even the follow-up "Peepshow," which is dead easy, stymied my waterlogged torso. I had to dry up a bit, chat with Shannon, drink some beer, and get into the groove before it started coming together for me. Good thing Stacy was there to fill in the slow spots. I've not had a chance to see her dance to "#1 Crush" in too many years. The Boy also did a good job of shaking his moneymaker to the Smiths, which is something you do to contrast your own exuberance with Morrissey's lack thereof.
JimZed had never been to a Manic Monday, and I explained it to him thusly: "Shannon is so good that she'll play your favourite artist, but not necessarily their big hit. Like, she'll play the B-52's, but not necessarily 'Rock Lobster'." Need I write that this was another White Zombie-type comment? When she played it later on, it turned out that he & I were the only ones who wanted to dance. We used to have this song on a 45; I honestly can't remember a time when I didn't know all the lyrics. So we danced! And danced! And sunk to floor! And got up, because there was to be more dancing! And shouted advice and encouragement to each other because it just keeps going! I finished off the song covered in sweat, out of breath, beet red, and gloriously happy. "You sure Rocked that Lobster," said Little Spider. Giggle.
We stayed up too late, we danced too hard, we drank too much beer and I definitely smoked too much. But once again, the road of excess led to the palace of wisdom…or at least to a time when we were full of sweet sprinkled cupcakes and glory. Mostly glory.
Pictures tomorrow. Here's one to tide you over.
the end of the night, in the bathroom of the cave.
Last night my mom's planning ahead made me a winner, as she managed to score tickets to a taping of "The Debaters," the first one in Toronto. Hosted by Seán! Cullen!, it was over three hours of interesting, nasty, non-sequitorial, exhausting and hysterically funny argument. Not only did I knock myself out laughing, but I also found a yarn store owner in line, and I did lots of work on my own personal sock. The only sad part was that I had to give up my Wednesday night at Lettuce. Awww.
"Only God has the power to put you on this planet, and He is the only one who should have to power to take you off it. Well, except for NASA. And they at least offer a return flight. There's only one person that God ever offered a return flight to, and wasn't he the one who told us not to cast the first stone?"
- final summary, against reinstating the death penalty
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