There goes another Saturday night. I remember in my early BarStar days, Saturday nights were a big deal. The day was filled with shopping for the per-fect bar top. You know the one, that shows just the right amount of cleavage without being TOO reveling. It has to go well with your jean skirt and look right with your high heals. Ah yes, the good old Uniform. Dinner would compromise of something small, two reasons for this. Firstly, eatins' cheatin'. The less food in your belly means a cheap night drinks wise. Secondly, you can't have a Buddah belly whilst picking up hot guys on the dance floor, not to mention you'll have no more room for beer and double vodka 7's.
Those were the good old days. When hangovers lasted only until your next McDonald's meal, and where finding a guy was only a stumble away.
Now that I'm older, single, and liver damaged, I have to amuse myself in different ways on the good old saturday nights.
So last night me and Carolyn (my soon to be roommate) decide to be Artsy. No, were not going to get slammered drunk and drop-it-like-its-hot (although nowadays its more like drop-it-like-its-luke-warm) all over Republic. Instead, Carolyn, in all her contemporary art glory, has found us a Push festival(www.pushfestival.ca/index.php) event so hot Mother Earth's Bitch Boy aka David Suzuki is rumored to be attending. The event was called "imbolc {in the belly}" (www.straight.com/contest/imbolc-in-the-belly). Between you and me kids, I didn't care what the hell it was, it got me dressed up in my 300 dollar boots and wearing my newly bought, steal-of-a-deal dress. I was going out-to a cultured event- in Yale Town. It was like a Yuppies wet dream...
Only I couldn't wake up. We got to the first location late. I stress on first location because they're were many, and they were far from each other, and I had to walk in my 300 dollar boots and freeze in my steal-of-a-deal dress. But the first location was nice.
We walked into Ginger lounge (is it a lounge or a bar? I dunno.) to see four women scattered throughout the place dancing like no ones watching. Which is cool... only people are watching, paying people, and maybe they ought to kick it up a notch? It was my first real experience of contemporary dancing or as I like to call it "flailing around like there is a bee in your underpants whilst having a psychotic break from reality" but for simplicity sake, let's call it contemporary dancing.
Kids, there was A LOT of contemporary dancing. We were moved from one location to the next (at one point we took the sky train -shudder-) to witness more contemporary dancing. Some of it involved a dirt pile and a spoon. No really, it actually did. It was during this dirt pile dancing that my feet decided they hated contemporary dancing as much as my eyes and ears did. Who the hell thought up this stuff? And why the hell weren't they're Coles Notes? I mean if your going to drag people around vancouver during winter, don't you think you should at least explain what the heck a women in a cave-man suit running around claiming she's Air, means? But they didn't. Maybe I'm not "with it" enough, maybe I don't understand "real" art, maybe I haven't hit my head on enough rocks, but Jesus Christ, it made no sense!
Carolyn had a different take on the contemporary dancing nightmare. She LOVED it! She lapped all of it up, even when a chick, wrapped in clingwrap, flung her body around like a fish outta water to the crazy soundtrack of a really loud organ that was badly tuned. That's why you gotta love Carolyn. She's as mad as the rest of those dancing fools.
After the shananigas ended (halleluiah!) we finished the night off at the Irish Heather for some much needed mind altering fluids. With any luck I killed those poor suffering brain cells that retained anything from the "performances" with alcohol. For the sake of my health, I hope to god a did.
Well that'll learn ya. I'll have to think twice before I act like a pompous Artsy yuppie again. I think next Saturday I'll just dust out some bar tops, dance on some tables and kiss some swamp donkeys like I was born to. Sometimes, you just have to know who you are.
cheers
Carla
