Shirts-Off-O'Clock (Or: Knowing The Right Time To Leave The Room)

I was so proud of myself last night.  I went to a party and made the decision not to drink.  I then left at exactly the right time.  Really, the timing on my departure could not have better coordinated.  I narrowly avoided a scene full of nudity and angry yelling.

Allow me to recapitulate:

Jane, The World's Sweetest Pit Bull

I'm house-sitting this weekend, which means I get paid to hang out in the Hawthorne district with Jane, the world's sweetest pit bull.  It doesn't really get much better than that.  I started the job last night and was quite excited about spending some time alone in a house with a piano and a big screen TV.  I had a blast walking Jane all over Southeast Portland and was about to settle in for a night of cable television when my phone began bleeping at me. 

Apparently there was a party back at the commune.  Specifically a going-away party for one of my neighbors that is moving to Eugene.  I wasn't particularly in the party mood, but it was this girl's last night in town and I felt that it was important to go see her off with everybody.  Plus, I probably won't see her for a long time and she's a neighbor I really liked, so attendance at her goodbye party seemed polite and necessary.  So I drove back to the commune, promising myself that I wasn't going to stay out too late or get talked into doing anything wild (there was a rumor that this was going to be a key party, but I was fairly sure that was a joke). 

Things were fairly normal when I got there.  The usual suspects were gathered around the table in the kitchen drinking aquavit and eating jello salad.  I wasn't feeling the aquavit (NyQuil mixed with black licorice, anyone?), but the jello salad was quite excellent.  It was the weird kind with pretzels in it that only people from the Midwest know how to make.  I was totally suspicious of it at first but now I think I need the recipe (can anybody from the Midwest help me out with that?). 

Anyway, it was all fairly tame at first - just a bunch of hipsters and hippies sitting around eating jello.  The Poet told me about a weird encounter he had with the middle-aged musician that lives on the floor below us.  We'll call him Moody Musician.  This guy is notorious for his dramatic emotional cycles.  I am on good terms with him, but sometimes I am terrified to talk to him because he becomes hyper-sensitive when he has a bad day.  And according to The Poet, Moody Musician had entered another one of his dark periods and was having several bad days.  I don't have to interact with Moody Musician very often, so I didn't think much of this information. 

The party picked up as the bottle of aquavit was drained.  Purple Hair put on a David Bowie album and The Fonz gave a dramatic lip-syncing performance of "Let's Dance."  Soon, a lot of people were dancing.  Strangely enough, I was more in the mood to sit on the couch and pet somebody's dog.  Usually I'm all over David Bowie dance parties, but something was off last night. 

The couch turned out to be a good place to be.  Somebody yelled "UNDERWEAR PARTY" and suddenly everyone took off their pants.  Awkward.  Yeah, it was a room full of people that I like, but I didn't really want to see any of them in their underwear.  I also wasn't about to take my pants off.  Maybe I'm lame, but that's just not my idea of a good time. 

It was around 11, which isn't really that late in my world but it still seemed like a good time to head back to Jane's house.  Somebody announced that the time was almost "SHIRTS-OFF-O'CLOCK" and I took that as my cue to make an awkward exit.  I gave my friend who's moving a goodbye hug and darted out the door before the toplessness began.  The Poet followed me.  The two of us were the only people in the room who were fully-clothed.  My departure was an excellent opportunity for The Poet to escape the awkwardness and smoke a cigarette. 

So I drove back to Southeast, changed into my sweatpants, and pounded away at the piano while the dog fell asleep on the floor next to me.  It didn't take long for my phone to ring.  It was The Poet.  "Holy @#$%.  You left at exactly the right time," he said.

Apparently, when The Poet went back inside, he heard Moody Musician screaming profanities.  When The Poet got to the top of the stairs, the night-time maintenance manager was standing in the hallway in response to Moody Musician's noise complaints.  And when The Poet went into the kitchen, he found a room full of naked people being cussed out by the Moody Musician in all of his angsty, unstable glory. 

Meanwhile, Bowie was still blasting from the stereo.  Everyone was avoiding eye contact with one another and Moody Musician was screaming at everyone in sight while the maintenance manager was sheepishly trying to diffuse the situation. 

And I was in a completely different part of town.  I can't help but be somewhat astonished at my ability to avoid that situation entirely. 

The novelty of living in an artist's community is slowly but surely wearing off.  I'm busy developing my next plan.  I'm not entirely sure what that plan will look like yet, but I don't think it will involve an old retirement home this time around.   

The Sad Tale Of 80's Night

80's night was a total dud. 

The turnout was dismal despite my advertising efforts.  There were a few moments when no one was in the room except for me.  I kept thinking "People are coming, they just haven't arrived yet."  I thought that the whole night.  At one point, I put on the song "I Think We're Alone Now" and it was way too appropriate.

And here I was hoping to pay my rent off of the money from the door charge.  I ended up making enough to buy either two small lattes or an over-priced sandwich.   

On the bright side, it made me realize once again that I have some really wonderful friends.  The sort of friends that will spend three hours dancing in an empty room in order to make me feel less stupid.  Naturally, these friends were The Fonz, The Poet, and The Fallen Nun (who isn't really a nun).  The lady that lives across the hall from me came down for a bit too (wearing an elaborate Madonna costume).  I was extremely thankful for the moral support, even if I did end up yelling at The Fonz at one point because he tried to sneak into the DJ booth to get rid of the song "Square Biz" (all was well again when I played "Nasty Girl" by Vanity 6 and announced into the microphone that it was his theme song). 

So I had fun, but it was the sort of fun that I could have with three friends in my own apartment.  I don't think I'll be trying 80's night in that particular venue again any time soon. 

I don't even know if the booking agent thing is going to work out.  I'm not giving up on it yet, but everything is proving to be more trouble than it's worth.  I need to shift my focus to getting my own musical career off of the ground. 


Note to self:  Figure out how to get musical career off of the ground. 

For Better Or For Worse, Techno-Folk Night Is Now A Thing Of The Past

First off, on Tuesday I wrote a guest post of sorts for my friend Allison. She's in England right now and asked me to cover her weekly playlist for her. You can check it out here. You should check out the rest of Allison's blog while you are over there too.

Now that we've got the shameless plugs out of the way, I can tell you that I got through techno-folk night and lived to tell about it. It wasn't necessarily a raging success, but it didn't bomb completely. On a 1-10 scale, my stress level was probably at about 11 the entire night, but that's fairly normal. I think I did an alright job at playing it cool. Though the conversations I kept having with my boss didn't always help:

Boss: So, it's your first time coordinating an event...are you nervous?
Me: (lying through my teeth) Nah, I've totally got this under control.
Boss: You're not nervous at all?
Me: No.
Boss: Well you should be! This is all depending on you!

I have never smoked in my life (and don't plan on starting), but at that moment, I really could have used a cigarette or something.

I did more last night than most people realize. I took care of the musicians when they arrived. I ran all of the sound-checks and got everything sorted out on the technical side of things. I played the role of The Bouncer during the show (though there wasn't a huge crowd or much alcohol to monitor). I bussed the occasional table at the order of my boss.

I was also the liaison to the surprise belly dancing act that somebody booked without telling me. I'm still confused about that part of the evening. One minute I'm jamming out to a strange techno remix of a Beatles song with The Poet and the next minute my boss is introducing me to some chick in a belly dancing costume.

Because a line-up involving the world's most enthusiastic banjo player and a techno guy that comes equipped with trippy movies on a projector is really not complete without belly dancing. Gah.

Tonight will be better.

Which reminds me, I need to get my final playlist together. I've never really DJ-ed anything that wasn't a private party or a college-related event, so I'm slightly overwhelmed. Especially since I had a humbling conversation about software and equipment with the techno guy last night and realized that I really have no idea what I'm doing.

But life is a learning curve, right?

I plan to spend most of the day in my sweatpants and transform into my ultra-hip DJ persona just in time for the event. This week's model of my DJ persona will be wearing a dress that belonged to my mother in 1980something. To your left is a picture of the last time I wore that dress (which, by the way, was a million years ago).

Not quite as good as the leather pants that The Chef had on last night, but it's difficult to compete with that man's fashion taste.

Anyway, there are currently twelve hours between me and 80's night and I've got a lot to do. The first thing on the list involves going back to bed. So I'm gonna sign off for now. Hope everyone is having an absolutely groovy Saturday and hopefully next time I pop up on your blog roll I will have some good DJ stories to tell.

Do You Believe In Life After Love? (OR: YOU! I Wanna Take You To A Gay Bar!)

It's been a weird week.  I guess it all began last Saturday.

There was a conversation that needed to happen but left me in a state of sadness.  So I was busy being melancholy in my cave when there was a knock on the door.  It was The Fonz.  He was wearing a satiny black tiger-striped blouse and toting a bottle of vodka.  Purple Hair and The Fallen Nun were with him, laughing and wearing equally ridiculous outfits.  Purple Hair had on a sparkly gold cape and The Fallen Nun had a brightly-colored Western motif going on. 

"Yo baby gurrrl, you goin dancin with us?"  asks The Fonz.  Earlier, a bunch of us had talked about going out to a club down in the Industrial District.  I wasn't really in the mood anymore, but I couldn't say "no" to Fonzie and his epic guido attire.  I went straight to my closet to put an outfit together. 

I should probably mention that this was a club I hadn't been to before.  It was not my usual 80's night or Bollywood-themed discotheque.  It wasn't a seedy dubstep dive or a Top 40 bump-and-grind fest. 

This was a gay club. 

When I go dancing, it's usually just about dancing for me.  Therefore, it doesn't really matter to me if it's a gay club or not.  Plus, it's no secret that the homosexual community has better dance music.  Anyway, my friends weren't going to let me just wear my standard black dress this time around.  Purple Hair went to go dig through her closet and came back with a sparkly red cape.  I skeptically put it on with a black skirt, my power boots, and a big chunky silver cuff bracelet I hadn't really worn since high school.  My friends cheered.  I was Little Red Riding Hood meets Wonder Woman, and I was on my way to a club called Blow Pony.

Play this song for dramatic effect: 



We borrowed Mr. Syracuse's SUV and headed towards downtown.  The club itself was a little bit hard to find.  When we finally arrived, there was a line stretched all the way down the block.  To our disappointment, the line was full of gay suburban hipsters.  We were the most flamboyant people there.  I felt a little stupid, as I should have.  Feel free to laugh at me, queer readers. 

In my defense, things were a lot more flamboyant inside the club.  I did not feel completely out of place in the sparkly red cape.  But I did feel like alcohol was necessary if I really was going to wear that all evening.  The Fonz had similar feelings about his guido shirt (which, by the way, belonged to Purple Hair).  We went and got some PBR while the DJ spun Lady Gaga remixes and some guy in a speedo danced the stage. 

The club was really crowded and the four of us had a hard time keeping track of each other.  It wasn't long until we lost The Fonz.  I figured he just went to the bathroom or something and kept dancing.  The music was great and I was having I blast. 

A Cher song came on and everyone in the whole place knew all of the words.  Generally, I hate Cher, but at that moment the only thing I could do was turn to The Fallen Nun and belt out the following words:

"Do youuuu beliiiiiiieve in liiiife after love?"

That's more than slightly embarrassing.  But it was a "when in Rome..." situation.

Anyway, The Fonz remained missing for most of the night.  We found him when we were about to leave.  He was drunk and making new friends.  When we left the club, it wasn't long until he was peeing on the sidewalk.  "Lauren, we need to have an awkward moment tonight.  I'm going to pee in front of the car!" he announced. 

Then we all went home and made tacos.  It was a successful evening.  Honestly, I think I had more fun at that club than I normally do at straight clubs.  I think it's because of the music. 

Seriously.  There must be a miniature gay man trapped inside my brain and managing my musical preferences.  If you take a look at my iPod, you'll quickly discover that the Lady Gaga/80s synthpop/eurodance to rock music ratio is disturbingly unbalanced. 

But I digress.  The day after the gay club adventure brought it's own surprises (Urgent Care, anyone?) but I'll save that for another post.  I'm trying to get better at splitting things up into digestable episodes instead of just dumping a million paragraphs of dribble upon you guys. 

So that's all for now.  There will be more to come. 

A Bad Night To Be A Hipster

Last spring, I had the privilege of seeing Kimya Dawson in concert.  If her name doesn't ring a bell, you might know her as the quirky hippy lady that does the music for "Juno."  Anyway, I might be romanticizing things, but that concert was a catalyst for all sorts of life changes.  Meaning I returned my business suit, started a blog called "TRASH ROCK TOUR" (which would later be known as "lauren vs. reality"), and decided to pursue my dreams.

That's a very simplified explanation, of course.  I can't blame Kimya for my entire journey down this bohemian rabbit hole, but she definitely played a part in my detachment from "balloon world."  So when I found out she was going to be in town playing at Backspace again last night, I called Ryan (a.k.a: Kimya's #1 Fanboy) and we bought tickets.  Anticipating another magical evening of inspiring folk music, we jumped on a MAX train after band practice.

The trip downtown took a little longer than we anticipated and the MAX was full of awkward characters (i.e:  a wannabe gangsta with a speech impediment, a woman who was going to pop out of her itty bitty tank top at any second, etc.).  When we finally got to Backspace, it was almost time for the show to start and there was a line of Kimya fans stretched out down the sidewalk.

Reluctantly, we got in line.  There were more boys in line than there were last time.  There were also more heterosexual couples.  Last spring, it was a bit of a lesbian festival. 

Anyway, as we got closer to the door, we noticed a few things:
1)  A sign that said completely different information than what was on the site we bought tickets from, including the start time of the show and the fact that Kimya Dawson was the opening act for a folk punk band.
2)  Kimya was already onstage playing "The Beer" (one of her best songs and we missed it!)
3)  We had missed half of Kimya's set!

I think it was at this point that I said something melodramatic along the lines of, "Ryan, if we don't get inside in time and miss all of Kimya's set, I might just cry!  I might just cry right here on the sidewalk!"

Fortunately, we made it inside before there was any crying on the sidewalk.  But the room was packed and there wasn't really a good place for us to sit/stand.  We settled on a spot near the bar.  People kept pushing to get past us and I could see the top of Kimya's poofy hair at best.

But the music was still wonderful, despite all of the disappointments.  "Loose Lips" still made me grin and "Walk Like Thunder" still gave me goosebumps.  I love how raw and honest her songs are.  I think I've said this before, but it's the kind of music that reminds me why I insist on playing the piano instead of getting a "real" job.

Her set was over way too soon.  I went to go order a drink to cope with my post-Kimya depression.  I quickly discovered that they were out of PBR.

It was a bad night to be a hipster.

On top of that, I kept losing Ryan because he took off in the direction of Kimya whenever he spotted her poofy hair.  The number of times he attempted to ambush her like an awkward fanboy was downright comical.  

Ryan in fanboy mode while I'm busy being an angry hipster

The punk-ish band took the stage and they weren't bad.  They were called "Defiance Ohio" and reminded me of Flogging Molly (but less edgy and not quite as wonderful...yes, I went through that celtic punk phase in high school along with the rest of the universe...don't judge...).  The music was fun to dance to but I probably won't run out and buy all of their albums.

Just watch, Defiance Ohio will become the next big thing and then this blog post will be right up there with the journal entry from the summer of 2004 in which I describe skipping band camp to go see They Might Be Giants at a music festival with my dad.  And I quote, "A band from Seattle called 'Death Cab For Cute' played before them.  We hung around for some of that so we could get prime spots for TMBG.  The place was packed so we didn't actually get to see Death Cab, but they sounded pretty good.  Finally, they ended and all these pierced punk rockers came pouring out.  All the nerdy, intellectual TMBG fans piled in!"  I then go on to describe how "beautiful" and "freak'n awesome" the TMBG show was.  Oh Teenage Lauren, you are so funny without even trying.  I think if I could relive that moment in time, I would put more effort into watching Death Cab.  I would also put more effort into removing the word "freak'n" from my vocabulary.

But I digress.  Back to things that are relevant.

I left to go to the bathroom in the middle of Defiance Ohio's set.  There are only two bathrooms at Backspace and they are both oners, so I found myself waiting in line for awhile.  The line was right by the Internet cafe part of Backspace.  It was also by an arcade-style game called "House Of The Dead 4."  Some guy in tight pants and a band t-shirt got in line behind me.  He wasn't completely gorgeous or anything, but he wasn't bad looking.  He starts talking to me and the conversation goes like this:

Guy:  I can't believe that people are back here on computers when there is a punk show going on!  What's up with that?
Me:  I know!  They really should be out there dancing.
Guy:  Yeah, for real!
*awkward silence*
Me:  Though are you sure you wouldn't rather be back here playing House Of The Dead 4?
Guy:  *laughs*  It's tempting, but I'm more of a House Of The Dead 2 type of person.
Me:  Personally I'm all about House Of The Dead 3.
Guy:  Rock on.
Me:  Yeah, House Of The Dead 3 is where it's at.
*awkward silence*
Me:  I'm kidding.
Guy:  What?
Me:  I'm kidding about House Of The Dead 3.  I'm not actually into it.
Guy:  Haha, yeah, you totally fooled me.
Me:  Yeah, I know.  Oh look, the bathroom is open!
*end of conversation*

Ugh.  When will I learn that trying to charm strangers with my neverending wit is usually a bad idea? 

The concert ended and we were able to successfully hunt down Kimya (I don't think Ryan was going to leave the venue until he was able to meet her).  We told her how much we loved her and snagged this wonderfully awkward photograph:

This is a happy picture.

I thought about taking a picture with her as well, but she didn't seem that into it and I didn't want to be too annoying.

So we left Backspace and ventured into the rain.  The trip home took longer than it should have because we lost track of where we were and we rode the wrong MAX to the wrong stop.

But that didn't stop us from dancing all the way home.

So last night ended on a high note.  I have always wanted to dance in an empty train car and now I can cross that off of my bucket list.

And that's all I've got for today.  Hope everyone is having a great Sunday!  Peace.

The Year Of The Goat

I typically hate New Year's. I like the idea of New Year's, but I often get stressed out over plans that don't quite come together like I want them to. I go into New Year's Eve with high hopes and am disappointed the next day because it's never as fun as I think it should be.

This was not the case this year. I'm still replaying the video tapes in my brain, but I think I actually had a good night.

Last year, I bent over backwards a little bit to keep people around me happy on New Year's. As a result, I was standing in the rain with my ex-boyfriend's roommate when the clock turned midnight (I was also completely sober). It set the tone for a year of trying to please the world around me while neglecting the things that are important to me.

It should be noted that 2010 was a fairly bizarre year. It was a year of transition. I'm not sure if it was really a good year or a bad year, it was just a year where lots of things happened. I graduated from college. I got a keytar. I had a post-graduation crisis that lasted an entire summer. I took a road trip by myself for the first time. I learned to pump my own gas. I got out of a serious relationship that wasn't enhancing my life. I learned a lot about people, about friends, and about boys. I moved into an artist's community. I surrounded myself with creative people and have made some really wonderful new friends. I did a solo show for the first time ever. I discovered that, contrary to popular belief, there is nothing spiritually enlightening about not having hot water and taking cold showers. I've gotten more serious about my writing. I think I'm living the starving artist dream that I've fantasized about since childhood. I think I'm actually...happy.

It seems that my motto for the year 2010 was "That seemed like a good idea at the time." Even the last few hours of the year were worthy of that catchphrase. Determined not to be disappointed by New Year's this time, I was careful not to make any plans. I had no expectations whatsoever for the evening. In fact, I was content to drink coffee and work on Goat Man in my apartment. I took a break to try on the new leather shorts I got for Christmas. I was in the process of testing out different shoe options and posing in front of my mirror when there was a knock on the door.

It was my friend The Fallen Nun. As I've mentioned before, she is not really a fallen nun, nor is she even Catholic, but it's a nickname we've given her based on the way she plays the ukulele. Anyway, she's one of my better friends around here, and she knocked on the door to tell me about some party she didn't want to go to alone.

Who's party was this? Here's the connection: There's a girl who recently moved into one of the rooms in the creepy stairwell. Dancing is her thing so we'll call her The Dancer. I don't know her very well but we're friendly. She was hanging out in the kitchen with her flamboyantly gay and fairly obnoxious best friend. He reminded me a little bit of Jack from "Will and Grace," but less fabulous and more immature. So we'll call him Jack. Anyway, The Dancer and Jack were going to a party a few blocks away at Jack's friend's house. It was advertised to us as "lots of people and lots of dancing." Though I generally hate parties, I can never pass up dancing. I wouldn't have gone if I didn't have a buddy, but I knew The Fallen Nun wasn't going to abandon me at some strange party and I figured if it wasn't that fun we'd at least have a good story to tell the next day. So I took off my leather shorts, put on something a little more seasonally appropriate, and set out into the night.

Time: 10:20pm

Buses run free on New Year's, it's 20 degrees outside, and the party turns out to be a little farther than "a few blocks away." So the four of us tromp over to the bus stomp - The Fallen Nun and I bundled up in giant coats, Jack smoking a million cigarettes and singing that awful Willow Smith song, The Dancer wearing a bow in her hair and finishing off a two-liter bottle of Sprite (we later found out there was an entire fifth of rum mixed into that bottle). The bus takes forever to get there. The Fallen Nun and I realize that we are not only significantly older than Jack and The Dancer, but we are the only ones who are not wasted. We probably shouldn't have gotten on the bus with them, but we did.

Time: 10:40pm

We get off the bus and Jack drags us into a neighborhood. He keeps assuring us that he knows where the party is but it feels like we are just aimlessly walking around a random neighborhood. Somebody comments that it's "just like high school!" And it does feel a lot like high school. Except I skipped that entire scene in high school.

Time: 10:50pm

We find the party. It turns out that "lots of people and lots of dancing" was a lie - the "party" was literally five stoned hipsters playing Uno. Jack apologizes for dragging us to a lame party but announces that is has to stay because the hostess is his "main girl." The Dancer is upset for a variety of reasons including the following:
1) The party is too small.
2) The boy she wants to kiss at midnight is not there.
3) She wants to go to a bar.
4) She hates Uno.

Time: 11:05pm

We go back into the night, leaving Jack at the party. We walk down the street to find a bar that one of the stoned hipsters recommended to us. We look in the window and are horrified to see that the bar is full of middle-aged women singing karaoke. We decide it's not our scene.

Time: 11:20pm


The Dancer finally gets ahold of the boy she wants to kiss and has an extremely loud phone conversation with him. She announces that we're going to another party. The Fallen Nun and I have a brief pow wow and decide that we want to go back to the commune. Meanwhile, The Dancer is attempting to hail a cab on the wrong side of the street. She then repeatedly tells me to use my phone to call her a cab because her phone is almost dead. I end up just pulling up Google Maps on my iPhone and showing her that her party is an easy ten minute walk away. So she sets off into the night with a dying cell phone, the bow still in her hair. The Fallen Nun and I watch her cross the street and wonder if we should do something. We decide there's nothing we can do and decide to just get on the next bus - a bus that won't come for nearly 15 minutes. We decide to walk/jog to another bus stop to keep warm.

Time: 11:35pm

We finally get on a bus. We are the only people on it.

Time: 11:45pm

We get home in time for midnight. We run into Purple Hair on our way inside (though her hair isn't purple anymore, so the name is a little irrelevant now). "Oh man, where have you guys been?!" she says. "This place is crazy tonight! Merry Christmas Forever Guy locked me in the storage closet and told me I was going to Narnia! It was great!"

Time: 11:50pm

There is a hipster New Year's Party happening in somebody's apartment and it seems that the entire community is in there. I go down the hall to ditch my coat and run into one of my elusive across-the-hall neighbors that I rarely see. I'm not really sure how old this woman is. I know she's not my age. I'm not sure if she's quite my mother's age, but she could be. She helped me record a demo for Goat Man and was awesome, but before that I never really talked to her much. Anyway, she's floating down the hall in a fancy black dress paired with a white fur stole. She gives me a hug and beckons me into her apartment which is all set up for a party. She asks where I have been. She says the party has moved down the hall. She encourages me to eat some of her hor dourves. I eat a piece of chocolate that was obviously store-bought, being careful to avoid any of the homemade baked goods on the table. She pours me a glass of champagne and tells me to meet her at the big party down the hall.

Time: 11:57pm

I arrive at the hipster party. The entire universe seems to be there. We count down to the New Year.

Time: 12:00am

Everyone is hugging and cheering and taking bad pictures of each other while drinking cheap champagne. It's a pretty happy New Year. People are dancing. The creepy kid from my writing group that raps about pirates and sometimes dresses like a pirate (we'll call him Pirate Guy) is dancing way too close to The Fallen Nun and it's making her uncomfortable. Fur Stole Lady is kissing everyone. The space is a little too small for all of us and someone asks if I can rig up some dance music in the kitchen.

Time: 12:15am

There's a small crowd of people dancing in the kitchen, one disco ball, one strobe light, two fairly crappy speakers, and a Tesla Boy track later. Naturally, I am the DJ. So much for spending New Year's working on my rock opera.

Time: 12:25am

I am still wearing extra layers from when I was trekking around in the cold, so I let the music be on auto-pilot and slip back to my room to change into something more appropriate for dancing. I am gone no more than ten minutes. I hear screaming and I return to discover Fur Stole Lady threatening to take off her clothes in the middle of the "dance floor." I quickly learn that I had just narrowly missed Pirate Guy doing a strip tease that resulted in full frontal nudity. Apparently I know the right time to leave the room.

Dancing continues for a couple of hours without anything too noteworthy happening. There was a lot of ridiculous 90s eurodance music at one point, courtesy of yours truly (and the drunk friend of Purple Hair who kept sneaking over to my laptop while I was dancing and playing "What Is Love" repeatedly).

Time: 2:30 am-ish

Fur Stole Lady continues to dance even though the party has faded out. The Poet, The Fallen Nun, and I were trying to drop subtle hints that we wanted to clean up but she wasn't getting it. Two guys we'd never seen before showed up and sat awkwardly in the corner. Fur Stole Lady put on the song "Lazy Eye" by The Silver Sun Pickups and shamelessly danced to it in the center of the room. One of the random dudes joined her. Then The Fallen Nun joined them. I got up and danced with them as well. The other random dude started dancing. We got lost in the song for four minutes. "I've been waiting for this moment all my life, but it's not quite right," sang The Silver Sun Pickups. It's a song I've heard many times before - I've even heard it live - but it felt like I was hearing it again for the first time. And I don't think I had been waiting for that particular moment all my life, but right then, everything in the universe actually did seem right.

I'm pretty excited about 2011. I have no idea what it's going to bring, but that's alright. I'm just going to continue to do what I love to do and see what happens.

On that note, I should probably go tend to Goat Man. I've left him alone for several hours now and he's not very happy when he gets ignored like that.

Peace out, my friends. Hope everyone had a great New Year.

Or, in the words of the guy that lives across the hall from me:

HAPPY NEW YEAR FOREVER!

Also, here's "Lazy Eye," just in case you don't know it:

Cheers!

Fiesta Time

I can now cross the following item off of my bucket list:

Salsa dance in the kitchen at three in the morning with a sweaty, shirtless boy wearing skin-tight leather leggings.

(That wasn't actually on my bucket list, but now it doesn't have to be...)

That is all.

Witness The Whiteness

So last week was a little rough. By the time Friday rolled around, there was really only one thing I wanted to do: GO 80'S DANCING.

I know, I know, I'm such a cliche white person. I'm pretty sure 80's dancing is on the official list of stuff white people like, if not at the very top. But there's a great place downtown that has a little something called "80's Video Dance Attack" every Friday night. Once a week, young hipsters with side-ponytails, middle-aged Billy Idol fans, and old people in 80's prom dresses line up around the block for this 80's night.

I couldn't allow myself to have another night of eating ice cream and surfing the musician want-ads on Craigslist, so I called up my friend Mariah and met up with her downtown. She had recently been talking about how she never goes out, so I felt that it was my duty as a friend to expose her to the glory of 80's dancing.

The club was packed and we ended up waiting in line on the sidewalk for awhile. We finally made it past the bouncer around 11 and found ourselves in a large room full of drunken white people attempting to dance to "Come On Eileen."

Mariah, who was new to this sort of thing, looked fairly uncomfortable. "You go onto the dance floor, I think I'm just going to watch people for a bit," she says. I wasn't about to let her get away with that. After all, I truly believe that everyone in the universe has a secret desire to dance to bad pop music from the 1980's. So I pulled her onto the dance floor and soon we were breakin it down like a chemical compound.

The DJ played MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This" (which was technically released in 1990 but it still worked at 80's night) and I had to succumb to my obnoxious white person nature by showing my friend that I know almost every word of the rap. I noticed a guy eyeing me from the side of the room but I didn't think much of it. Then "Footloose" came on and the guy pushed his way through the crowd and came over to us.

This man had to be at least 35. He had a beer in his hand and the world's cheesiest grin on his face. "Ladies, do you mind if I dance with you?" he asked in a British accent.

I shrugged and said, "Sure, why not." The three of us proceeded to cut footloose. Our British friend knew every word and danced way too well to be heterosexual. The next song came on and he recognized it in about three beats. "Woo! I love this song!" he exclaimed. He knew all of the words to that song too. I couldn't look at Mariah for fear that we would both start laughing.

He danced with us for the duration of a few songs (always screaming at the beginning of each one and declaring his love it, of course). Then he announced that he needed to take a break, blew us a kiss, and went back to the side of the dance floor. He stood very close to a man. Mariah and I had a laugh and kept dancing. I figured that would be the last of our British friend.

But when Mariah left for a minute to get a drink of water, he was back! He had a new beer in his hand and was incredibly excited about the song the DJ was playing. I felt like it took Mariah forever to get a drink of water. She returned to find me and my British friend dancing to this song:

	Human League - Don't You Want Me .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Naturally, he knew all of the words and was quite enthusiastic about singing them to me. Which was all fine and good until he attempted to grind against my leg. Apparently he wasn't as gay as we thought he was.

"It's all in good fun!" he stammered when he saw the disgusted look on my face. He then tried to grind against Mariah and got a similar negative response.

"Okay, I get it, you ladies have bubbles!" he said. We continued to dance, but he kept getting closer and closer to me and it was becoming slightly awkward. I finally ducked out to go use the bathroom, dragging Mariah with me. It was getting late, but we decided to return to the dance floor for a few more songs before heading home.

"But let's go to the other side of the dance floor," I say to Mariah. "Let's get away from that British Guy."

We make our way towards the other side of the dance floor and quickly turn around because Awkward British Guy is sitting at the bar right in front of us. We scuttle back to where we were earlier and are just in time for "Thriller." We're having a blast watching people try to be Michael Jackson when suddenly we have a visitor.

"Fancy running into you ladies again!" says Awkward British Guy. I swear, he magically teleported over to us or something.

The DJ spins an awful old school rap song and our British friend proceeds to demonstrate exactly how white he is. He busts out all of these "gangsta" moves that should never be done in public and raps along with this fine piece of music:

	Digital Underground - Humpty Dance .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

I think it was about that point that Mariah and I decided it was time to go. We told Awkward British Guy that we were leaving and he thanked us for dancing with him. "I had a lovely time ladies, maybe I'll run into you guys another night and we can dance again." He then offered to give me a very enthusiastic fist pump. It was all I could do not to laugh.

80's dancing is the best. Really. If any of you ever find yourself in Portland on a Friday night with nothing to do, call me up and I'll drag you over to 80's Video Dance Attack.

Hahahaha. I'm so white...

Public Transportation Is The Best

Saturday night. I'm on the light rail train with Steve after a music festival in Portland.

An old woman sits across from us and knits.

Two tattooed teenage boys hold onto the handles from the ceiling and stand in the middle of the car.

Someone on the other end of the car blasts music from a cell phone. To be more specific, it's Lady Gaga's "Pokerface." Steve laughs. I bob my head in time. The teenagers grin.

The dude with the phone changes it to that awful Ke$ha song (you know, the one where she wakes up feeling like P. Diddy even though she's a white chick). I laugh and start to dance in my seat. Steve joins me. The boys groove to it too, all four of us discretely singing "Don't stop, make it pop, DJ blow my speakers up." "Oh my god, can we get some strobe lights up in here?" says one of the boys. "Yeah, dance party!" says the other boy.

The train comes to a stop and the dude with the phone gets off.

The tattooed teenagers go back to making jokes about elderly strippers.

Steve and I go back to geeking out about the music festival we just went to.

The old woman is still knitting.

All thoughts of a dance party are abandoned.


Public transportation is fabulous, yes?