11.29.05

I am bereft.
Bummed.
Distraught.
Rather pissed (and not in a fun, munted, way).

Monday milonga at Bossa Nova is over. Chris and his sister went over in the cold rain and blasting wind last night, all hyped to dance, and there was a notice on the door.

Bossa Nova is closed for re-modeling and will re-open as Outlaws.

Great. Just what we need. Another fucking C&W bar in Stumptown--and on one of the only two halfway decent, wooden dancefloors in town. Well, that I know of.

There was no premonition of the change anywhere. Hell, the Bossa Nova still had events listed in the local, weekly, free mag.

ARRRGGGGHHH!

Can we say wracked with disappointment?

I was so looking forward to dancing last night. One; I didn't go last week because I was ailing, and Thursday was t-day--so no class. Two; I got the invitation/mandate to the company holiday party yesterday afternoon and needed to work off the aggro.

I had a full head of steam going about a holiday party. Thrown by my corporate overlords. With prizes. Held out by the airport in a (-)3-star, chain motel. Of course we aren't being paid for our time. Why not spend the money spent for a holiday party/prizes/etc. on updating your equipment, or (radical notion, this) paying your employees something approaching a semi-living wage?

Silly me. What am I thinking? These assholes are so tight they can shit six miles of copper wire from a roll of pennies.

Here's the holiday party: the banquet room will have the temporary, accordian-fold doors cutting a larger room in pieces--discoloured and marked with mysterious stains. Filthy carpet in Las Vegas patterns. Chafing dishes filled with plaster-coloured goo and stringy, unidentifiable bits of gristly, crypto-meat-like substances. Greyish, flaccid vegetables floating, forlorn, in the cooking water with globules of some cooking oil. Overhead, the blast of jet take-offs and landings.In the background, faintly, the intermittent crashing of meth addicts breaking into cars. Meanwhile, someone's cousin/brother/friend with aspirations of being DJ Spooky (and with very little hope of becoming even DJ mildly creepy) is playing the Electric Slide continually.

Sounds enchanting, don't it?

That's why, this morning, I sent my heartfelt regrets *koff* that I wouldn't be able to attend the (no doubt) fabulous holiday party. As I had another, pre-existing, engagement. (Or would rapidly manufacture one, that's for sure.)

Ye gods and little fishes.

I'm out.

Ciao, darlings. I'm going to make everyone in the store listen to tango, continously. And yes, I mean continuously.

Go. Be fabulous.

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