03.19.05

Thursday night�s show was a hoot and holler. After working in the morning, and volunteering at Oregon Literacy, I went back to the house. Took it easy for a couple of hours, then started getting into bellydance drag.

Armpits shaved? Check.
Legs shaved? Check.
Horrifying zit on my left temple? Covered and spackled. Check.
Costume and accoutrements in bag? Check.
Make-up slathered? Check.
Hair piece attached? Check.

Not wanting bra strap marks, I had to throw something on that�d allow for boob-a-loosus. Thank goodness for camisoles and fitted shirts. Between the cosmetics and the hair piece, I was rockin� my girly side�and how.

Stepped out to the family room, where Mater and Step-Pater watched TV. Mater asked when I�d be back, and made a funny, squinched face when I said, �Midnight.� Great zebus in the morning mist, woman, does it matter?

La, la, la. Drove over to the east side and Doug Fir. A cretinous boob dove into the perfect parking spot that I all ready had my signal on for. Makes a girl wish for things like disintegrator rays and/or laser cannons. Rather than hopping out of Tora and whapping the crap out of the boob, I shrugged, and parked two and a half blocks away.

Went into the lounge, found the green room, and a place to change. I�m quite adept at changing into bellydance battledress in women�s restroom stalls. I�m just waiting for the day I drop some vital piece of costuming into the toilet.

Hung out, talked with Destro, Natty, and some guys from the Carolines. The place started filling and, soon enough, the first band went on.

Hillstomp sounded great. It�s hard to believe that it�s just two guys.

Then it was our turn. The �Vinos took the stage. We were in full force; two violinists, a keyboardist, plus the core line-up of Treluv on guitar, Destro on bass, and Dapper Dick on drums.

It was a tight squeeze on stage, between all of us and the equipment�oy. I had faith that I could squeeze in and find room to dance. I came on (they always save me for later�like dessert *grin*) there was a little shifting and voila, it worked.

Dance, dance, dance. Shake ass. Shake boobs. Floor work, and camel, camel, back bend. Got $2 in tips. Whoo-hoo! Gas money, yay. Finished and staggered off-stage.

Warning: Shameless, self-congratulatory, ego masturbation ahead According to Binkie, Bix and Mlle.E, I raised 16 boners, and probably broke a few hearts as well. A woman in the bathroom, after I changed back into street clothes, said that I made the guitarist for the Carolines cry with my dancing. I�m blithely assuming that was meant in a good way. As I flitted across the lounge to change, there were a lot of head bobs from smitten men. No talking. I suppose the overt sensuality of bellydance can be intimidating. Me? Sexually intimidating? Dang.

Wrapped up, enjoyed the fabulousness of everyone, and headed out to the �burbs.

Oy, I�m tired. Pleased. But tired.

Pluses:
The �Vinos sounded great (especially the adapted Irish drinking song)
We looked FABulous
Didn�t fall on my ass
Costume stayed on

Minus:
Must move straps on bra top, they dug into my skin something fierce

Go. Be fabulous. Imagine yourself with sparkly boobage and fantabulishousness. Oh yeah, you got it.

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