08.21.05

Friday

My manager (V3) said that I could leave the shop at 15:00 (or therabouts) Friday afternoon. Yay! Drove back to the house and had time to shower, sew a patch on my scruffiest jeans, be a kitty hassock, and feed Her Imperious Kittishness. The shower was nice, as it was warm. Okay, hot. But dry-hot, so it wasn't that bad. Remembering to drink water is the most difficult part.

Roused myself, double-checked for all my equipment, costume stuff, jeez-I-might-need-this-to-be-comfortable things. Out the door and into Friday afternoon, rush hour traffic. I turned up the Bollywood music, and jim-jammed my way down the highway.

The people out here don't understand car seat dancing. I think it's a shame.

Got over to the practice space, where the band was to meet. Turns out that it's an abandoned mental hospital. I met the owner; a youngish, very fuzzy guy (no shirt, dirty hands 'cause he'd been working on the AC unit), with long, curly, dark hair--mostly on his noggin, but a lot on his shoulders, back and chest. He works as a military museum archivist, and is heading to Belgium (German charm and French efficiency--bloody nightmare) to do a physical count of four warehouses worth of stuff dating back to the Battle of Waterloo.

The ex-hospital is in transition. The walls are still hospital dun-coloured and most of the fixtures are still there. It's a rabbit warren of rooms, scavenged wiring, strange bits of furniture piled in the wide, tiled-floor halls, and heavy, keep-'em-locked-up swinging doors.

The place had a weird vibe.

I have to admit to a fleeting fantasy of padded-cell sex...*grin*...but I maintained.

The owner rents out space for music practice, there's a scooter shop out front, and some of the rooms are rented to people just getting on their feet. I met a couple of the residents, and we talked about absinthe, wormwood, and Pernod. Ah, la Fee Verte.

The owner came back from his shower (!!) and he talked about the restaurant that's opening (if the city commissioners allow it) in another part of the hospital.

Then the rest of the band showed up. A sudden burst of activity--loading equipment, figuring out who was riding with whom, and we were off to the Oregon Hinterlands.

Once we got out of town, it became a nice ride. Looking out over the Willamette Valley--all lush and green even in late August--and getting closer to the Coastal Range was a treat.

We got to the venue around dusk. There was a small house perched at the top of a little bowl of land. Everything was sloped down. I expect that the guys had a great time setting up in the dark. It wasn't bad, there was a small generator, and some lights. I changed in the kids' room while talking to Binkie, MlleE, and Chatterbox.

After the full moon rose, the Vinos played. Dancing was an interesting exercise--trying to keep my balance on the slope, not trip over tussocks of grass, and getting scratched by a vicious bramble branch that had glommed onto my skirt.

It was fun.

Destro started the drive back to Stumptown, but pooped out. I took over. Dancing re-energizes me, and I'd hit my fifth or sixth wind. As I drove, both MlleE and Destro zonked out. Destro's new puppy, Josephine, passed out on MlleE's lap. Jo woke up at one point, stretched, and fell back to sleep draped across both me and MlleE.

I enjoy driving at night. There's something comforting about people trusting me enough to fall asleep as I drive. It makes me feel responsible and capable. That was nice.

Got back to the house at about 02:30 Saturday morning. This was good. I had visions of getting back as the sun was rising. I'm glad it didn't work out that way.

Saturday
Took it easy.
Turned off the ringer on my phone. Read.
Wrote.
Slept.
Did some Urdu verb declensions (if you know what I mean).
Took a shower.
Acted, once again, as a kitty hassock.

Started getting ready for Saturday night's gig. It was a benefit for Fever Theater. There were deejays, a couple of poets reading (including Treyluv), the Vinos, and iretsu (another band).

The guys played very well. I got the feeling that they were relieved to be indoors--more their element. Mine too. *laugh* It was nice to dance barefoot on a (reasonably) clean, hardwood floor. Gives me more options for what to do.

After we performed, I wandered around and chatted with some people. Sat and talked with people I knew, and people I'd just met.

One of the fun things about being the only sober one at a party is people-watching. I spent a lot of time nodding and smiling as people slurred and stumbled around me. Listening in on conversations that are filled with non sequitors, babble, and platitudes uttered with drunken gravity is fun. Perhaps I should say with altered consciousness, as there was a range of stuff floating around. From what I understand. Didn't really see it, but that's what people were saying.

Don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of stumbling, staggering, and slurring at parties. However, the desire just isn't there for me right now. I'd rather be on the ball and able to maintain halfway decent judgment (such as it is)--especially since there's no one else looking out for my ass.

Had a nice chat with a friend who's going through some big changes in her life--and she's freaking. She talked. I listened. I hope it helped.

Climbed into Tora Torakku. Back to the house and sleeping the sleep of angels by 03:00.

My acceptance of no control is making life more colorful. More fun. More enjoyable. I see how we create our own hells, and how unnecessary that is. Things don't seem as critical, nor am I in such a hurry.

Sunday
This morning I walked to the grocery store for cucumber-sweet onion salad supplies. I'd finally decided that was going to be my contribution to tonight's dinner party.

Just felt like walking a bit. To smell the woodsy, spicy scent of cedar mulch baking in the sun. To look at people's yards. To hear the wind rustle through dried wildflowers. To feel the sun's heat on my back, and the contrasting coolness of shade under trees.

On the way back, my neighbours drove up in their huge SUV.
"Decided to walk to the store?" asked my neighbour. He sounded as if I were doing something outlandish and amazing.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Well, at least it's good exercise," he said, relieved to assign a reason to the madness of my actually walking somewhere.
"Uh," I said (witty to a fault), "I guess it's that, too." I smiled and waved.

I made the salad. Got to play with the food-slicing mandolin with the ceramic blades. That thing kind of scares me, but I persevered. Got it into the 'fridge and hopped online.

Darn. The dinner party was cancelled. The hostess is feeling sick. She said that it'd be bad form to prepare food and host while feeling as if she wanted to hurl. I agree.

Now we have enough cucumber-sweet onion salad to feed a large family. That's nice, I like to add it to my tuna salad.

A quiet afternoon. How lovely. Then down to poetry this evening. And back out to the 'burbs.

The weekend was less hectic than I'd imagined. I met some really interesting people. I got to bellydance and get good feedback. I got to spend time with people I like. *Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm*

Go. Be fabulous.

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