Thursday, February 12, 2009
Today is HUBS' birthday (he's 38), and to celebrate this occasion on my blog I decided to relay some stories as written by HUBS in an email he sent yesterday (he's 38). So, here goes...
As a school computer technician, I get to overhear some pretty hilarious stuff while working. Such as (quoted from memory) the following.
Years ago, at a Jefferson City elementary school...
Third-grader: "Ms. Gutierrez?"
Ms. Gutierrez, warily: "Yes, Billy?"
Third-grader: "You know why Santa's nose is red?"
Ms. Gutierrez, still wary: "Why, Billy?"
Third-grader, matter-of-factly: "Capillaries."
Today, at a St. Louis County high school...
White student: "I want to understand this whole 'rap' thing."
Black student: "That would take weeks."
Later today, at the same school, with the same students...
White student: "Rap doesn't seem to have much of a message."
Black student: "[Something about Grandmaster Flash, and then...] The old-school rappers had messages."
White student: "Yeah, but now, it's just about their own lives. 'My girl cheated on me,' 'my life is tough,' stuff like that."
White student: "So it's sorta like country now, really."
Black student: "Don't you ever say that again."
Recently, at the same St. Louis County high school...
Student 1: "Hey, do you guys remember that boy that swam in the football field when it flooded last year?"
Student 2: "Yeah, I bet he got salmonella."
HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUBS (he's 38)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Dear Jesus, we just want to get out of here alive...
Holy crap, I am so proud of us! We finally, after weeks of talking and planning have done something new! This is, in great part, thanks to HUBS' sister Tiny Sarcasm, or TS for short.
See TS is an avid belly dancer and she invited me to a workshop weekend she was coming to St. Louis for. I begged off the workshop since it was about $60, but said ok to the performance last Saturday night. I did this with much trepidation, though. Tickets were a whole THIRTEEN DOLLARS each. Who did these people think they were? I felt like I should really say yes, though, because this was the second time she'd asked me to do belly stuff with her, and I said no the first time.
So, on Saturday night, HUBS and I put on cool clothes and headed out to the dance studio where the performance was held. As usual with me and new things, I was not in the mood. The only thing that kept me from drifting back into my cozy, lazy Saturday pj-wearing ways was knowing that TS was expecting us.
This was not an easy task by any means. After stopping at the atm for ticket cash, we headed to a part of town neither of us knows well. We got to the street where the studio was supposed to be and it looked totally deserted. It was filled with factories on one end and apartments on the other, nothing even remotely dance-studio-y.
We drove up and down about four times and were ready to give up when we finally noticed the bright green building waaaaaaay off the street and sandwiched between two factories. There was a parking dude who directed us to a huge, completely dark, gravel and mud lot. We parked, HUBS got out and told me to watch for the mud puddles.
citygirl: Goddammit! This is what I get for trying to up my style game by not wearing clunky tennis shoes and jeans. Look what I'm wearing!
HUBS: (seeing my tan chinos and zebra striped ballet flats) Naw! Hell, naw! I'm not gonna have you ruin your shoes! This is bullshit! Let's go!
We were actually leaving when we noticed a spot on the lit and paved lot right in front of the building. We talked to parking man and he let us take the spot. Look at us! All determined to do stuff once we leave the house!!
Then came the experience of being inside the place. Um...it was really scary. It's exactly the type of place you'd go to if you want to be killed by Jason Voorhees. And the first really creepy thing we passed on the way to get our tickets? A vendor selling fetish gear: whips, chains, restraints, ball and gag crap, lots of pleather/leather/whateverthefuckthatshitismadeof. I was trying to remain calm, and did, but inside I was all fucked up.
We got our tickets from the nice man with all the piercings and tattoos and a shiny black pompadour and headed for the basement, where the performance was. Holy fuck shits, you guys. The stairs were unbelievable. If you showed me a picture of those stairs and told me they led straight to the 9th circle of Hell I'd be like, "Well, yeah. Obviously." Later, HUBS told me that after he saw the stairs he thought his sister had set us up to be the ritual sacrifices of a cult. And that's only a small exaggeration.
As you can probably imagine the basement was no better. The pipes in the ceiling were leaky, the floor was filthy and wet, and they hadn't bothered to put enough seating around so HUBS and I (in our nice clothes) were relegated to the floor. A major feature of the room was an old conveyor belt complete with rusty nails! Joy! Joy aplenty!!
After a few performances we spotted TS and she us. We sat in front of her full table, and I hit my head on it as I sat down. It took me FOREVER to get comfortable. I thought for sure that I'd be covered in rats and roaches as soon as I sat down. The only thing keeping them away must have been...I don't know...bigger rats?
Let me just say, the people were just as terrifying as the setting. This was no standard bellydance show. Oh no. This was a Goth Tribal Fusion Bellydance show. There were lots of scarily made up faces, dog collars and just a sea of meshy, black costumes everywhere. Also, many of the performers were scary. One chick looked like an old witch. If you told me she was born in the year 10 and survived on the tears of children I'd say, "Well, yeah. What else could keep that woman alive."
We managed to stay for the whole show. I even won a door prize of a very spiky silver bracelet made in Pakistan. I'm not sure why, but it reminds me a lot of the puzzle box from Hellraiser. I'm not convinced I'll wear it.
Afterwards, in need of nourishment and light, we had breakfast at midnight at South City Diner, which is nearby. Thank God for blueberry pancakes.