So, I came out here to the desert for a while to carve out time and quiet to write. Did that, and now I usually feel stranded away from all civilization while I wait for escape time.
But, on occasion, marvelous things happen and I am reminded that plenty of people are hiding out in west bum fuck, too. Such an event was Saturday! M. and I went to the Sex Workers Art Show Tour.
We arrived at the place right on time, and waited around for a while as the place filled up. It became so packed in there that I felt a little boxed in. M. is a clausterphobe, too, so we ended up moving to a different part of the room after intermission just so we could fucking breathe.
Phobias aside, the show was good. Satanica broke a lightbulb and ate fucking glass, which is always good clean fun.
There was a hip-hop/spoken word sort of thing that M. and I both loved. I can't remember his name, but he was good. His performance ended with a tangent that began "Fuck Bush! Fuck the administration!" He verbally fucked everything that needed fucking. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Nomy Lamm and Ben McCoy were also both terribly good. As was a woman with delightful magenta stripes in her hair. (I am terrible about remembering names. I can remember a face forever, but I can't remember your name for ten minutes.) Hell, all of it was good to the last drop.
Afterwards, M. and I went out to have a drink. A blonde girl came up to our table and asked if my "downstairs felt like cupcakes" and discussed the new pink pirate tattoo she had just gotten on her ass.
Good times.
But, on occasion, marvelous things happen and I am reminded that plenty of people are hiding out in west bum fuck, too. Such an event was Saturday! M. and I went to the Sex Workers Art Show Tour.
We arrived at the place right on time, and waited around for a while as the place filled up. It became so packed in there that I felt a little boxed in. M. is a clausterphobe, too, so we ended up moving to a different part of the room after intermission just so we could fucking breathe.
Phobias aside, the show was good. Satanica broke a lightbulb and ate fucking glass, which is always good clean fun.
There was a hip-hop/spoken word sort of thing that M. and I both loved. I can't remember his name, but he was good. His performance ended with a tangent that began "Fuck Bush! Fuck the administration!" He verbally fucked everything that needed fucking. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Nomy Lamm and Ben McCoy were also both terribly good. As was a woman with delightful magenta stripes in her hair. (I am terrible about remembering names. I can remember a face forever, but I can't remember your name for ten minutes.) Hell, all of it was good to the last drop.
Afterwards, M. and I went out to have a drink. A blonde girl came up to our table and asked if my "downstairs felt like cupcakes" and discussed the new pink pirate tattoo she had just gotten on her ass.
Good times.