I was sitting in the audience tonight at the Hypnodrome for the Grand Guignal spectacular of The Bloody Debutante and I kept having these moments of deja vu.
What the hell is going on?
I know I am ass out tired.
Not you, I swear.
Just running amok after two little boys today, end of the week, running errands, twice to the market, once to the dry cleaners, over to the park, make the lunch, prep breakfast for the weekend, make the dinner, gather the snacks, and all other various sundry nanny and household duties.
Typical day at work.
At least I am getting used to it.
And the days, they do go by quick.
I was not even able to worry about the date, although on the occasion when I had a spare moment to think, I was concerned with what the traffic was going to be like, you know, first home game, third game into the World Series, San Francisco Giants.
As it turned out.
I got done with work right after the Royals scored their first run of the evening.
The streets of the Mission were eerily quiet.
The normal Friday night melee was all inside cozied up in front of televisions and big screen monitors in various bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and laundry mats (I kid you not, if it was a place of business, it probably had a huddle of folks around some screen watching the game).
I had a pretty easy commute over to Wicked Grounds for the first leg of the date.
Which made me laugh.
I haven’t been to Wicked Grounds in years and years.
And it’s a damn funny place to take a girl for a cup of coffee on a first date.
It’s a sex positive coffee shop that was opened, I think, but am not certain, by the same folks that run the Citadel, an underground dungeon up the road off of Market Street.
Butt plug with your Americano?
Ball gag on the Halloween pumpkin at the register.
Pictures of naked women in Japanese rope bondage scenarios.
I had a giggle or thirteen as I waited for my Americano to be made.
As luck would have it, two dear and darling friends happened to walk in while I was paying for my coffee.
They were at the art gallery show next door and had popped in for coffees.
“You are everywhere!” My friend exclaimed.
“Carmen sandwich!” Her husband declared.
Ah, friends, love my friends, so good to get squeezes and squishes and hugs when in slightly uncomfortable dating scenario.
First dates are awkward, that’s the nature of a first date, I think, but it didn’t help that every time I looked up from my coffee I was looking at the vaginal canal of a woman prostrate in rope bonds.
I didn’t know where the fuck to look.
It certainly encouraged me to make direct eye contact with my date.
I will give my date some credit, I don’t believe he was trying to drop hints (or was he?) about future possible dates, I think it may have been the only coffee shop in the neighborhood of the theater.
Besides, I don’t think Mister Leather had a coffee bar service.
The show was at 8 p.m. and despite my Americano, I was lagging.
But intrigued by the theater and the host who greeted us at the door to the theater and allowed us to sit front row in the handicapped reserved seating (as there were no handicap patrons at the show) which was really quite sweet.
I sat stifling yawns through the first half of the show and trying to appreciate the theatrics.
The first half of the show was good, but a little slow and I kept having odd thoughts and memories needle at me.
I could not figure it out and when the intermission happened I hoped that I would be able to make it through the rest of the show and not fall asleep on my date.
As it turned out, the second half was much more energetic and engaging and I got quite caught up in the theater and it was good, really good.
In fact, go see it.
If you want to take your Halloween honey somewhere fun and unusual next week, or even this weekend, this would be a great date. The theater really is a great space and if you can afford it, buy a “Shock Box” which is basically a grand theater box that are rather tricked out and cozy and sexy.
Definitely a place to have a little canoodle or knee grabbing during the show.
The show is called the Bloody Debutante and it really is quite a bloody show.
At times it’s quite campy and I kept being reminded of something and then it hit me.
I first moved to San Francisco in 2002.
The same year the Cockettes documentary film came out.
I worked at Hawthorne Lane and one of the waiters took a shine to me, he was older, but I couldn’t tell you how old, fabulous, gay, and as it turned out a master seamstress and costume designer.
In fact, he designed a lot of the costumes for the original Cockettes shows.
To celebrate the documentary and because it was Halloween and no other city on earth quite does Halloween like San Francisco, there was a party for the movie and a fashion show and my friend from Hawthorne Lane needed an extra model for the show.
“He bailed at the last moment!” He hustled me in the dressing room at work as we were finishing our lunch shift, “you have to help, I need someone fabulous to rock it out.”
Well, nothing says stroking a girls ego, especially a fresh transplant to San Francisco from Wisconsin, like telling her you want her to model some fashion on a runway at the opening of a film.
I wore a hot pink rabbit fur coat with the most fabulous pockets and buttons and swag and geegaws sewn all over it.
I had on fishnet stockings and one of my garters snapped when I was walking.
I stopped mid catwalk, bent over, wiggle my bottom in the air, pulled it up and sashay’ed to the end to many a hoot and holler.
I had completely forgotten about my first Halloween in San Francisco until the second act of the show started and I realized that there were members from the Cockettes in the show and then it all suddenly flashed upon me.
I may be just another nanny on the block.
But once in a while, when no one is looking, I’m on the run way in hot pink furs.
Because that’s just how I roll.
Fabulous as fuck.