“I’m having a total goth moment. Everything I see, I either want to kill it or fuck it.”
S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT!
Sorry for the Bay City Rollers, but I needed to get us in the mood.
So, on the Saturday of the show, Keith and I weren’t sure what we were going to do. We’d already put in for vacation time so that we could have a few extra days in SD once the show was over. That said, we kinda wanted to “case the joint” to find cool places to spend our extra days. Well, we changed out of our “papaya”-colored (don’t blame me; blame the catalog!) Diamond shirt, and we’d just thrown on some clothes when Rob called and asked what we were doing for dinner. He was planning on going to this goth-industrial party called X-Sanguin that’s held every year near the end of the show. His friend Susan invited him (you have to meet this girl; she’s like sex wrapped up in skin), but he always kind of dangled it in our faces, in that “I don’t watch television” way of his. So, we were helping him kill time while Susan got ready. We end up at this Mexican place staffed entirely by Russians. Yes, Russians.
Sidebar: I went to Russia. I was an exchange student. My first kiss was a Russian. I love White Russians. And the drinks are cool, too. So, whenever I’m in an environment with Russians, I get stupid. I know enough of the language to get by. I skipped the whole chapter of “Would you like to come back to my hotel room?” or “Do they test for STDs at the embassy?” (Why do guide books have these chapters? Has anyone ever gotten laid using the “How To Hit On Women In Their Native Language” chapter of these tour books?!). I find I can get by with the general “It’s nice to meet you; my name is Will; How are you?” combo. After all, it’s a black guy speaking Russian. Might as well be a frog singing vaudeville. I’m a conversation piece, baby! End of Sidebar
So, we get seated by this brunette who is just…smokin! I mean, she looked like she had dressed for the club, but had been called into work at the last minute. All black clothes, tramp stamp, chain belt, the works. Keith and I were smitten, while Rob was playing it cool – he’s practically married anyway. So, how do we talk to her? I breezed through all the ice breaker stuff that I knew, and it was good, but not good enough. Keith tries the whole, “We’re from out of town, and we’re looking for cool places to hang out” angle. She responded, “Vell, I like to go klahbbing”. She rattles off this list of “klahbs” she likes, but we already know they’re too exclusive for us. I think Keith asked her if she was going clubbing later that night, but she said probably not since she’d have to work until 4 AM. Oh well…
At this point, Rob checks in with Susan, and decides to ask if she could get extra tickets to the party. Keith and I were interested, but caught off guard. You see, we looked like fratboy douchebags who were setting up a kegger. It wasn’t even crush party wear. Keith was wearing a gray Hanes t-shirt, some jeans, and flip flops, while I had a light blue button-down and cargo pants. This was not goth wear. Rob, on the other hand, had a blood-maroon button down and black pants; he was good to go. There was good and bad news: Susan had extra tickets, but we were late and had to immediately go pick her up. We felt we were WAY underdressed, but Rob had to go, so we followed.
Allow me to explain a bit more about this party. It’s held annually, in an abandoned church (The Abbey), and there’s always a theme. This year’s theme was Post-Industrial Russian Military. And you’re supposed to dress for the occassion. It’s also one of those parties where you’re bound to see some freaky shit, and what happens at X-Sanguin stays at X-Sanguin. The people on the list (who’d been planning for a year), were mailed a case containing a faux scan card, as well as a temporary tattoo in a modern hammer & sickle motiff. To gain entrance, you must wear this tattoo someplace on your person. The tame will go for the obvious: arm, cheek, back of hand, while the freaky will go for the daring: bikini line, inner thigh, other.
We get to Susan’s hotel room, and Ms. Sex-In-Skin is wearing this cute little military outfit, looking like the naughtiest soldier in the history of the Russian military. Her friend was just as hot, while Keith and I looked like we were there to egg the place as a hazing ritual, with Rob as our vampiric suitemate. Then, there was the hilarity of the tattoo application. Keith put his on his cheek, while I went for the inner wrist. Like a moron, I messed mine up because my ID bracelet rubbed it off before it dried. Rob messed his up because he forgot to take off the backing, so he tattooed his tattoo to its own wrapper. Susan was getting pissed because she didn’t have any more, so we were going to have to make do with the tattoos we’d messed up. Not off to the best start.
We could tell that Susan and friend seemed a bit upset that we weren’t dressed, but we’d been assured that not everyone dressed for this thing. Well, everyone who wanted to have a good time did dress for it. We almost didn’t get in, as my tattoo was pretty smudged, but they vouched for me. Susan and friend proceeded to ditch us almost immediately. Keith and I were trying to be optimistic, but we were pretty much sidelined from the beginning. The characters parading into this place were like something you’d find if Tim Burton had directed 300. From women on stilts to gorgeous fire eaters, we knew we didn’t fit in. But, Lord, did we try!
There was one little blond who was dressed as a sexy Russian nurse. Her uniform was strategically ripped, in order to show you where she’d hidden her tattoo. She was trying to dance, but she was terrible. Oh well, at least you’re cute. Then, she got a hoola hoop from a guy on the floor, and she worked it like she had to feed a hungry baby back at home (I mean, City High might as well have been playing in the background)! My God, this woman had everyone in a trance. And she moved and swayed for what felt like years. Let this be a lesson: chicks who can’t dance might be able to hoola, and that’s SO much better!
Keith fell in love with this fire dancer who reminded him of a character in one of his stories (he’s a writer, btw; search “Keith Davidsen” on Amazon!). He spent the night trying to track her down, while also chatting up folks at the bar. We tried to get drunker, but it wasn’t setting in. We were determined to have a good time at this thing, but they just didn’t want it. I’m sure it dripped with desparation, but we were so sure that we were always minutes from a 12-person orgy. It was in the air. They were those kinds of folks. But we weren’t dressed for the occassion. It’s weird being outcast by a group considered to be outcasts themselves! You’re standing there like, “I’m a good guy! I like comics! Look, Khakis!” And they’re looking at you like, “I like pain! Punch me in the face, and drink my blood! Let’s invite the dark gods into our intimacy.” We’d try to dance, and not even grinding shit, but their earth sisters and whatnot would box us out. We soon lost Rob, and we realized our own friends didn’t want our stink to rub off on them. So, we eventually packed it in and headed back towards the hotel.
Not really feeling like a cab, and pissed off at the goths, we decide to walk. Now, I just Mapquested that distance, and it’s supposedly only 2.31 miles. Well, we must’ve taken the long way, because I know it took us a good hour and a half to get back to familiar territory. In fact, I think we took the worst route ever, as we were deep in the neighborhood part of SD, and it couldn’t have been a great area because there were a lot of Jack in the Box and Denny’s. And it was almost 1 AM. And we’re walking.
Now, it needs to be said that we were kind of turning on each other because we were kind of pissed at the outcome of the night, and we needed to blame someone. So, we blamed each other. Not sure what we expected, but what we got wasn’t it. At this point, the alcohol was finally starting to set in, and Keith’s getting paranoid. Because we’re in this unknown area, his eyes start darting around, in case a knife-wielding hobo jumps out at us. Somehow, in our drunkeness, we made a pact to keep our eyes open for vagabonds and derelicts; if we noticed one, we were to run and not look back. Yeah, no real solidarity there. “Shit, a hobo! Peace out!” Hey, it made more sense when we were drunk. We knew our limits. How could we fight off a hobo with nothing to live for? We’d just struck out against Hot Topic’ers. How the hell were we gonna defeat a mugger?
Our night then just degraded into standard, boring fare you could get at home. We ended up walking back through the Gaslamp District, and we needed an ATM. It was 2 AM, and we conveniently found a machine at the door of the Mexican place we’d been to earlier. As luck would have it, our waitress was still there. Maybe the night wasn’t a wash! Maybe she’d want to hang out when she got off. We said “hi”, and I swear she looked at us like we were INS! She wanted nothing to do with us, and acted liked she’d never even seen us before. Yes, I understand she deals with a bunch of less-than-memorable people per day, but damn! As Mystery would say, never fall for the “hired guns”. Anyway, after that awkward encounter, we ended up in Ralph’s (The Wegman’s of the West) and grabbed a bunch of shit to drown our sorrows. Seriously, that was one fucked up grocery trip. I think we had Doritos and parfait (I think I’m the only sucker who falls for the supermarket parfait) and goulash and I think Keith was thinking aout buying one of those rotisserie chickens. The workers must’ve thought we were the biggest stoners around. But we weren’t high on drugs; we were high on goth, and we were coming down hard!
Recently, the pictures from the show were posted online:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/freaksnightout/sets/72157601439586633/
It’s amazing how hindsight is 20/20. I looked at all of the “hot people”, and find myself thinking, “Wow, you were so much hotter in the dark”. Either I was caught up in the moment, or their dark pact with Satan doesn’t carry over to photographic representations. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve heard from Susan since then, and I never did find out if that “More-gy” took place…
Tomorrow’s Chapter: “Where did you come from & are there others like you?” The Double-Sized Grand Finale!
