I had a bad feeling about the Valentine's Day Glamourspunk show.
Why? Because at the best of times a drag show is a complicated event with lots of different performers and a totally random crowd. And while I do have patience for inter-performer conflicts -- as long as I only need to get involved once a month -- my patience eventually runs out. I don't want to worry about who goes first, who gets cut from the set, who gets to do what...I really just want to perform.
So why did I accept the offer to be a "feature?" Because "feature" is an undefined term; it could mean anything from getting "top exposure" to "running the night." And I sure don't want to run a night!
Fortunately Victoria is good at making lists and laying down the law, giving me the chance to socialize a bit and enjoy the night, and Drew took care of the some of the announcing and the obligatory crowd-inspiring contest. And it WAS a wonderful night; we had a FANTASTIC group of performers with no difficulties that I needed to worry about, and the audience was about the best I've ever seen: diverse, curious, but totally patient and enthusiastic.
I DID actually get up the nerve to bring "Schnapps the Seal" up on stage with me. I think the audience was as confused as I was.
The show didn't end until 2:30, so I trudged outside into the snow to wait for a cab. The only vehicles on the road were snow removal machines, busily scooping away the accumulation to make room for the next big storm. It was interesting to watch the strangely-articulated machines in action, but after fifteen minutes of waiting I was getting desperate.
Fortunately Miss Kamara's driver was willing to go my way, so he rescued me from the cold and took me back to my place. Kamara came in to my apartment to negotiate an exchange of alcohol and -- guess what? -- she managed to step on the one piece of glass that I missed when I broke my mirror last month.
You know when they say that God looks after drunk people? Kamara stood there wobbling on my stairway, bleeding and saying "ow," coming within a hair's breath of bashing her head or falling over...and she pulled that piece of glass right out of her foot without any difficulty whatsoever. A sober person would have either cut their fingers or jammed the shard further in, but no...she removed it as I stood there, mortified, thinking that I must be the world's worst hostess.
I don't think I'll ever forget that. I felt like I'd just run over somebody's child.