Jesse and Shane had a wedding party thing to attend, so we decided to meet up later in the evening. Alex, Chris and I adventurously decided to dine on Senegalese food in the Mission. It was fabulous. Buzz was that my friend Kathleen was performing a musical act in a burlesque show in the Haight. I dragged the boys out there to meet up with Zoe, Richard and Justin. Having never been to a burlesque show, I had no idea what to expect. All of a sudden, amid a bar packed full of extras from Swingers, the lights dim and a cross between Boy George and Marilyn Manson emerges and sits at the piano. He begins to play a bizarre song, prompting Alex to text me from across the bar, “This makes me want to kill myself.”
He quickly changed his tune when a bunch of tattooed, big boobed women came on stage and started stripping down to their pasties. The apparent main attraction was a gal called “Miss Eva von Slut - Burlesque Superstar”, prompting Chris to text me from across the bar, “It’s called a sit-up.” He has a point. The “dancers” were, for the most part, significantly voluptuous, although I must say it made me feel fabulous about my body and suddenly wanting to pole dance.
After the first “set”, Jesse and Shane appeared, slightly intoxicated and silently thrilled to be checking out women covered in nothing but tattoos and sequins. The show started up again, Kathleen and Justin making their way on stage to display talents of the clothed variety. To say Kathleen is incredible is an understatement, she’ so fucking amazing, and Jesse’s jaw dropped when she began to sing the blues. After hanging with Kathleen, we headed back to the Mission and ended up at Beauty Bar. Now, let me just say, Jesse and Shane rarely get to go out and hit the town, especially this one, and I was a little worried I was forcing them into my world of booze and boobs. I needn’t have been concerned. We all proceed to continue the rounds of cocktails, Jesse and I eventually ending up on the dance floor. Jesse’s a gorgeous woman, obviously. But, when she hits the dance floor, we all need to watch out. Even the DJ. Busting a move to Michael Jackson, this former Prom Queen’s ass flies into the DJ booth, skipping the King of Pop. I think I actually ended up on the floor, I was laughing so hard. With bowed heads, we left the dance floor and made our way back to the boys, explaining the fiasco. “I didn’t even hear it skip!” Shane proclaimed.
We came pretty close to closing the place, stumbling home at 5am Philly time, where we ended up recapping the evening in the backyard, sipping Stella and soon passing out. Horribly hungover, I’ve just awoken to the frightening realization that today, we’re going wine-tasting in Napa. Part of me feels like Crazy Californian Beth, the boozy bad influence. The other part of me feels like an excellent tour guide. I mean, huge tattooed women performing an old school strip act amid fedora clad hipsters and drag queens is kinda like my version of the Liberty Bell…