Met John (internet buddy, connected to large parts of the greater local social circle) downtown, caffeinated ourselves. There was a bit of hilarity with an insecure employees-only door -- it has a keypad lock, and we were sitting right there on the bench where we could see what the code was as the guy was entering it. "It's not like it's an airport, though," I sighed. John pointed out that the most recent bombing that day had in fact been at a coffee shop, which I hadn't heard, having not yet hit up the news that day.
We went to the Castro for lunch, and from lunch to the theatre to pick up tickets for Saturday evening's fun. This process was of course filled with the most delightful sort of chatter and amusement. Then we got more caffeine, and split up: John for a nap, me for hanging about until we-all were to meet up later.
First I went to the friendly neighborhood gay bar to outline my NaNo, and had great fun sipping some drink or other and cackling to myself as I invented new and more diabolical plot twists to delight my readers and frustrate my characters. Then I realized that my phone was at half-charge, and probably wouldn't last the night. So I went in search of a charger. It was early enough that the thrift store was still (just barely) open. Sadly, they had no micro-USB chargers. They did, however, have an amazingly fucking boss black wool trenchcoat. One that fit my shoulders. Win. For less than $20. WIN. I went back out into ... rain. Hooray trenchcoat! There was various communication, and it seemed that further social with John and the guys was not to be transpiring. Thus is life! However, I still had plans for the rest of the evening. I hung about in Good Vibrations for a bit, and then Tif pinged me; we met up for dinner. Then we went back to her place, and I borrowed her charger. (She mentioned the T-Mobile store that I'd completely spaced.)
I had been going to go to the event with Voltaire, but as I was getting myself collected to go, my calf cramped up. Then, as I was stretching my leg to stop the pain, my thigh cramped. Then my ankle joined in the fun. I decided that this was a Sign, and that I was headed home. So I did.
Did dog stuff with my aunt. Didn't know exactly when stuff was starting, so I got dressed up (regular shirt off, disco ball top on, blue tinsel wig over head, makeup on, boa clipped to the phone leash on the one side and the purse on the other) went in to the city what turned out to be early, and hung out in a coffee shop and tried to tether my phone and the netbook. This time I'd brought the cable: if I was going to be out until all hours, I was damn well going to have a way to charge my phone, even if it meant turning my netbook into a glorified battery pack for the phone. The tethering attempt turned into an exercise in hilarity and frustration, as I got something set up wrong off the bat, and then it wouldn't connect to anything. The weird wifi did not help at all.
Highlights of hanging out in the coffee shop: The employees-only door that has the code that the guy was not at all hiding while we were sitting right there on Friday? Some random customer, possibly drunk (given that it was Halloween weekend) was trying the bathroom code on that door for about five minutes before realizing that it was the wrong door.
I wandered outside after about an hour of headpounding with the netbook, and sat in that courtyard for a while. I still had extra time before meeting up with people, and didn't feel like wandering the Castro for too horribly long by myself, particularly given that my legs were still sore from the day before. I tried calling Kat, who was busy. I did organize my bag a little better, and catch up on Twitter. Then I pulled up a map and walked to the local LUSH shop, where I was just in time to join a couple who were getting a demonstration of hand treatments. The guy was a little squicked out by the texture of the exfoliating treatment, which had great large sandy grains of sugar in it, and was relieved that he got to wash it off. I looked at all sorts of lovely bath bombs and the like. The shopgirls at the LUSH store were in favor of my costume. Also, apparently my bag was rather heavy, when the shopgirl put it behind the counter safely for me while I wandered.
Ceridwen's Cauldron (already slightly used; smells like a good pagan-supplies store): http://www.lush.com/shop/products/bath-shower/bath-melts/ceridwens-cauldron ; Christmas Eve bubble bar: http://www.lush.com/shop/products/bath-shower/bubble-bars/christmas-eve ; Amandopondo: http://www.lush.com/shop/products/bath-shower/bubble-bars/amandopondo ; French Kiss (I tried rubbing some on my arm to see what it smelled like in action, mm): http://www.lush.com/shop/products/bath-shower/bubble-bars/a-french-kiss ; SEX BOMB: http://www.lush.com/shop/products/bath-shower/bath-bombs/sex-bomb
My trajectory carried me past the Bath & Body Works down the hill from LUSH (I'd taken a different, more direct from my location, possibly shorter, and slightly less steep, way up) and my nose detected something citrusy in the air, perhaps even the precise perfume of the citrusy soap I'd gotten there years before (like, in 1997 or whenever it was that my Academic Decathlon team was in Anchorage for the state competition), but had been unable to locate since.
Apparently the mystery fragrence is 'satsuma'. Good to know. I got an extra trick-or-treat soap bag for being dressed up.
I took the F Market up to the Castro. It was full of characters: there was a fellow in lavender chaps, with a bandalero. I was wondering what he had in it. It turned out to be Chapstick. The F which deposited me precisely on time for the scheduled dinner time; John, JD, and Ryan were there just a smidge early. Tif arrived shortly. Funtimes were had by all. The waiter was flirty.
We adjourned to Badlands, which was noisy, crowded, and there were no seats. This did not suit well. I was on the near verge of a panic attack. This was helped by taking my coat off, which stopped the worst of the overheating.
Tif, JD, and Ryan wound up dancing; after a bit, John went out for some air. I found myself in a conversation with a rather drunk and flamboyant fellow who wasn't a local. He was attracted to the sheer fabulousness of my top: apparently it was too amazing to exist, and he had to have a photo with him and it in the same picture, and OMG, wasn't it heavy? it looked like chainmail -- no, it was just silvery-threaded fabric with flat sequins glued on. And so forth. I was amused. Later, he was trying to get someone's number for a lesbian friend of his, but no-one had paper or pen. I did; I fished the pen out of my Writing Tools ziploc, and then as he was struggling to write on her arm (and being thoroughly bitchy about how sweaty she was, making writing impossible) I became the Paper Fairy.
We ducked out, and then split off: Tif for home (the tickets having sadly sold out) and the rest of us for RHPS. The bus out of the Castro was fuuuulllll. The sidewalks were crowded. Drag Sarah Palin was getting a good cheerful razzing from her "constituents" as she crossed the street. The bus, omg. Drunk straight hipsters, many male. There were a pair of Chilean miners being obviously all of the above. There was also a cow (a boy cow, apparently) with a tap protruding from his udder, and clearly a dispenser of some sort concealed within said udder. I have no idea what beverage was in there. Probably alcoholic. Possibly the most appropriate beverage would have been Irish Cream or something of the like, but again, no clue whether someone who would dress as a boy cow would have thought of this nuance.
We approached the theatre. There was a line. There were in fact two lines -- one for ticket-holders (us), and one for those who did not in fact have tickets. I saw a familiar flash of fabric. "Shirt twins!" I declared to the guy wearing a button-down shirt of the same fabric as my top was made from. General glee.
We stood in line, and attempted to share the hilarity of "Shiny Disco Balls" with Ryan. However, this did not go well with the available selections on YouTube, and the speakers of the phones in question.
Abe showed, after some time.
The event people canvassed the line, to find out whether anyone had tickets that they would not be using, so that they could be bought off the people, and some of the extra people could be allowed in.
The line began to move. There were no drugs, weapons, or alcohol allowed; there was a pat-down search. "Lipstick, lip gloss, and ... cellphone?" the lady asked, of my shorts pocket.
"Close! Eyeshadow," I explained.
We entered and took our seats. I was generally gleeful and squeeful: Halloween! One of my holidays! Dressed fabulously! With friends! At RHPS! With good music! Because sometimes I am a bit of a jackass to my nearest and dearest, someone got a "wish you were here" shoutout -- too bad that Someone has been completely burned out on RHPS from overexposure. <===8;-P The dizzily exultant mood was replaced by something more pensive as the show started.
When thinking about the day, my first thought was "Eh, a pretty standard RHPS show". My second thought was: "Oh my, how jaded I have become, that a hilarious and delightful show that some of my friends have likely never seen and might go to some lengths in order to see, has become 'eh, pretty standard'!!"
So. A kaleidoscope played over the stage, and various music familiar to the kinky/geeky/misfit crowd played -- if I name off NIN's "Closer" and Weird Al's "White and Nerdy", one might have an idea of the range, perhaps. A woman in a tight dress (there may have been a corset), red and white and black, short skirt with petticoats making it stand out all ruffly and lovely) danced provocatively and evocatively onstage. People had started to crack and play with their bracelet-sized glowsticks.
Eventually, the dude who would be doing much of the yammering came out, and talked about things that are relevant to people who do it regularly, and talked about the various funtimes, and got an attitude check.
"FUCK ME!" (mixed with some more "FUCK YOU" as well).
There were other things, but the refrain involved "FUCK", often loudly.
"FUCK RULE 1!"
The rules were at least vaguely familiar.
Birthdays were called out. At least one of the people was officially 18, but celebrating her 16th birthday. (Heh.)
Virgins were called up. I didn't have any red lipstick. I did have magenta lipstick. Ryan was a virgin. Virgins took the RHPS pledge (put one hand somewhere, put the other somewhere naughty and repeat after me...) and then most of them were dismissed. Five men and five women stayed up on stage. Ryan came back. I whipped out my magenta lipstick and marked him with a V on the forehead. Someone said that I'd gone easy on him. I marked another V on his cheek (the stubble-scrape is still in the lipstick) and planted a lip-mark on his cheek. (Not half bright enough, I must say.)
On stage, the virgins got to play a fun little game: describe the sex act that goes with a given slang term. Slang terms and their definitions pulled off urbandictionary. heh, heh, heh. 1 point for correct definition. 1 point for really hilarious definition, even if incorrect. 2 points for acting it out.
Notable from this: there was a woman who was explaining many of the terms to the rest of the women. Her husband was not a virgin, and was in the audience, and was very happy to be married to her.
The teams started out with "man" and "woman" but switched very very quickly to "top" and "bottom", having learned that, well. This is RHPS on Halloween in San Francisco. A couple that conforms to the heterosexual gender binary? Possible, but not necessarily the case.
Terms they had to define included: (and if anyone actually did any of these, they'd really need to negotiate beforehand and have a safeword; all of them are on my NO list)
Hot Carl - http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hot+carl
Donkey punch - http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=donkey%20punch
Dirty Sanchez - http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=dirty%20sanchez
Strawberry shortcake (I didn't know this one, and it's one that I suspect mainly exists because some douchebag thought of it, laughed about it with his friends, and put it on UrbanDictionary) - http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=strawberry%20shortcake
Angry Dragon (I didn't know this one either, and possibly ditto) -- For this one, the woman who knew just about everything didn't know it either, and came up with a hilarious definition that I approved of (on principle as a Hilariously Bad Sex Act That You Would Never Actually Do sort of thing, not for something you'd do). The bottom fills their mouth with Tabasco sauce before performing oral sex on the top. The dude found this as hilarious as I did, and pointed out that yeah, the bottom was getting rather battered in all these definitions, and it was nice to see the bottom get some back in this case. - http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=angry%20dragon
There was also a costume contest. Notable included Cheech and Chong, and also a guy with a great huge pot on his head -- who was, naturally, a pothead. *groan* The top five were picked out by volume of cheering, and then they were ranked by volume of cheering, and then prizes were distributed.
I managed to crack my glowstick, so I stopped fiddling with it and stuck it back in my hair.
Finally, the movie!
I sang along to everything I knew the words to, of course. There's nothing like seeing those lips and singing along to "Science Fiction Double Feature".
Along the way, some more of the parts of the brain that aren't usually active during a Cultural Funtimes thing kicked in, and I started looking at the movie from the what-symbols-are-they-using-in-my-entert
It's about alienation. It's about acceptance. It's about discovering sex, discovering that you like sex, and discovering that the things you actually like about sex are not the things that you were supposed to like, and you're strangely okay with that. It's about a lot of things.
It's also a movie where the bisexual mad scientist goes and leaves lovers abandoned in his wake; makes a pretty, muscular, tanned boytoy; has Designs on the boytoy that don't have much to do with the boytoy's consent; murders a guy who rejected him; seduces his guests by means of posing as their significant others; is killed; and (too late) the bisexual boytoy discovers that he was kind of attached to the mad scientist, and dies as well.
Fates of the Characters:
Janet Weiss - female, presumably straight, alive, on Earth, slut-shamed by 35 years of audiences
Brad Majors - male, thought he was straight before his night with Frank but now he might not be so sure, alive, on Earth. Asshole.
Dr. Everett Scott - male, presumed straight, alive, on Earth, looking better in fishnets than ever.
Dr. Frank N. Furter - male, transvestite, bisexual, dead
Columbia - female, presumed straight, dead
Rocky - male, bisexual, dead
Eddie - male, presumed bisexual (Columbia and Frank), dead
Riff Raff - male, in a relationship with his sister, alive, Transsexual, Transylvania
Magenta - female, in a relationship with her brother, alive,
Transylvanians - mixed, many are alive, Transsexual, Transylvania (home!)
Criminologist - male, alive, presumably Earth
Wedding party - mixed, alive, on Earth
So I think I'm always going to adore it for what it's about and the cultural icon it's become, but I need to not forget that in its story, one of the tropes it uses is that none of the characters who might be comfortable identifying themselves as bisexual actually survive the whole thing.
I almost managed to lose my waterbottle after all was done -- it had fallen out of the cupholder, and thus I went back and searched with my little solar-powered flashlight. I got it, but didn't manage to refill it.
The party split up, given that it was 3:30 AM and only getting later, and I hung out at the bus stop waiting for the bus that would take me back to 16th and Mission, where I would catch the 14, which would take me within reasonable walking distance of the BART station that I'd parked at.
Four giggling girls showed up at the bus stop, all with Vs on their faces in red lipstick. They were obviously still wound up, and one of them mentioned that she was sooo wound up, she didn't want to go home, and she was probably going to dance on BART and be a general entertainment to the other BART patrons.
My ears pricked up. This sounded like a disaster waiting for a place to happen. "Uh, you guys do realize that it's 3:30am? And BART's not running now?"
There was some consternation, and they changed their plans. I was not as helpful as I could have been, because despite being a Bay Area local, I am not actually a San Francisco local, and I don't know what's actually likely to be open in the Castro at 4 in the morning besides Orphan Andy's, nor where there would be dancing at this hour.
One of them had a Droid; I suggested Yelp.
Then one of them realized that this was the very day that BART's weekend hours changed, from something like 6 in the morning to 8 in the morning, making it a wait of at least four hours, not two, before they'd be able to get home. I suggested a diner.
"How's your phone's charge?" I asked. It was about half. Since Tif has a Droid, and hers uses a microUSB connector to charge too, I figured that there was a good chance theirs would be compatible. And it was.
Someone dressed as The Flash (I think?) showed up at the bus stop too, and hit it off with one of the girls. There was great hilarity.
The bus arrived, and we piled on. The girls got off before I did. I hoped that they reached their destination, wherever they were going, and got home safely.
I waited at the 16 and Mission stop for the 14. It was sort of weird at that hour. There were various partyers going home. The first bus was way too full. By that time I was regretting my oversight in not refilling my water bottle before leaving the theatre, so I walked to the one place that was still open, Taqueria Los Coyotes. Apparently it is not quite so trashed at other hours, but it was pretty gnarly at ~4am on Halloween morning. I refilled my water bottle and got a Coca-cola and went back to wait at the bus stop.
Lisa, one of the chatfish, teased me about being such a mother that I am not just the Fishmum, but that I wind up being the mother to non-Fish on the street, because I was taking care of the virgins. Heh.
Bus service at that hour on the weekend really sucks, and to discourage partying in San Francisco (apparently there have been problems with people bringing their gang violence to parties) there was no service increase for the occasion. Eventually I did get on a bus, and a very nice drag queen gave me her seat.
It took a long time to walk from the last bus stop to the BART parking lot, and I was limping the whole way, but damn, that was a good party.