Unfinished Object

Friday nights show was a blast, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. Once it was over we decided that we’d go grab some dinner at a nearby Mexican restaurant. The first clue that we may have made a slight mistake was the four security guards standing at the door and the velvet ropes leading in that are not usually there. One of the guards looked at us and said, laughingly “I guess you guys aren’t here for the dance.” They told us to go right in, not bothering to ‘wand’ us for weapons. Our second clue was the ear bleedingly loud music, I was very surprised my father didn’t turn us around before our butts could even warm a chair. When a server finally approached us, we asked if we could move to the patio, hoping that it would be quieter. It was, by about three decibels and had the added addiction of a line of colored stage lights directly over the table which gave our food unnatural color in time with the beat. By the time we finished eating the dance crowd had started to trickle in, Hispanic men mostly, in freshly pressed jeans and pearl button shirts. But there were also younger boys who were given orange wrist bands to indicate they were below drinking age. Their dress was more hip-hop, low hung pants, boxers peeking out the top, greased hair and bandannas tied around their heads. The older cowboys paid us no mind at all, for the younger men though we were definitely a curiosity and they openly stared, one even going inside to bring his friends out to see the silly white folks. By the time we finished eating the crowd had increased, but was no were near what it promised to become. The security troop at the door had doubled, and standing in the parking lot were five police officers in black t-shirts with ‘gang control’ emblazoned on the back. My step-mom tapped one of them on the shoulder and asked ‘Is it like this every weekend?’ They all answered in the affirmative and by their expressions I guess things get pretty tough ... I was glad to be leaving.

The weekend’s other project, the cake, went off with a hitch. And yes, I did mean ’with a hitch’. Early yesterday morning I was pouring the batter for the first round of cakes into the pan, supporting the mixing bowl with one hand and scraping out the batter with the other. The bowl was heavy and ungainly and I guess dangerous. When I turned to the sink to rinse it out something under my left shoulder blade seized up and hasn’t let go yet. For a while there I couldn’t pick up a glass, or bend over or even turn my head a certain way. It hurt, but mostly it made me mad because it just seemed so stupid. Poor D had to rotate the cakes for me, test them for doneness, and take them out. He had to pick up everything I dropped on the floor; it seemed like every two minutes I was calling him to help. Coloring my hair was difficult, ‘dressing’ it nearly impossible, and putting on my panty hose a herculean feat. For me to sit was a controlled fall, and standing could only be done by sliding my butt to the edge of the chair so my legs could do all the work. Picture a pregnant hippo in an evening gown and you’ll have a pretty good idea of how graceful I was last night. Nonetheless, we had a great time and D did a fine job on the cake, dontcha think? **schnort**

Posted by Shan on 05/21 at 07:16 AM
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Unfinished Object

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