sistawendy: (dolly)
Went to the Siberian Siren's round-numbered birthday shenanigans at Witness last night. She wearing an unusually subdued knee length black dress. She seemed genuinely a little bummed about being "old". Oh please, sweetie, was what I essentially told her. Bonus: I got to meet her brother, who's pretty much exactly as I would have expected, only cuter. I was about to tell him how she & I met, when this happened:

SS: I try to scandalize my brother...
SW: [rubs hands together]
SS: ...as little as possible.
SW: Aww.
SSBro: There are some things about my sister that I don't want to know.
SW: You speak for my sister.

Before the SS had even invited me to her party, though, I'd bought a ticket to see Moby at Neumo's for a KEXP benefit. For those of you who don't know, he was one of the gods of the New York rave scene in the late '80s & '90s, and he's been active ever since despite a couple of bouts with substance abuse.

Moby decided to "go hard", and he brought it in the grandest old school style. I wish there'd been room enough to dance, but you know Moby's going to pack the house. I couldn't see him without squatting from my vantage point in the balcony next to one of the hanging speaker stacks - big love once again to Neumo's sound - but I could tell he was all business behind the decks, another old school tradition of which I approve. Best Moby moment: a sample from Led Zeppelin's "The Immigrant Song", which my Evil Sister hunted down import vinyl of before she turned to, you know, evil.

The crowd? A fair number of people Moby's age (which is roughly my age), but also plenty of younger beardos and even a few sweet young thangs. It was nice to see the whippersnappers appreciating him. Nobody acted like jerks.

Where it got weird was that his set of about 90 minutes was followed by local soul artist Grace Love & the True Loves. Yes, they're fine, but seriously? Did we as a city just dis Moby? Surely not.

Returned to Witness and had a lovely chat with a cute friend of the SS's - who is straight & married. Her hubby was right across the table from us, even. Dammit. Still, it was an excellent evening.

PS: One of my neighbors just invited me over to their place. He's dressed nice, and I'm still in my workout clothes from attempting to move boxes at the old place this afternoon, just minutes after I told [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth I'd be out dancing with her. If only my dating life were going as well as my G-rated social life.
sistawendy: (dolly)
Last night: the little party at the Siberian Siren's. It was all perfectly lovely for me, but there was only one male guest surrounded by women, girly girls all. It's a wonder he didn't spontaneously grow boobs from all the estrogen in the air; I hope we didn't bore him. He did, however, bring some righteous coquito, which is Puerto Rico's version of eggnog. It was a potluck, in the grandest lesbian tradition, and the food was way tasty.

Tonight: scouring the east side in search of far eastern eats to share with m'boy. We followed the Wendling's suggestion, and scored big: Blue Ginger, my favorite Korean place, was open and fortunately not completely mobbed. After we snarfed the customary preserved veggie side dishes (banchan), they offered us more thrice; odd, but OK. I couldn't help but remember the lunches I used to have there with the late [livejournal.com profile] queenofthenight right around the start Full Time. The last time I saw her was over Korean eats, come to think of it.

On to Re-bar, which has no cover tonight and is guaranteed to be a sardine scene. ♥!

ETA: I finally tried out the electrically heated insoles today. They work splendidly! No more numb toes!
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
OK, the long version: for the party that the Siberian Siren is throwing imminently, she wanted the table that her sweetie AJ assembled in a storage space in a building the SS manages. That means the table was six blocks from her swank new place. Okey doke, so last night the SS borrowed an SUV, and secured the services of a gay dude and me.

The table is tall (AJ, who does most of the cooking, is 6'.), heavy, and non-decomposable. The gay dude & I took one look at the table & SUV together and thought, 'Uh oh.' We gave it the old college try, but there was no getting the table into the car. Luckily, it has wheels. Good, solid steel wheels.

Six blocks of pushing, steering, breaking stuff, and giggling later, the SS & I weren't sore, but we were nearly deaf. Those wheels were loud. It's a good thing Capitol Hill residents expect quiet after 2200.

I promised the SS I'd drink all her booze tonight because a) I earned it last night and b) since the Siren doesn't drink much anyway because she's the Worst Russian Ever.

Unrelated music squee: Of Montreal, the whole Skeletal Lamping LP. Oh. Em. Gee!

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