A fellow from work was performing last night at a private-ish function in town. A few of us went along to support him (he hasn't performed much in the last few years and he's quite excited about it).
It was hilarious! It was at Dockside and the function was fenced off from the rest of the bar by some waist-high barriers. So we sat right beside the barrier, feeling like slight social pariahs.
The people at the function (which was a mystery to us - we spent a good hour watching the dynamics and debating whether it was a work thing or a family thing - strange mix of old and young) were for quite a lot of time largely ignoring the musicians. But we, from the far end of the function were watching them and cheering loudly between songs (from behind our barrier).
We got some odd looks, but never once did any of the invited-ones ask us to come over the barrier and join them. It was very much us-and-them.
There was one great old guy who got the dancing started, but obviously found the music a little loud and indiscreetly held his fingers in his ears the whole time. THAT is the anecdote that will be told in the staffroom on Monday (the finger-in-ears dancing started on one of the few songs our friend was lead singer for, at which point several of the oldies decided to coincidentally get up and leave as well).
There were three sets and Jonathan came over to us before the last one. We saw the playlist and decided we were finally going to get the courage to actually crash the engagement part to dance to the last five songs (starting with a kick-ass combo of Door Bell by the White Stripes and Living on a Prayer). The band was ok with this - they appreciated anyone dancing.
We were lead in by the Irish-man among us and indiscreetly danced at the front of the floor - on our own. Apparently this crowd did not like the White Stripes. The three of us loved it! WOO!
I was, incidentally, wearing a very loud orange dress, so blending in was not an option.
Luckily there was one ridiculously drunk guy and he acknowledged us and started dancing with us. Soon after that he discovered there was a slippery spot right in front of the band, and he started trying to slide over it, with disastrous effects. I eventually convinced him to at least put his glass down (after two against-the-odds falls where he managed to not spill a drop).
The women singing put in a few plugs for our friend (the keyboardists) where we got to cheer loudly.
Overall, it was hilarious and fun and the music was actually great. Thoroughly enjoyed it!
Two sides notes.
On the way out the door, a guy started chatting to us (at which point we all said 'Oh my god - how good was that band? Especially the keyboardist!'). And mid-conversation I realised he was mainly talking to ME and asking where we were going next. In a suggestive way. I do believe he was flirting with me! And he was a similar height, nice looking and had made a joke about politics..... I was quite shocked at how long it took me to realise he was flirting - I think it's been a while! My friends dragged me off before anything more, but it was still cute.
Then we went to that Japanese beer bar for another drink. Me and S. got IDed at the door. That again made me feel pretty good! As usual, the guy with us didn't get IDed because of his facial hair, but ironically he was the youngest in the group. His birthday is actually on February 29th, by the way - so he's turning 7 this year. That impressed me and S. - how many people do you actually know that are born on the leap-year day?
At that point my stomach started to protest against my partying ways. I had only had 3 or 4 ciders. But apparently that is enough these days. I had approximately 1 inch of my beer before realising that another gulp would tip me over the edge into messiness. Over conversations about the theme song to the Dog Show and what colours the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were, I let my beer be consumed by the Irish-man (typically).
I was then driven home by a taxi driver who seemed almost too mentally slow to have a license. I realised that I have less trust for pakeha drivers than foreign ones. With foreign ones I always assume that they were doctors or academics before they moved to NZ and that they read intellectual novels between rides.
And then I went to bed.
And my calf muscles went into cramping spasms because they don't remember what this 'dancing' thing is. And I'd only danced five songs. I had danced very vigorously, to be fair - to show my appreciation to the under-appreciated band.
And while my head is fine, my body feels ridiculously bad.
And that is what going to Dockside at the age of 34 does.
The End.
