Club review

Haven, in Northampton. Because plymouth wanted to go before she moved cross-country. bunnygoth and I went along.

I hadn't been out to a club in a LONG time. Maybe ten years sort of long time.

I've gained some weight, it seems -- while I can still hook my black-and-blue merrywidow shut, I bulge out a little below the bottom of it. Not ideal. On the other hand, I now fit my plum-and-black teddy snugly enough that there's no danger of sliding out of the top of it. So, teddy over opaque black tights, Victorian ankle boots, and tux jacket over teddy. Hair smothered in hand lotion and brushed all to one side, caught in a loose ponytail over my right ear with a scrap of black lace. Foundation in my ordinary shade, just pale enough to even out my skin tone, I don't need to do corpse-white, black pencil eyeliner pulled out to '50s doe-eyes, and a dark garnet-red lipstick. Nothing that elaborate -- I've done the same outfit for party-hopping at SF cons.

plymouth and bunnygoth are dressed similarly -- long full black skirts, one with a black lace blouse over a tank top, one with a corset top. They look good.

I drove. It turns out that the club is the one we pass every time we go to session at Bishop's. No getting lost. Cool.

We got there at quarter to ten. Still pretty empty. Barely anyone on the dance floor. Music's nothing I recognize, but I didn't expect to recognize anything... and it sounds enough like music I *did* know, back in the dark ages, that my ears aren't going "what is this c%~@!^?" plymouth got out and danced right away, and bunnygoth and I watched, building up our nerve. We staked out one of the comfy couches, and got drinks. Since it was Mardi Gras, they had some beads on the bar, and I swiped a couple of purple strands and wore one like a headband and wrapped the other into my ponytail. (Sound familiar, follybard? One vodka tonic did its job, so I got out on the dance floor too. Someone who looked like a very tastefully crossdressed version of Joey Ramone complimented me on my outfit, which was basically all the notice it attracted all night. Which was fine with me. I wasn't there to pick anyone up or even flirt, I was there to dance and hang out.

I recognized one song all night. plymouth pointed out a monitor with a "now playing" crawl at the bottom, but pretty late, so I didn't pick up on many of the songs being played. I may have to put Launchcast on some goth stations for a while just to figure out what I was hearing. Not what I'd pick for a steady listening diet, but stuff I was more than happy to dance to.

Plenty of people to watch. I was NOT the most revealingly dressed by a long shot, but there were also some very covered-up outfits that I liked. One girl had on a long skirt, a mannish jacket, a white shirt, and a very messily-tied tie -- it made a sort of "debauched schoolboy" effect that was really nice. And there was a skinny boy with longish spiky black hair in cargo pants, boots, and a fishnet shirt over a tank top who was very striking. And the blond boy in the vinyl jacket.

Also, since it was Mardi Gras, there were people in more elaborate costume. The male winner of the (half-assed, says the masquerade competitor, but ignore that) costume contest was absolutely amazing -- black-and-gold brocade frock coat and a ruffled white shirt, with top hat and cane. And long curls to boot. One of his group was in doublet and paned trunkhose, and answered in the affirmative when I asked "Janet Arnold?" Ah, costume geeking.

We stayed until 12:45, and headed home, the usual hour drive. I had planned to pull an all-nighter, but wound up getting some sleep after all. I got to work a little late, but still got the muffins and scones out on time.

So... it was a nice time. I'm not sure whether I expected it to be wilder, or that I'd have a harder time getting comfortable, or what. It's not as if I want to dive in and go to every goth club night around... but it's certainly something I'd be happy enough to do again, if people I knew wanted to go.

Now to go to the bank and the cleaners and drop off the vacuum at the repair shop. Domesticity. It's life.