- written on the back of someone's car window as the tow truck dropped us off
So, my show on Saturday night went well. It was at a hookah lounge about six blocks from Justin's house, such that we could walk there, and yet he had never heard of it or been there. Of course, it was next to a defunct storefront for a pirate store (the kind of store wherein one buys pirate goods, not the kind of store that pirates frequent, although both of those options are no doubt responsible for it going out of business), so the pirate wench lunging forth from the sign, wielding a large axe, might have distracted him.
I was third, and met some lovely other belly dancers, talked shop, watched some cute costuming, and generally had fun. There's pictures a-coming, as soon as they can be freed from Justin's laptop, since he took 'em and that's where they live until he sends them to me. But my costume was "belly dancing carny barker" and I hope they liked it cause I'm doing the same thing tomorrow night at Princess Farhana's showcase at Moun of Tunis.
Then yesterday we drove up to Camarillo to meet some friends and continued driving up to Ojai and the hot springs. These are relatively secret springs, except that everyone knows they exist, only nobody knows where they are, apparently. When we got there, the little individual, sulphuric smelling pools were full of bowl-smoking hippies coating themselves with mud.
"Look," I said to Justin, "it's like Burning Man back before you came!"
"When it was better," he confirmed.
It was super relaxing and wonderful to float around in the little rock divots, surrounded by rolling hills and the golden setting sun, and hordes of no-see-ums, which bit us vigorously until we got out and went for Mexican food. Then we went back to Camarillo and hung out drinking tea (no, not a euphemism) and eating everything that wasn't nailed down (might be a euphemism, I guess) until we all collapsed in a heap and went to sleep.
Then this morning, we left to drive back into Burbank. Only the car broke down within about ten minutes. So instead we waited for a tow truck, then had a nice drive back to the S8IC club mechanic (that stands for Shitty 80s Italian Car, a club that Justin may be the only member of in this country) where we left his tiny car to be repaired. Again.
Every day is better when it's a AAA day!