On Saturday night, we went to see Dan Bell play records. It was at this reception hall in Bellevue and the whole thing was very odd. Bellevue, which has a really awesome sign when you enter it that says, “Live. Worship. Shop,” (“It’s like something out of They Live!” –the husband) is sort of a classic Pittsburgh suburb and the reception hall just screamed “yinzer wedding.” It was awesome. It had wood-paneled walls and a parquet dance floor, nauseating carpeting and a teeny-tiny bar with a sign that read, “BEER ONLY.”
There were a ton of people there, most of whom I didn’t recognize and looked really young. The music was awesome and everyone was dancing. I commented that it really felt like one of the after parties in Detroit. Very weird.
What was especially rad was that I saw at least 3 people I wasn’t really trying to ever see again, one of whom said to me, “You guys own a house? That’s retarded.”
Another guy attempted a rather awkward and, I imagine, drug-fueled conversation with me and at one point he asked me, “So, you’ve been around a long time? You’re kind of old?”
That’s me. Retarded. Old.
I happened to look over as a huge light fell about 3 inches from Jwan and spent the rest of the night telling him how glad I was that he wasn’t dead, because that would have bummed me right out.
This one girl was wearing this iridescent…bikini? And she was grinding up against this guy who was rubbing all over her and toward the end of the night he walked over to Bolt and I and asked for a high five. Maybe if I were wearing latex gloves, dude.
When we were getting in the car to go home, a guy in a pick up truck asked if we wanted to go to Club Erotica. “They got wings n’at.” We declined.
I love Pittsburgh.