It was my boyfriend's 19th today, and his parents bought tickets for him and a bunch of us other hangers on to go see The Rocky Horror Show. So that was pretty cool.
Okay, it was actually frigging epic. And so was the rest of the day, and since my last post was full of teh srs, I figured I'd share something a little lighter.
The epic began when my friend Alex broke into our house. Well, I say she broke in. What actually happened was that when my flatmate Claire's new boyfriend skulked out of our flat this morning, he didn't manage to close our stubborn front door properly, and so we ended up with much rattling, banging and then Alex appearing in the living room with a suitcase. We were a little surprised.
The next major occurence was at the Stirling train station as we met up with our other friends to travel to Glasgow. As well as being the boyfriend's birthday, it was also my friend Lamia's, and she was coming to the show with us. Since she was waiting at the train station, me and Claire rushed over to give her hugs. Claire succeeded, I did not. What I did was slip on the wet tiles and end up doing a graceful full-body slide to the floor, to the hilarity of every random bystander who had the fortune of being there at the time. I then proceeded to get up and loudly proclaim that I was the champion of the world, and of grand entrances. I'm pretty sure I bruised my hip as well. Not my finest moment, especially considering the short shorts, tights and stripy socks making me look like some kind of schizophrenic goth playboy bunny (yeah, I know, weird image, but it's Rocky Horror, come on).
My outstanding feats of grace and elegance aside, the rest of the trip to the theatre was largely uneventful. That is, of course, until we got there and were met with a huge crowd of the usual crazily dressed up people you get at The Rocky Horror Show. It's par for the course really, unless you are my boyfriend, who hadn't even seen the Picture Show and had no idea what he was in for. Still, he seemed less than traumatised; I guess that's what comes of being a thespian and having already cross-dressed and been a sexual deviant on stage (although not at the same time). But nevermind that.
The show itself was awesome, even if no one is ever going to replace Tim Curry as the Frank. N. Furter in my eyes. The guy they had did a pretty damn good job though, as did the rest of the cast. I didn't know any of the shout-outs, and no, I did not do the Time Warp because I am lame and shy in crowds, but it was all still great fun. There was, however, a worrying moment at the end of the halftime interval where the lights went out as I was trying to finish my melting ice cream. Eating melting ice cream with a tiny plastic spoon/spatula thing in the dark is not easy, and there's that terrifying moment when you feel something cold and wet hit your shorts and have to hope that it was just condensation off the tub and you don't actually have an embarrasing white stain near your crotch area that will be very hard to explain. Thankfully, it was just condensation. It was the theatre equivalent of the 'popcorn down the top' situation that can arise at the cinema when you take too big a handful of popcorn and it bounces off your face when you try to eat it and ends up lodged in your bra.
Umm... I really hope I'm not the only person that's happened to... Erm... Yeah, moving on...
Anyway, after we successfully navigated our way out of the huge crowd of scarily drunk middle-aged women dressed very innapropriately for their age, we hit a noodle bar for food. And there commenced the ritual taking of Very Silly Pictures. The VSP part of a night out is one of the most important parts. When you are drunk, it tells you the dumb things you did, when you are sober, it tells you how crazy you actually are.
For me, it informed me that I apparently have a hell of a rape-face sometimes, and it reinforced the whole 'schizophrenic goth playboy bunny thing'. Yeah, not so proud of that part...
In any case, we made it home in one piece, and commenced with the evening ritual of tea-making. We were, however, confronted with the two boyfriend figures of the house realising the need for a hierarchy. Mine was here first, but we are now presented with Claire's. The actual confrontation bolied down to this:
Boyfriend #1: We must assert dominance here. Only I may mate with the females!
Boyfriend #2: *cowers*
The funny part here is that Claire's boyfriend is actually 7 years older than mine (and Claire, come to that). I did throw in a comment about male lions humping each other to assert dominance, but they ultimately went with the stag beetle approach and grappled for a while. This, I feel, was not quite as much fun to watch, but then again, our boyfriends already flirt with each other so much that I suppose they don't need any more encouragement.
Did I mention that our household is rather weird? No? Well it is. I'm not sure how my other flatemate copes really.
Welp, I think that's the outing rather neatly summerised. I hope you enjoyed the tale.