PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Well, we were supposed to see Ginuwine tonight, at - of all places - the Beaumont Club. Which is a little wacky, having an R&B concert and definitely a corresponding black audience all in a country-western club. We had been told our (comped) tickets were VIP and even such phrases as "Meet Ginuwine" accompanied the plans, so you know me & class C celebrities, I love 'em, and god only knows what'll come out of my mouth, so off Kristin & I sailed, to meet up with Jimmi & hit the cluuub.

The first tip that things weren't going as planned ocurred before we even got to the door. Someone semi-official (I assumed official based on the large plastic tickets hanging around his neck) was on the phone telling someone else that there was a mix-up and his DJ (presumably Mr. G's DJ) wasn't getting in until 11:20. Not good. It was only 9:00. So we gave it a go, went inside & got a drink, and seriously stood out like sore thumbs. It didn't matter that we were fancy dressed, we had no entourage or any street cred and we knew it. If only I had worn a pair of sunglasses. (How do you see in a dark club, wearing sunglasses? Maybe you just don't walk around so much.) Our rep wasn't there (the one who'd gotten us the tickets) so we had no way to assimilate, and we finally settled on standing near the stage and watching the crowd. No question, there were some people there. to. party. Unfortunately, as a large banner was assembled before our eyes, we realized the opening act had even been delayed, presumably to extend the show until said DJ got there.

At what point do you say, "I'm good enough but I can't roll without my DJ?" I understand you need your crew and your people but lordy. We split because there was no way we were staying until midnight, and we went to McCoy's for some dessert. Numerous office peeps were there, celebrating a graphic designer's birthday, so it was fun (albeit weird, since I never go out) to run into people we knew. When we walked back to our cars, past the club, one woman was leaving, chewing out someone about show times and how late it was going to be and how it was a lie and MMMMMMM child, she was NOT happy.

And if I'd paid $75 for a VIP ticket? I'd be pissed. Ginuwine better make me breakfast for my troubles, not showing up until that late. Fill up the gas tank. Unload the dishwasher. Screw posing for a picture with me, go get some groceries! Me? I'll be in bed before midnight & Ginuwine probably hasn't started singing yet. Now, Usher? I'd probably wait up for him.