A Picture Perfect Day

By the time I was in 1^st grade, I had attended a number of primary schools across Delaware and North Carolina (I believe it was 4 or 5, which would mean that I attended one or more schools every year until our family moved to Kentucky). I was six—truthfully wishing to be seven—but I am positive I was six. Endless summer days in the North Carolina sun bleached my short, boyish-like hair and freckles splashed the brims of my cheeks. My attire consisted of shorts (or overalls), a pair of roughed-up tennis shoes and a t-shirt ready for a beating from Mother Nature. A daily invitation from the sun beckoned me to come and play (and, willing, I never let the sun down).  I would run and run and run. And if Ali, my sister, was outside (which was always very likely) we would run and run and run. Like every summer, time was always deceitful. Rolling around in the dirt, making mud pies and selling or eating the mud pies always had to stop sooner or later. And when the production line had to stop, it was a sign: school was on the horizon, and picture day was soon to follow.

Like all of my 20-30 classmates, I was going to experience picture day.  I am sure my mother probably mentally prepared me the night before, but all I could remember was the sheer terror I felt when my feet landed on the pavement and the blue car door shut behind me.

I was wearing a dress. The dress was painted with pastel green and pink flowers. The sleeves held an 80’s puff complimenting a simple, white lace accent, and a light pink sash tied around my waist to complete the grand statement: I was coming to school with style.

I began to wander toward my classroom door. It was then my pace began to slow. I came to a stop, and wiggled in my dress. I was uncomfortable. That was when my conscious was flooded with consistent and awful thoughts: What if today wasn’t really picture day? What if I am dressed up and no one else is? What if my friends don’t like my dress? My stomach began to ache and my throat quickly dried out. I was tempted to turn around to find someone (or run), but the hallway was empty. The idea of being alone terrorized me further; I was stuck in the spot where I stood. The slight glow from the classroom remained in my focus giving me little comfort. Seconds turned into minutes; it wasn’t until a parent rounded the corner with her son dressed in the height of fashion that I could will myself to move.

My lovely desk...

 Fast-forward 17 years. It is the night before my first “official” day of work, and I can’t help but relive the terror that visited me years before. I am no longer in college (hooray! I am a college graduate!), and I no longer can say I am “hunting for a job.” I guess that would put me into the category of “big girl.”

To preoccupy my fears, I packed my lunch, laid out my navy dress, organized my paperwork and started to watch a movie. The rumbling in my stomach and clenching of my throat put me on my feet again.  I began to wander around my room. I was forgetting something, but what? And then it hit me: I was missing the documents I needed to prove my citizenship. Unfortunately, my desk became the victim of a mini tornado. Destruction laid in my wake as I tore apart file after file.  Even my phone conversation with Ryan was disparaging—I needed to take my frustration out on something or someone. So I did both. After the mini storm, It took me 30minutes or so to reconnect with myself and harness my chi, but I did it!  And I eventually fell asleep. Like my first grade photo shoot, I really had nothing to fear about my first day of work. It was wonderful (minus the traffic I had to wait in).  Hopefully, day two will be even better.

Girls. Night. Out.

My girls: Marcie, Kellie and Amanda

Faces Nightclub in Sacramento is definitely a place where you can go and let your hair down. You can be you. Nobody cares what you look like, and nobody cares who your with. Men dance with men. Women dance with women. People dance alone. People wear costumes, funny hats, funny purses, funny goggles, etc. You can be ANY age (over 21 of course)--acting and/or truthfully. This, of course, made for an entertaining and perfect GIRLS NIGHT OUT. After Amanda and I were rescued by Kellie (the Light Rail blog pertains to these series of events), we went to gather Marcie from her apartment (another friend of Kellie’s). Our small group of eager girls walked into the heart of Sacramento’s nightlife.

 

Faces was over the top. There were dancers inside, there were dancers outside, there were dancers on the bar(s), and most importantly, there were bars in every room (there were even bars in the hallways). The club consisted of three main dance areas—all of which stepped to a different beat.  Kellie, Amanda, Marcie and I ordered our first round of drinks and travelled from room to room.  We didn’t want to leave our drinks, so we sipped them quietly (because you can’t hear over the music), and bounced to the beat of a country song. That didn’t last long. After a song or two, we resolved to find yet another room playing hip-hop and our empty glasses were abandoned.

A bride-to-be and her possy took center stage—so, of course, we went and danced right next to them. The bride-to-be held a glowing lightsaber in her hand, and her headpiece consisted of a veil with horns. At one point, the bride detached herself from her bridesmaids and became the center of our group. That’s when I knew it was going to be a great night. Not only was I creating new memories with friends, I was creating new memories with people I’ve never met. Everyone was there to have a good time, which added tremendously to our experience (regardless if we had drinks in our system or not).

Badlands

After a short wait, another group of Kellie’s friends arrived. It seemed to be around the same time when crowds of people slowly began to trickle into the club. By midnight, it was packed. The stainless steel floors vibrated violently with the beat, and your calves had no choice but to move with each vibration and pulse. Techno, wicked remixes, Lil-Wayne, Ke$ha, Neyo and Pitbull were contants. At times, the dance floor was so packed there was only enough room to sway your shoulders to the beat.

Amanda and Me

The ever-growing crowd persuaded us to visit Badlands across the street. We found the result to be the same. There. Were. People. Everywhere!  Kellie and a crowd of her friends took shelter on the cool, opened back deck while Amanda and I went to dance. We danced, and we danced, and we danced. We didn’t care that we were sweating, and we didn’t care that we were shoved into a tight space. We didn’t care about the crazy and reckless behavior that surrounded us. Feeling carefree was AMAZING.


All of us eventually returned to finish our night at Faces. Everything happened so quickly: mid-song, the DJ stopped the beat, turned on the lights and everyone was ushered out the nearest door. It took us little time to realize how deaf we were and how much money was spent.  The crowd dispersed disappearing in all directions. Taxi’s sat in the busy intersection, and waves of people continued to exit the club. Marcie, Kellie, Amanda and I returned down the path we began earlier that night. We said our goodbyes to Marcie, climbed into Kellie’s car (thanks Kellie!) and made our way back to where our evening began—Amanda’s house.

The Possy

Our Journey to FACES: The Light Rail Train

Amanda and I didn’t want to run the risk of crashing our cars (or even worse, contracting a DUI), so we decided to ride the Light Rail train into the heart of Sacramento. The plan: get on the train, survive the train ride, walk 8 blocks to the night club, FACES, and dance the night away with Kellie Edson and friends. 

Our plan of attack was sound. We were to get to-and-from downtown Sac by using public transportation.  Amanda’s mom, Jan, drove us to the Light Rail where we waited in her car. The empty parking lot was dimly lit, and small trees wrestled with the wind. Only one passenger sat outside under the glow of florescent light bulbs. The anticipation of the train’s arrival shook my stomach. Every few seconds, I would look over my shoulder (and we sat there for ten minutes—I probably looked nuts). The idea of public transportation really excited me (in my opinion, America needs to get their butt in gear to make public transportation work).

Light Rail’s core inhabited faded, soft blue cushions. With the exception of one elderly gentleman wearing lime green, tie-dyed socks, Amanda and I had the cabin to ourselves (at least for the beginning of our trip).  The train shook violently—similarly to the Matterhorn in Disneyland—and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see out the window. So instead, I stared at my reflection.

I took the opportunity to document my experience by taking photos. Who knew that blue cushions could excite me so? By our third or fourth stop, people began to fill the cabin.  Soon enough, a middle-aged gentleman sat in the seats across from us. He really wanted to sell us bus tickets and magnets. He then began to ask why we were so “dolled up” and where we were going. His questioning proceeded to become more and more personal—almost to the point of harassment. That is when our HERO made eye contact with Amanda.

A security guard had just made his way onto the bus when Amanda used her telepathy. The expression on Amanda’s face didn’t lie. We. Needed. Help. The last thing we wanted was for the guy to follow us off the bus (because he was indicating that’s exactly what he was going to do).  

Even after the man was told to leave us alone he continued to bother us—he even attempted to coax the security guard into flirting with us.  This prompted a fast conversation with Kellie on the phone, and an even faster departure from the train. The guard stepped away from our seat to let us pass, and the door closed behind us with our nightmare calling after us. Luckily, Kellie was around the corner in her car. No chance for stalking tonight. No. Way.