Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

The Disco Stick

with 7 comments



I lose my momentum thirty minutes before I have to be at my friend’s house.  She bought Lady Gaga tickets for us on a drunken whim one night and used my birthday, in two months’ time, as a flimsy-but-adequate excuse. No matter the reason, we’re excited for a girls’ night out – I just need an adrenaline shot and some methamphetamines. I agonize over what to wear because 1) I don’t have anything club-worthy, 2) I don’t have anything Lady Gaga-worthy, and 3) I don’t have anything youthful. Need an administrative assistant or a lazy couch potato on your team? Want a Mom-type, or something for church? I’m your gal. Cool Kid concert clothing/understated MILFwear? Nary a glittery top nor push-up bra in sight. I feel officially old for about three minutes until I give myself an Oprah pep talk, and head to the kitchen for some Hostess cupcake therapy. After squeezing myself into my only Tits McGee clubby tank top, my nose and cleavage reunite once more, much to the dismay of my smothered chin(s).

Me and the hooters head over to Jenny’s crib, which is right across from 826, for some Gagarriffic pre-funking. After taking the necessary social networking photos, I head downtown with the Esq for a freebie extravaganza at the former Union Square Grill, now ridiculously titled ‘The Lost Lady American Cantina.’ I don’t even know what that means, but the appetizer bars, full steak dinners, dessert tables, and free booze make up for the lousy name. We’re only there by the grace of Brock, who knows how much I like need free food. The girls meet up with us and we get our food on, leaving for the Showbox with our driver/lawyer; he drops us and we stick to the left-hand side bar, parking it in a good spot. We get AMPED, and I’m ignoring my feet, which are standing in an unwieldy pair of heels – who the fuck authorized these? This is the Esq’s fault somehow. And where’s my cell phone? I need to text everyone on Earth. This is a bad idea – it always is – but I’m doing it anyways.

Yes!  HERE SHE IS:  all three feet of her. Lady Gaga is so small, Smurfs carry her on-stage in a flashing neon palanquin; not really, but I could put her in my pocket if I wanted to.  She sounds good live, and her on-stage shit is bizarre:  strange back-up dancer types, lots of smoke and color, an entire outfit made of bubbles. She’s singing a bunch of my favorites, but I’m focused on my hooters – I can tell I’m headed for a Janet Jackson ‘wardrobe malfunction.’ I do the necessary adjusting, give the boobs a stern talking-to, and bribe them back into place. Seriously, it’s like carrying around two overweight midgets on my fucking chest, and I’m their reluctant caretaker. Knockers intact, I jump around with Jenny and Michelle, and we make a general nuisance of ourselves. I could tell the girl in front of me wanted to strangle me, but couldn’t care less. Like an idiot, I put my coat down, thinking to myself, ‘Hm… that will be gone by the time I turn around. Meh. Whatever.’ And wouldn’t you know, by the time I turned around – yeah, you can always see the moral of my stories pretty early on.

At one point I look around, wondering which obnoxious assholes are screaming in perfect unison with every song and in between every song and in the ears of strangers and over text and whilst Twittering and at their friends, and then realize OH FUCK IT’S US. Typical. We also befriend the door guy, whose name is Whitey – as in, Kill Whitey – and yes, he said that.

The concert was great, even though my toes barely survived it. But you know what hurt the most? My thumbs. Mmhm, from over-texting with multiple people; I had about six people on the line, and that’s a lot of thumb action.  But it’s not like I have a “problem.”   I can quit anytime I want to.


Written by sn0tteh

March 25, 2009 at 5:34 PM

Posted in Uncategorized

Tagged with , , , , , , ,

7 Responses

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  1. So I was trapped in a van this morning with other art/design students today on a class field trip to Tacoma. “Pokerface” comes on the radio on our way back to Seattle and the chump next to me keeps going on about how much he hates her. I’m neither a Lady Gaga hater or a fan, but especially wanted to stab him when he complained how she is “thirty” and “dresses bad.”

    I was willing to overlook the “thirty” comment (my age) because when I was younger I also thought I’d be as good as dead by now. However, as I’ve gotten older and learned that I don’t need to perpetually be twenty-two to be relevant (thank God).

    But the “dresses bad” comment was coming from a dude who was wearing off-white Converse, the ubiquitous skinny jeans in dark grey, a tucked in thrift-store flannel plaid shirt, brown leather belt, mustard colored thrift-store cardigan (a ala Kurt Cobain or Mr. Rogers), gigantic plastic nerd glasses, and the grown out remnants of his red hair dye. And he had an iPhone. (Of course.) HE was complaining about how she dresses?

    I had a momentary vision of myself suddenly turning to him and punching him in the face as hard as I could. It was the first time I smiled during the whole trip.


    March 25, 2009 at 8:15 PM

  2. Poetic justice. Fuck those skinny-jean bitches. I would have seen the cardigan and said, “NO. There is no way you’re sitting next to me with that on. Take a cab home or face my fists of rage.” WITH AN IPHONE. Hipster nancies.


    March 25, 2009 at 9:09 PM

  3. Gawd, Manthony. Why didn’t you just ask me to shut up???


    March 26, 2009 at 6:00 AM

  4. You were too busy on your iPhone.

    I’ll admit that some folks are able to pull off the “hipster nancies” look while still managing to appear cool in some form or another. But this kid is NOT one of them. If he was ten years older he’d look like a creepy molestor man (with a creepy molestor van).


    March 26, 2009 at 2:24 PM

  5. and if he was in Iran he’d have A CREEPY MOLESTER TAN! YAY!!! (or he could be here with a creepy molester tan out of a can, but man, ban that can tan, better to be wan)


    March 26, 2009 at 11:42 PM

  6. Matt. I can’t live without your comments. You know this.


    March 27, 2009 at 2:40 AM

  7. Yes, well, now that I have joined you in the ranks of the unholy jobless, I should have more time to make them. 😉


    March 29, 2009 at 5:30 AM

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