Cinderella stays…

I wasn’t sure if I was going to go to the Re-Bar Mardi Gras/Carnival party last night – I didn’t have anyone to go with (like that has ever stopped me) but I was slightly paralyzed by the “no one in Seattle ever dresses up for things like this”. I put on my head piece yesterday morning – the yellow and orange feathers dashed around, the jewels sparkling around my face. It made me smile. I knew I had to go. Dashing home after work, I cranked-up KEXP which was playing Samba music and got ready. There had been some miscommunication and one of my few Seattle friends didn’t have my cell phone number. Soon, Molly, who I had met out when Mike came to town, was planning on joining me out. It took me forever to find Re-Bar (too many one-way streets going the wrong direction) but then I found a close parking spot – stepped out in my orange pants and sparkly top knowing this was going to be a great evening.

Molly soon joined me (remember me – I’m a tall brunette. I’ll be wearing all orange – kind of like a traffic cone with a feather head piece) and we watched the samba group Vamola perform. It was very reminiscent of my old samba group back in Cleveland – the bateria (though twice the size in Seattle) sounded the similar, with the same rhythms, and songs. The dancers (sadly only 6 in number) were dancing beautifully to the music one with the giant feathers flowing.

We were dancing in the back of a crowd of general Mardi Gras revelers when Molly said, I have to go to the front. I have to dance to this song. (Having spent a lot of time in Brazil, she knew the music). But there was that imaginary line – you know that line people don’t cross – that line that separates the performers, bands, the source of the music and those enjoying it – I grabbed her hand and we burst thru bringing our new friend Fred with us. So others joined us with their beads and masks, their cowboy hats and grunge caps, their bright red dresses and all black. And we danced and danced and danced – for almost three hours. We danced with the bateria whose drums shook the building. We danced with the live band we had danced with last week. We sang songs in Portuguese. We danced with Fred and Sophia and drunk Hendricks. We danced with a cowboy. We tried to win the costume contest (foiled again, this time by a guy in a pink wig and a tight green top), though not the dance contest. The clock chimed midnight; I didn’t turn into a pumpkin and we danced some more.

Molly insisted we go out again as the morning closed in around us. This Cinderella wanted to take off her shoes but instead walked to the car with ‘dogs barkin’, her very tired head piece in hand, having had an absolutely fantastic evening.