Okay, so tonight my director (Dennis) and I go to check out the space for the upcoming reading. As I mentioned, there is a “life drawing” class at this place on Wednesday nights. Other than checking out the space, which is our primary objective, we are morbidly curious about the life drawing class. Basically, we’re both children as far as this situation goes. I mean, it’s a naked person you don’t know in the room with you, and you’re not only supposed to check out the nakedness, you’re supposed to STUDY it and DRAW it with little charcoal crayons. I said we were childish.
So we’re checking out the space (which is fucking AMAZING, by the way). We’re walking around looking at all this statuary and art and painstaking hours of work that have gone into the outside area of this place. Totally cool, and I can’t believe I’m able to use this space for my reading. Wonderful. Then the guy invites us into the house where the NAKED person is. We giggle in the most professional manner possible and follow the guy into the house. The big room where all the drawing people are is focused around the model, a man who is orange. I’m not sure if he recently did the spray-on tanning thing, or if “life drawing” requires a skin dye of some sort for the pale, but this naked, flaccid guy is orange. Head to toe. Or head to head, I should say.
Again, we’re children. But we’re acting like adults who are in an artsy environment. Mostly. Our guide starts to wind his way through the various artists and their canvases. I hesitate, not sure if we’re supposed to follow or not. Worried that we are supposed to follow and it’ll seem rude if we don’t, I start winding my way through too. Then the guide stops in the middle of the room to reposition the model. Not wanting to acknowledge my obvious dorkiness, I continue winding around, ending up on the other side of the room. There’s no place for me to go except the Men’s Room. I turn around, ready to say something to Dennis about the pickle we’re in and see that he remained at the entrance to the room. My eyes get big and his are already big from the laugh he’s trying to stifle. Now I have to look like I have a purpose in life, so I study the parameters of this back part of the room like I’m going to Ikea to buy an area rug. The people, who seem to have no problem staring at a naked orange guy, are looking at me like I just landed on earth and walked into their midst with my asshole on my forehead. I wind back. As I pass the platform the naked guy is on, I notice our helpful guide repositioning Orangey for a new pose. I keep walking. Now, we have Orangeboy on the platform and Redgirl on the floor.
The rest of the visit was uneventful, except for the fact we now have a date. The reading will be…March 30. The day after my 36th birthday. Cool. Would have had it on my birthday, but it’s harder to get people out on a Wednesday than a Thursday. More details to come as the date approaches. If there is an orange guy there, don’t ask.