Merriam-Webster defines that as: a character or thing that suddenly enters the story in a novel, play, movie, etc., and solves a problem that had previously seemed impossible to solve.
Literally translated from Greek as: a god from a machine.
Now that may be a bit dramatic to describe Janice, but for a neurotic closeted worrier like myself, she is just that.
It seemed as though my previous story was going nowhere. I kept hitting some dead-ends. Then, on a whim, I decided to be social and I went to meet with some friends at Pierce. They were in happy conversation with Janice when I joined the group and somehow the topic of BDSM came up (as it seems to be prone to do with this particular circle of friends.)
Janice has been a part of the community for about half her life. Her mother, who she refers to as “Mistress Mommy” has also been very involved in the community. From that fun and casual conversation, I learned so many things about BDSM that I would have never thought existed. I wanted to take out my recorder just then and tape this wealth of information! But i restrained myself, this was not the appropriate time, really. Instead, I told her about the magazine and my story idea. I told her about my pitfalls and like a god from a machine, she told me about all her friends in committees, her photogenic friends, her panel friends, and her sex therapist friends.
I’m more excited than before to get started.
Out of the four of us, the person we’d expect to want to participate, did. Of course I’d never! Nope, not Vanilla–I mean Vanessa!
The first thing we did in that club was enter a seminar about safety and consent. I had previously read that this community was very focused on comfort and limits despite its reputation for masochism and sadism. The seminar emphasized the various ways that nonconsent could be implied and encouraged the use of safety words or actions.
The show was going to start soon so we grabbed a table at the very front, conviniently located next to the snack table, and we waited for the performances.
The show was organized and run by volunteer performers who hand-made their costumes and choreographed their own routines on their own time with their own resources.
My favorite performance of the night was a dance tribute to Ghostbusters. The group was dressed in brown jumpsuits and had “proton packs” (those ghost-hunting vacuums) made out of Tupperware, tape, and cardboard. It was fantastic.
After the show, there were several hours left to mingle. We spoke to several cast members and it felt like a fun and mellow atmosphere. It was pleasantly jarring to be able to have a drink and a smoke with someone who was nearly naked on stage 15 minutes ago.
Procrastination and laziness cut the last post short, but I assure you there was a point. The point was: Going to this strange and new form of entertainment was unexpectedly enjoyable and I think it would be visually appealing and fun to read about.
There were several great characters at Pangea–performers and audience members. Everyone was decked out in wild and elaborate outfits and it was very hard to distinguish between the performers and the audience especially because the club was bey encouraging of audience participation. Really, I was the only one who, ironically in my grey blandness, stuck out in a sea of feather boas, leather, and bedazzled outfits.
After the bouncer stared at my ID for too long, held it up to the light, and scratched at it, I was allowed in.
Inside the building a receptionist charged us a cover and explained to us the rules of the establishment. She then explained to us the sticker rule. To distinguish who was comfortable enough to consider “playing” with others, patrons wore cute shiny stickers. This didn’t mean that anyone wearing a sticker was forced to “play”, but they could be approached and talked to about the possibility.
So, in our group of four, how many were brave enough to wear a sticker?
It was a regular Saturday night. I was at work until 8 p.m., and because I know that I only work weekend nights, I didn’t bother to make plans that night (really I don’t make plans because I don’t have friends.)
So when I got a call from my friend inviting me to a sex dungeon later that night, I didn’t hesitate. Yes! I need to unwind! I need a break from this weekly weekend monotony! But…a sex dungeon? That’s far from my scene, still I love me a great and new experience. You should try everything at least once–and this summer I was determined to explore and experience every aspect and dark corner of Los Angeles that I could.
I got out of work and headed straight to the Goodwill down the street because goodness knows I was not going in my navy blue, baggy, Skechers shirt nor my clunky Skechers shoes.
After I met up with the group, we drove to a club right across the street from LAX. The planes were flying so close up in the sky they looked like toys. The club was tucked away on a dark street. It was so dark and lonely, we wondered if we were at the right place.
TBC, I guess, to feed my procrastination.
It feels very anti-climatic. I mean, the only reason I know it’s done is because I saw it on Skylar’s Snapcchat.
Nature Connects ended the day before I decided to do it, so back to the drawing board. Maybe I’ll do something with the CIA- California Institute of Abnormal Arts.