The Truth about Cats and Dogs

It was Saturday night and I was sitting on the couch in my comfy home clothes, munching on McDonald's, channel surfing and lamenting the fact that it was a Saturday night and I was sitting on the couch in my comfy clothes, eating McDonald's, channel surfing and lamenting.

Whenever I find myself in this situation, I generally console myself by watching girly movies and last night, it was no different. "The Truth about Cats and Dogs" was on TV so I sat there contentedly shoving fries into my mouth while watching the antics of Janeane and Uma both lying about being the cool veterinarian chick of Ben Chaplin's dreams.

It's a frumpy vet student's dream movie as the not-so-attractive vet with the spunky attitude eventually beats out the 5'10 blonde, gorgeous model for the cute photographer. I sighed and inwardly chastised myself for my patheticness and took another bite of my cheeseburger.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

I practically bolted across the room, and then (so as not to appear too desperate), I let it ring three times before I answered it.

I chatted for a bit and excitedly hung up the phone. Finally! I had something to do on a Saturday night. I was going to be watching "The Constant Gardener" with some of my classmates.

What exactly the "constant gardener" was, i wasn't sure, but it sounded good enough. Afterall, it was two guys in my class who had initiated the whole movie thing so it was bound to be a guy movie with gun and fighting and people getting blown up. So I get to the theatre to gaze confusedly at a poster featuring what appeared to be a love story. Two guys invited me out to watch a chick flick?! It couldn't be.

In the end, the movie was sort of a love story/guy movie which was intense, political and involving. I sat there unsure of whether to cry, get really angry and join amnesty international or just sit there and shift uncomfortably in my seat. I chose the latter.

I got home by 9:15pm and was still feeling pretty riled up. I decided to get comfy again and sat there watching the last half of the late showing of "The truth about cats and dogs". And just as I was getting all into my lonely vet student on a Saturday night zone again, my phone rang again. "Hey Vivian! Wanna come out to The underground? We're heading there at midnight."

I thought about it for a bit. I'd never been to the club before and I'd heard strange things about it. Mostly goths, deviants and crossdressers. Industrial techno stuff and lots of electronica and other underground stuff. Not exactly what I would call my "usual scene" but you gotta try everything once right?

"sure! You wanna come pick me up?"

So I sat there for the next few hours deliberating what to wear whilst glancing at the TV every so often to watch the drama of Uma, Janeane and Ben unfold. Eventually, I decided all black was the safest and wore my black leather hooker boots, my black strapless dress over black tights and a black choker. I then left my hair down parted in the middle and slapped on some pale powder and mascara.

I glanced at myself in the mirror and thought I looked pretty cool. I crossed my fingers and hoped like hell I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb like I usually do in Saskatoon (I'm not being paranoid. I wore a skirt to school on thrusday and everyone on campus was staring as ppl don't really wear skirts here. Three people walking past me were like "Man! Look at the girl in the SKIRT!" Strange town this.).

At midnight, I found myself standing in the rain outside in the middle of downtown Saskatoon in front of a sign saying "INDIA PALACE" in big red letters on it. This place was so "underground" that it didn't even have an official sign, but somehow, there is that covert crowd in town that knows the club is under the old abandonned "india palace" indian food restaurant. All around me was a sea of black leather, vinyl, facial piercings and mohawks.

I gulped and entered.

It was pitch black and stairs led downwards towards more darkness. I could hear the music thumping and suddenly was greeted with black and white checkered floor and a guy with heavy eyelining asking for my ID. A few seconds later, I was in a room where the music was so loud I could feel my vertebrae shaking. There was a bright white light flashing on and off to the beat of the music. With each illumination, I saw a bit more of the room and the creatures within it.

The image of a guy in a miniskirt and blonde wig flashed briefly at me. The next flash showed a girl wearing a golden silk corset with a long skirt dancing wildly.
Flash! a vinyl mandarin-collared dress
Flash! spiky 6 inch platforms with buckles going all the way up the leg
Flash! some guy in full body black coat with big silver lace holes all the way down
Flash! another corset
Flash! another mohawk and so many other cool outfits I lost count.

I sat there nursing a beer and gogging for a bit before the alcohol hit and I decided to join the throng on the dance floor.

The amazing thing was that no matter how badly I danced (and I do dance badly) no one cared and everyone was just up there to do their thing and enjoy themselves. It was like a mix of the usual club dancing and some modern interpretive dance and goodness knows what else. It was like whatever you felt at the moment, you could do and it was Ok cus no one would judge you for it.

I could see why these people got addicted to the underground life.

"You'd never see these people like this during the rest of the week!" shouted one of the girls I was with into my ear.

Normally, I get to see the everyday hicks, prim white-anglo-saxon-protestant, buttoned up, repressed version of Saskatoon. Last night though, it was like I got to see the seething underbelly of the town in all its uninhibited glory.

Another guy in a wig and corset danced past and something bordering on a vampire costume minus the teeth floated by. I boogied away to Nine Inch Nails with some girl in a cool horned hat and halter top and some other girl in a short vinyl dress and thigh-high fish net pull up stockings.

We eventually called it a night and ran through the pouring rain back to the parking lot. We all piled into my classmate's car and drove carefully in the flooded streets back to the university area.
"We've got to come back here on halloween."
"TOTALLY!" I agreed.

The conversation floated eventually to something about piercings and nipple rings and and I sat there listened in shock as each of my classmates described their personal tattoos and piercings. It was more than I ever wanted to know, but eye-opening.

I eventually got back to my apartment and tip-toed up the stairs. It was close to 2am as I closed the door of my suite and took off my boots. I emptied out the bowl I had left on the ground to catch the rain leaking from my window and changed back into my comfy home clothes.

I slumped back on the couch. "The truth about cats and dogs" was no longer on TV but I didn't care.

For a self-pitying slobbish vet-student on a Saturday night, I may not have landed myself a cute Ben Chaplin-esque photographer, and I may not be a blonde-goddess-like model, but I did manage to have a good time afterall.