Let The Fae Come Out To Play

It's three-thirty in the Music City. I have a rainbow turban on my head, a Celtic-animorph print tunic that hangs on one shoulder and trails down past my ankles, ribbon bracelets on both arms, and I am positively covered in no less than three distinct types of glitter.

I love fags.

Tonight the Nashville Radical Faeries hosted their annual Lammas Cotillion at Kung Fu Coffee. They took the idea from the New Orleans RF, who throw a similar shindig for Imbolc/St. Bridget's Day. It's a costume party/ritual/coronation, as that's when they transfer the Empress crown from one Fae to another.

I don't normally go to Kung Fu Coffee because nine times out of ten when I get a yen to go, it's lame. The Artist and I did read the last fifty pages of Skinny Legs & All there one afternoon, but other than that, just showing up during business hours usually yields no fruit in the "fun" department. However, they throw a party like no one's business, especially when they have a lot of artistic help: one of the first raves I ever attended was the pre-opening party that the Doctor got me into, where I met Count Travula. Tonight was more kickass than that.

The sad thing is that I almost didn't go at all. For all my Leo nature, I don't like to go out by myself to events. To dinner, or the oxygen bar, or the smoke shop, sure. To a Lammas Cotillion? (When I wasn't even sure what a Lammas Cotillion was?) Perish the thought.

I got dressed (in all but the ribbons and glitter, which came later), and then lost my nerve and started calling around for a last-minute escort. But no one would go with me, so I hemmed and hawed and thought about going to the first house party at the place the Don just moved into, but instead I found the van carrying me downtown. I still drove past the place twice until I determined that I wouldn't be entirely out of place. All praise to the guy in the Jolly Roger cowboy hat, who I spied on my second turn and whose getup made me decide that I wasn't either over- or under-dressed for the crowd.

I made it in and was immediately set upon by WingHeart, the Empress-elect, and her Skexsis-looking "pet" (a shoulder puppet), and given the Fag Welcome of You Look Lovely, Are You New? Welcome, Sister. Within five minutes, I had met Ribbon, the Empress of the moment, who was dressed like the gayest Roman-Egyptian hybrid ever to wear the Eyes of Ra and Horus, and who introduced me in the subsequent minutes to two of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, and Fae too numerous to name, including Medusa, Monkey, Lapis, Jesse (who was dressed like a Djinni, down to the caliph slippers and fez), SnapDragon, Synonym, and a bunch of others whose fabulous monikers have escaped my brain.

Medusa, the ritual facilitator, was one of the more interesting Fae I met all night; he seems in the same position as a lot of RS members to the community at-large, and might be an RS perspective...but I'd have to talk to him when he wasn't imbibing. Which, apparently, EVERYONE was, except me, which was no less than I expected.

The ritual portion of the evening was interesting, to say the least; ending up between a Sister and a bi-boy's incredibly hott girlfriend and said girlfriend's hott angel wings and giving them hugs as the energy-raising commenced (with lots of making out for some, but not me) was, well, hott. The quarters-calling was as cheesy as every other quarters-calling seems to be (no offense, CDHSarah -- we're talking Adventure Wicca here), but it worked. Also, I liked the calling of the Androgynous Principle after the Male and Female Principles. Something happened, despite the informality of the circling -- the only time I've ever heard "SHUT UP, BITCHES!" from the Priestess-of-the-moment, and I laugh even now to think how much that could have improved one or two rituals I've attended -- because it got hotter than Hades and stayed hot inside after the ritual, and I spent most of the rest of the night outside, milling and being fussed over.

As I said, I love fags. They seem to love me, too, judging by how often I was told tonight that I was, or looked, awesome. They seemed to appreciate the fact that I put some effort into dressing for the event, as the Fae do. I saw, besides the Djinni and the Egyptian costumes already described:

*a Fae in a pageboy wig, Underoos, and a Louis Vuitton scarf
*the DJ, who was in a studded leather codpiece and tennies
*assorted other Djinni without caliph shoes or fezzes
*a sarong-swathed Fae I made sure to compliment, as s/he was wearing the hell out of them
*the Sisters...of the two I met, one was wearing a beaded veil, wimple, and white face paint, the other had a wimple made of a bra (think the BoobHead in Little Nicky, but with the cups used as draping points for a veil) and a full white beard
*a Fae painted blue, wearing a loincloth, a skull-design codpiece, and horns
*a Djinni rocking a Baphomet theme (horns with half-mask, orange vest with a Baphomet symbol, harem pants)
*assorted leather boys
*a Fae in a white harem veil, white linen wrap skirt, and nothing more (but hir boyfriend is probably well-satisfied judging by the evidence)

I could go on, but those are the Costumes of Note, other than mine, which wasn't really a costume until they added the ribbon bracelets, which were used in the circle, and approximately one half-ton of glitter, which sparked a hilarious conversation in the smoking area about how glitter is nonbiodegradable and thus we'll have a Glitter Earth before it's all up.

The Coronation was fabulous, if short. Both Ribbon and WingHeart had been really wonderful to me all night, and they looked precious. The best part, however, was the giveaway...mock "W" stickers that read THE EMPRESS across the bottom where the standard article says THE PRESIDENT. I have about twenty in my purse and one on my turban, which prompted an unpleasant interlude with a drunk bitch once I had made my way to Cafe O2 for the night.

I'm really proud of myself for going and having fun instead of chickening out. I'm trying to be more self-reliant, and "going to a club alone" is a pretty big deal. It could only have been better had there been lesbians on hand, but alas; perhaps three dykes, none either available or my type. I'm going to be reduced to the personal ads before much longer.

I may not have been the Empress tonight, but I was the Belle of the Ball, and I feel just peachy. I'm not even mad that myspace ate two reviews. I am, however, looking forward to my birthday with even more relish. If even two or three of the people I met tonight show up, it will be On even more than my sister-in-law's soirée was. (Link goes to the Cafe O2 article and picture in Nashville Rage, the one the photographer shot at CDHSarah's bash...featured are the Chieftess and the Champion.)

Have a good night, all! Blessed (belated) Lammas!