SXSW, How I Hate Thee. Let Me Count the Ways.

GWH and I are on our way to see his favorite DJ: DJ Z Trip. Who I affectionately like to call Mr. Trip. Hey, you try saying DJ Z Trip five times fast. Or after three vodka tonics. Mr. Trip it is. He’s playing at Red Fez. A tequila shot at G&S sends us off in style. We grab a cab and head into the madness.

“Dude, there is just something about SXSW that makes you feel like a stranger in your own town,” GWH says as we observe the people running rampant through the streets of downtown.

“I hate it.”

“I hate them.”

“Let’s go back to the G&S.”

“Not yet.”

“I know, I know. Mr. Trip awaits.”

We get out of the cab and join the suckers in line without wristbands. There are about seven people ahead of us and the show starts in five minutes. Maybe we’re going to make it! GWH is very serious and focused now. Kind of like when we were in line in customs in Mexico. I’m finding it hard to focus on anything after that tequila shot. And the vodka tonics. And the Tecate.

“Five minutes,” GWH grumbles, checking his watch while pretending not to dance to the music inside the club. GWH thinks that if he just “moves to music” it’s not dancing. It’s just “moving to music.” I happen to disagree. “If we don’t get in in five minutes, we’re outta here.”

One of the bouncers looks kind of like Biff from Back to the Future. What is that line? Something about manure? GWH and I both can’t remember. Okay, maybe we are a wee bit drunk. A couple of people get into the club and GWH and I are at the front of the line.

Wheee! I look up at him. “Did this extend our five-minute limit?”

“Seven. He’s got seven minutes or we’re out of here.”

Super annoying rich and fake people abound. One dude is standing on the sidewalk in his sunglasses trying to look famous. Another dude is loudly counting his money to my left. He’s going to give the bouncer (not the one that looks like Biff; we’ll call this one McFly) 60 dollars to get into the club. He doesn’t have a wristband; he should be in line BEHIND us. But no—Mr. Richie Rich is going to pay his way in. I hate this person that I don’t even know. And I hate most every girl I see, because most every girl I see has fake tits. Go away, California. Get out of my town. No, seriously, we don’t want you here. And you people who moved here from California and you’re all, “Hey, friends from California! Come visit!” No. Seriously. Shut up.

So we’re at the front of the line and McFly checks our IDs and promises us we’re next but I’m concerned Richie Rich and Company will go first. It turns out McFly isn’t lying, though, and we’re in! I feel like I just won a damn contest and all that happened was I walked into a stupid bar in Austin. I mean, really. But, hell, I’m sort of drunk so I’ll roll with it. Although I tell GWH I want a double Vanilla Stoli and Coke because I need more alcohol. He shuts me down on account of the length and difficulty of ordering that drink and instead I wind up with a double vodka tonic. Yay Crystal Palace! This won’t come back to haunt me.

Oh well, the Crystal Palace pretty much knocks me on my ass. GWH makes fun of me as I dance while Mr. Trip spins the tunes. I think GWH is supervising. He advises me that despite the alarming price of drinks, the bartender has given him a scotch and soda instead of water. And guess what? The soda is not impeding GWH’s ability to get tanked.

And then Mr. Trip puts on “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe and I swear to God, I’m back in seventh grade again but I’m much cooler. This dude we’ll call Yorkie shows up and starts dancing with me. He thinks I’m pretty hot stuff and uses the belt loops on my jeans to position me. Uh-oh. GWH is not going to like this. I dance over to GWH with Yorkie in tow, who gets it and immediately starts kissing some GWH ass.

He assures GWH he meant “no disrespect” and that I’m gorgeous! He’s going to be on The O.C. in two weeks. He’s also dating Andy Roddick’s sister. He promises to bring Andy Roddick back to meet GWH. Yorkie’s gone and I sneer.

“Whatever—I’ll tell him he really sucked when he hosted Saturday Night Live.”

Mr. Trip totally rocks! GWH and I stand at the entrance to the club and watch him for a while. This whole underground DJ thing is fascinating. I’m having this total Zen moment. I love Mr. Trip. I love GWH. I love…dude, it’s time to go home.

-Shakira 03.28.05