Barbie goes to The Cake Shop

So, I am doing this book called the Artist's Way by Julia Cameron, which is an interactive workbook that you do for twelve weeks. It helps you find inner creativity and strength in being an artist. I think anyone who is remotely interested in the arts should check it out. One of the activities that you have to do every week is go on an artist's date, which could be a variety of different things like going to see a play, watching a movie, going on a really long walk, or...... going to the lower east side to watch death metal!

So, I went down to the Cake Shop, a lower, lower east side hub for up and coming artists, people who want to fight against something, or anyone who needs other people to talk to about how to properly clean out a rib piercing. But, I was along for the ride and thought that it would be a fun experience, and I was promised that as soon as the death metal would be over we could see some more mainstream bands.

So, there I was watching three guys screaming into microphones and jumping up and down. In the spirit of the Artist's Way I was trying to look at this like a performance. What are they trying to say? How are they impacting the audience? Contemplating these questions I looked around at the people standing next to me, wearing what seemed to be different parts of a machine, and thought "isn't that heavy", in a few years your going to have some major lower back pain.

I think that the point where I realized that I was totally out of place was not after almost getting taken out by the mosh pit, or having to get a sweet girl with cheek piercings a glass of water because she just got punched in the stomach from someone in the mosh pit, and when asked "are you ok", I was answered with a simple, "'I'm good," as she scampered back into the greasy hair, testosterone infested pit.

No, it wasn't any of those amber alerts, it was when I was standing in line for the bathroom and a group of under twenty fivers were standing behind me and one of them said "I think we're behind this lady". LADY!!!!!!

What? I am not a lady, I am a young hip New Yorker that wants to explore the city. I am twenty-nine and a half and I am still cool. Well, there it was, I was a lady. Thank god they didn't throw in a ma'am! I would have died. Well what could I do but take my old ass home. But not before I bought a cupcake for the road. I least the Cake Shop served actual baked goods.

As I got home, and tried to vigorously wash the hideous stamp from my hand, and take off the three bracelets that were slapped on me as I entered the metal zone, I realized that I have to embrace my age and realize that I don't need death metal, or youth, or even micro-brew. All I need is a husband, a cat and Golden Girl reruns!