This past Friday night was not only was a Girls Night Out but also a Greek Night Out.
The only prediction I had, which was right on the nose, was the TWO-course roast beef dinner. If it were an Italian concert, we’d be eating for hours and my husband would have come just for the food.
The black napkins on the tables reminded me of a bad Sweet Sixteen birthday party I had at a Greek Bouzouki bar. Yes you heard right. I was underaged but looked 19 and drank waaaay too much Ouzo.
Smoke filled the venue… not cigar smoke but smoke from the dried ice. Yep! Fogged up my contact lenses.
I know the 80s are sort of back in style but I honestly felt like I was back in Grade 7 where the girls wore PROM gowns with flats, and white dresses with black tights.
Can someone say Feta?
Evening started out smoothly. Catching up with my dear Greek friend (my Journalism bud from Ryerson) and her adventurous sister. My purse was sitting innocently on the chair beside me.
“Let me check my phone,” I thought to myself. What do I see? A bunch of missed calls and a text from another good friend who happened to be there.
“Call home.”
Oh no, what the hell happened? I’ve only been gone for an hour!
The hubs is in a state of panic because the Boss has suddently spiked a fever and has a rash all over his body.
Greaaaat.
After a call with TeleHealth, he calmed down. The hubs that is. We could take the Boss to the doctor tomorrow.
Mommy guilt kicked me swiftly in the ass.
Then I reasoned with myself: he’s eating, playing and bugging his brother? He’ll be fine!
I can relax and have a second (and last since I was driving) cranberry vodka.
WHEW.
The opening act turned me into Simon Cowell – “horrible!” This singer was pure karaoke, no disrespect BUT… whether she was an opera singer or not, the song was laughable. Here is a clip you MUST watch:
As my friend’s sister said, “The Phantom of the Opera meets the Bouzoukia”.
Then finally, Ploutarxos came on stage. Beautiful man, beautiful voice. Apparently amazing father of four.
Our table was in an awkward position so the groupie that I am, suggested we gravitate toward the side stage. Took some great photos.
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I couldn’t even see where the singer was anymore.
The bouncers were doing a fabulous job of keeping these crazed fans off the stage.
A few drunk-ish girls wouldn’t get off the damn stage either, trying desperately to either impress Ploutarxos or impress the crowd. Seriously? I didn’t pay to watch these girls shake their booties, one of whom was wearing a micro-mini skirt with control top pantyhose. The kind where you can see the line?
A few “cool” dudes also climbed up on stage to show off their “Zembekiko” dance moves.
And cameras were flashing every which way.
Suddenly people were getting up on stage with him to take photos. WITH HIM AS HE WAS SINGING. Have you ever heard of this?
Is this an autograph and photo session, or a concert?
Laughing my ass off. Is this for real? I felt like I was in a really BAD GREEK MOVIE.
Well if this is the case, I wasn’t going to be the only one NOT to get a photo. I worked my way to the bouncer like a groupie and he winked as if to say, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you in.”
Then all of a sudden, the Bouncer of all Bouncers came out and took over. Damn you taking-your-job-way-too-seriously buddy! My chances are slim now.
It then became utterly ridiculous – more and more fans managed to climb on stage to have their photo taken AND literally having a conversation with the singer WHILE he was performing.
It was so bizarre, I couldn’t resist filming it:
Ploutarxos, like every Greek man, was enjoying the huge boost to his ego and lapping up the attention. So much so, he ended up hopping off the stage and worked his way around the hall. A posse of bouncers and a circle of fans followed him, most trying to get a picture.
My friend pulled the Journalism card and said “Go Maria, be a photojournalist and get that shot!”
That was it baby! I pushed my way through the crowd, put my arm around him, whispered a little Greek into his ear (which he couldn’t hear anyway because of the plugs) and SNAP!
I got it! The climactic moment. After that, I was so done. Time to go… I’d had enough. And I wanted to see my babies.
By the way, the concert went on until 3:00 am… no other way but Greek style!