so last night i went to Gucci Mane (and Kafani) at Space 550.
meaning i’m a mother fucking boss and you should fear me, or at least be concerned about my decision making skills and curious about my upbringing. because i don’t know if you’ve ever been to Space 550, or a Gucci show, but the combination was trap as shit. and i don’t know if you’ve seen me, but i look like a cross between susan sarandon, your third grade teacher, and kid rock. i’m also tall, so i don’t get to hide.
so yeah. i first caught wind of Gucci’s bay area appearance via twitter. i did some master googling and deduced that dude was gonna be doing a show in north beach. for 20 dollars. i was like fuck yeah, i can see la flare for cheap, in my own neighborhood and i can go alone, remain sober and blog it and consequently the world will make sense. but then i re-googled, only to discover that i was infinitely wrong and apparently really bad at reading comprehension. turns out that Gucci was doing a show at a place called Space 550 out in Bay View/Hunters Point. and yeah that’s a link to their myspace page. the promo video -which was the only real information on the show that i was able to find on these internetz- listed phone numbers for “sherry” and “lg” who were to be contacted for tickets. i called sherry on thursday night and she confirmed that tickets were still available at $50/regular ticket or $75/vip, and that i could swing out to emeryville to grab one. it was raining on thursday, so i did not do this.
as i’d never really been to hunters point, i decided that i should probably not roll out there alone so i hit up the highschool homie johnny who agreed to accompany me. i told him it was gucci, at space 550, put on by the creamery. i said the area might be a little gritty, but it’d be crackin undoubtedly. and if it wasn’t we’d go elsewhere.
we met on market street at around 9:30. caught the 9 out to the cuts. *shoutout to the dude on the bus with downlow on the italian mafia. and their trucks*. we initially missed our stop, so we had to backtrack a bit when we got off of the bus. i’m also horrendous at directions and following them, so we walked around in the sort-of rain for about 40 minutes before alighting upon the space itself. and holyshit. what a space this place was.
we’re talking two long ass lines. in front of what looked like a highschool auditorium. with full blown security on the pat-down. women in dresses. the shoes were as big as the dresses were small. i officially had the smallest ass out of everyone, by like 4 of my asses. lots of gold teeth. lots of butt cheeks. glitter. sequins. bra tops. the proverbial boots-with-tha-furr. at this point i was “really glad” i was dressed like a manchild from the 1970s going to the drive-ins. it really helped johnny and i blend in.
so yeah. we lined up. probably waited 30 minutes. when it came time for the pat-down and purse search, the security guard found a pair of undies in the zipper pocket of my purse (i’d been looking for those). now you’re going to stop reading, because that was awkward, but don’t you ever have sleepovers at jerusha’s on school nights and you’ve got extra undies with you? it happens. k. then we went inside and paid the man. who was a woman. 50 dollars.
the place was pretty big, 3 rooms and an upstairs that was vip only. two visible bars. big von on the tables. side note: big von is a huge dude. like he has a massive face. i find it awesome and hope that one day i have babies with similarly massive faces, but i hope they’re not born that way, i hope that their faces get huge post-birth. anyways, when we arrived there was a portable stripper pole set up on stage, complete with a stripper in a gold fitter. i’ve decided that “the creamery” (the party responsible for the show)is actually a team of extremely athletic strippers lead by a guy with a leather bomber jacket and a microphone. and now i’m grossed out by the word creamery. but the strippers were AWESOME. and so was the music. it made me miss south carolina.
johnny and i were on our sore thumb shit. hard. at first, and in fully sober mode, i was like” johnny, we’ve gotta make sure we don’t dance. we’ll get mocked the fuck out of here.” i mean, i dance like a goon anyway but like, bootys were dropping and i knew any movement on my part would be an embarrassment. to my family. i knew that when i was sober. 6 henny/diets later i was doing some moves.
the first group on stage (after the skrippers) was “the trendsetters”. based on the lyrics, it sounds like these dudes invented sex(somebody better tell jaimie foxx). and they also dabble in very sexy dance moves, and participating in sexy dance moves with heavy-set skrippers. they were aight. but i wouldn’t download their music for free.
after the trendsetters, these other dudes came on stage, both in stunna shades. they were whatever, so we went into the other room to grab draanks. at this point, we also decided to ditch our coats. while iso: the coat check, we bumped into a group of people lining up to take photos with one particularly fresh looking gentleman. we kind of interrupted his path, and because we were 6ft hansel and gretel(hard to miss), he stopped us to say hi. or whatever. i used math to decipher that dude was kafani, and i told him that johnny was his biggest fan and had “come all the way out here just to see him”. they did the best and most awkward fist pump i’ve ever witnessed. great success.
there was an airbrushed gucci face backdrop set up with a photographer in one corner of the bar, and it felt like it was time to take advantage so we made friends with a lady named lavonia and took this wonderful photo:
then we went back into the main room and jumped around for a while. at this point the stage was packed full of dudes. 2 of whom had microphones. it was kafani and his hook sanga, and the one dude had shades on. i was a little tips and started yelling about how i knew that wasn’t gucci and no one could fool me. and then i yelled some more about “what was this, the fucking wu tang clan? why so many accomplices on stage?”. and then gucci came out. and it was maney as fuck. and he did lemonade. and it was even maney-er. and he had, seriously like 56 people on stage with him.
then we went to the bar in the big room to grab another drink and BABOOOOOOOM. fucking shots fired yo. everybody immediately hit the ground. except for johnny, who’s like 600 ft tall. johnny just stood there. like safety was an attitude. everybody else was scramblin and panicking. after much discussion (and googling “gunshots plus gucci mane plus space 550”) we’ve decided that that loud sound was really a couple of balloons exploding in continuum (there were balloons everywhere). but they broke the party up nonetheless.
so yeah. that’s what happened. we tried to hit som afterwards, but lost a bunch of hours somehow. there were burritos (there are always burritos). a bunch of other shit went on but this is already a novel. in summation, i’d do it again. and i might, as gucci and kafani gonna be at club recess in north beach tonight, and i just happen to live there . owwwwwww.
i’ll leave you with a fistfull of shoutouts:
shoutout to the dude who took his shirt off and jumped on the couch 5 minutes after arrival.
shoutout to the lady with the furr crop top.
shoutout to the lady in the sheer lace jumpsuit with nothing under. i like your lady bits.
shoutout to “bill, from canada”. me too, yo.
shoutout to the skripper with the one-arm upside down hang. you have a superpower. you should try out for the stripper olympics, or the regular olympics, or just come to my house and encourage me to be more active.
shoutout to E-40, for humoring us. we would have bought you a drink, if drinks weren’t 12 dollars.
shoutout to whomever made it rain down front. and to god, for making it rain for real, outside.