Day Seven: A Song that Reminds You of a Certain Event

I bounced back and forth on a couple of songs here because I have been to a lot of concerts and a lot of them were really memorable for me. But also, I remember a lot of ridiculous details when things happen. I remember the first time I ever slow-danced with a boy at my friend’s 11^th birthday party and “Vision of Love” by Mariah Carey was playing. And I remember that the first car accident I was ever in forever scarred me and I can no longer listen to “Super Bon Bon” by Soul Coughing. But I didn’t pick these songs. Oh no, internet.

The song that stood out the most when I was thinking about this was “Heart of Gold” by Neil Young. I love this effing song. It could have actually fallen into any number of categories in this Challenge but the reason that it shows up here is sort of a touchy subject for me still.

When I was 16, Brandizzle, Tory and I took Brandizzle’s mom’s Crowne Victoria on our first ever road trip to see the H.O.R.D.E festival in Live Oak, which is about 1.5 to two hours from where we lived. B and I were totally forthcoming with our parents about where we were going and for what and even though I am sure that they were totally freaked out (what, with us all being under 18 and the potential for pot smoking and car accidents and stuff), they were sports. What Tory neglected to let us in on, however, was that she had lied to her mom about where we were going. B and I, being totally allowed to be out of town for the evening, were so excited about seeing Neil Young (who was headlining the tour), that we almost didn’t care that we were being eyed by a bunch of old drunk men in the crowd and occasionally fondled.  We got all the way through Neil’s first song and then were informed by Tory that she had to go home. We sort of ignored her at first, because we were mesmerized by the candle-lit stage and the beautiful acoustic guitar and summer air, but as the music got louder, so did Tory.

Needless to say, Neil starts to play my favorite song and Tory begins to drag us out of the crowd and toward the car.  So I got to hear this song played live almost one whole time, but I didn’t get to see a damn thing.

Still bitter. Damn it.

Bitter Blogging

This has been one of those mornings when you wake up and you just know that your bed feels too good to get out of. But you do it anyway, because you need that cash. I unrolled myself out of the "burrito" (Jer's name for how I always have the covers wrapped around me, forming this inpenatrable cocoon), started the coffee (the working girl's crack) and then took a very long, very hot shower (another place that I didn't want to leave). I was in a pretty good mood despite the grogginess and the general distaste for any day of the week that I have to wake up to an alarm. I drove to work, I listened to Ryan Adams, and I sang along...

Then...it happened. When I pulled into my parking spot and looked down at my phone, I realized I had a voicemail. I looked at my missed calls and didn't recognize the last number, so I thought I would see what kind of retard would call me at 7:45 in the morning. The first thing I heard was a ukelele and I know from experience that if you have a voicemail that is comprised only of a song, there is a reason for it. I knew right away that it was going to be a Pearl Jam song. And I knew right away who left the message even though I haven't had his number in my phone for several years. But there it was, staring right back at me and playing "Soon Forget" on my fucking voicemail, turning me into a big, bitter, blubbering mess and ruining my fucking mascara. That's right, internet, I am not going to see Pearl Jam tonight and Boy to Avoid is. As is Clifftopher. And Jules. And I, will be sitting on the couch with Spliff, crying my face off and being generally PISSED THE HELL OFF.

I am really trying to maintain a level of sanity here, but I really just don't think I can do it for long. I want to beat bitches up. (And then I want to kidnap Eddie and do bad things to him...Oh. Did I just say that?)

I am warning you know, friends, it is going to be that kind of day. And if you want to stay ALIVE, don't mention Pearl Jam to me, unless you are bringing them to my house. In which case, I will have your babies. But if that is NOT the case, and you feel the need to leave a PJ song on my voicemail, you should wear a cup. And maybe a helmet.

Partying like it's 1989

So, because of my money situation (being that I have none. At all.), I had thought this weekend was going to be really sad and depressing. First off, I was worried that I wouldn't even have the money to put gas in my car (crisis averted) or have the money to see Eric Lindell on Friday night. Thanks to my fabulous friends, just as I was about to give up hope, I was sponsored. And let me tell you, the show was fantastic. I mean, Eric Lindell has never disappointed before, but this time, we were so close I could have touched him and at one point, while Spliff and I were dancing, we made eye contact and my stomach fell out. The end. No really, you guys, you should check him out. He is amazing.

I had a great time. It would have been better if the random guy who kept tapping me on the shoulder would have gone away. He literally walked by me and tapped me on the shoulder and kept walking. When I turned around because I thought it might be someone I know, he started talking and then wouldn't shut up. Then he just followed me around all night, tapping me on the shoulder and being generally creepy and talking about how he wished he had some drugs. Seriously? You tell strangers that? Shut up, you fucktard!

The only complaint I have about Friday is that, for some reason, my back started hurting and by the end of the night, Rack was walking on me and trying to brush me with a cat brush. (I don't know how that second part was supposed to help...) By Saturday morning when Rack and Spliff got up to go fishing, I was almost completely immobile. I popped pills and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep and when I finally did, I slept until noon. Sleeping until noon used to be something I did a lot. In fact, pretty much every day that I didn't have to work, but lately, it doesn't happen so much so I was shocked when I looked at my phone and saw that not only was Anthony blowing up my phone already, but it was late as hell and I was supposed to be going to the beach with D and Ad Rock. Of course, the beach didn't so much happen. Basically just because I couldn't move enough to put my bathing suit top on until my pain pills kicked in at almost 3.

After all of that was over and Spliff and Rack came back with their many, many (read: zero) fish, we got ready to go to Clifftopher and Anthony's for dinner. (Because Clifftopher actually does catch fish and there was a lot of it, so we had a little cookout.) The party started at 6 and ended sometime after we were all slow dancing to "I Adore, Mi Amore" by Color Me Badd. Yes, and I honestly had to explain to The Kid who CMB were. Seriously. I have a sneaking suspicion that some of this debauchery might end up on YouTube. (Especially Clifftophers five-minute dance solo. It was very Napoleon Dynomite and I totally took a video of that shit.) Anthony and I went on a beer run at one point and apparently stole a boogie board. I have no recollection of this event, but I have seen said boogie board so I know that it is no joke. I am not really sure why this occurred nor am I completely positive where we found this boogie board. There are only three blocks between the gas station and the boys' house, so...I just hope that we didn't steal it from somebody's yard and I hope some kid didn't get up on Sunday morning and cry his face off when he realized that his toy was gone. Because kids aren't mean enough to each other already, they need a couple of drunken 30-year-olds to come and steal their toys. Go team US! We're going straight to hell.

Sunday was a blur of morning phone calls and mimosas and then a big, long, juicy nap for me while everyone went to the beach. After everyone showered, we went back to the boys' house and watched a terrible movie that had absolutely no climax or likeable characters and ate pizza with pineapples on it. (That shit is nasty.) I spent a good 45 minutes arguing with Spliff about why I didn't want to spoon her and then I stole her car and went home and passed out. It was a pretty good weekend considering I was broke and I left my stomach at the Eric Lindell show. Good times, internet, good times.

Now go. Listen to Eric Lindell.

YAY!

Reasons to Hate

Last night, Spliff and I took the trek downtown to see Ben Harper at the Florida Theater. I wasn't expecting a show as good as the last time we saw him, (you know, with several of the Marley brothers), but I was expecting the same sort of high-energy show that I have grown accustomed to. I am used to being pissed because some drunk whore keeps stepping on my toes or jumping around like a maniac and slamming into me...I am not, however, used to spending the whole concert SITTING because some jackhole several rows back doesn't FEEL like standing. My bad, I thought this was a concert, fucktard, and if you wanted to sit the whole time, then you should have bought a fucking DVD. It wasn't just him though...it was the ENTIRE audience, save for a couple of people who clearly did not give a shit about the people behind them and did not get asked to sit down by any fucktards. I don't mind sitting through the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra, but you don't sit at a Ben Harper show. You just don't fucking sit! You stand up, you get excited, and you jump around like a fucking maniac and certainly don't ask people to sit down because you are too much of a lazy ass to stand up!

I was super disappointed with the audience. I was disappointed at the usual things, like the amount of girls who thought their SHIRTS were long enough to be dresses and the guys with their collars popped, but more than that, I was disappointed that no one seemed to actually be a FAN of the music. The girl in front of me actually sat through the entire concert and spent the entire time yawning and looking around to see what everyone else was doing. We were tempted to help her out and tell her where the fucking stage was located. Yet another reason that I hate people.

Oh, but there are more reasons. This morning, I woke up and turned on the television, knowing full well that I would regret it. Of course, I turned the channel to VH1 and was sucked in to watching a Britney Spears video. Okay, now I have never been a fan and am certainly not surprised to find that she has no talent and is a hot mess, but once again, I am amazed by the level of superb BADNESS. Seriously, it took me a minute to decipher whether I was watching a bad drag act or an actual video. I can't imagine how much money that bitch made for standing next to a stripper pole and lifting her heels one at a time to shake her ass. Not to mention the song. I think that there might have been three words to the whole thing. I wasn't aware that three words repeated over and over with different inflection constitutes a song. This is all news to me.

Also, who the fuck is Tila Tequila? Seriously. What does she do? Where did she come from and why do all of these people want a "shot at love"? Were they so hard up for a bisexual that they had to create the skank for ratings? Have the people at VH1 lost their minds? Have they seen the crap they run? I admit, I was totally addicted to Rock of Love...sometime about the overt skankiness of the whole cast made me feel very well adjusted...not to mention completely prudish but absolutely gorgeous. It was like crack. But I knew who Bret Michaels was...I have no fucking idea where this Tequila person came from!

What is the world coming to, people?!

Magfest and a Gay Penelope

Okay, so...

I haven't had a whole lot of time to write lately...which is a total travesty and I know that you (all 1 of my readers) are going nuts from the suspense that I have caused. I know...seriously...I know.

So anyway, over the past few weeks, I have gotten a lot done. By a lot, I mean...well...nothing in particular, but this nothing, my friends, has kept me super busy...

Over the past weekend, I had the pleasure of attending Magnolia Fest...and if you haven't been and you live in this area, SHAME. ON. YOU. First of all, I want to say that even though I didn't get to attend the entire thing, I LOVE it. LOVE LOVE LOVE. I got to see a bunch of great bands and run around like a little hippie child for two days and I was in absolute heaven. But this heaven did not come without a healthy dose of hell. First of all, I got free tickets...so it was totally rad. I was so excited I nearly peed on myself. But then, because Spliff had agreed to go and then had gotten her weeks mixed up, I had to take someone else. A problem since everyone I know works during the week and I needed someone for Thursday and Friday (since I was supposed to be putting up posters and stuff, hence the free tickets...) So, I did the obligatory, ask all your myspace friends thing...and came up with only a few candidates who I felt were...well...tolerable. Let me just say, that I picked the wrong fucking one. I didn't so much pick him as he just became the most convenient...and then later, the most annoying.

Anyway, said person is staying with L and her girlfriend, so I decided to pick him up Friday morning and get on the way so that we could make it to the festival by one. Okay, so I downloaded directions to L's new house on MAPQUEST (Curses to you, you fucktards!) and got totally lost. I was 20 miles out of town before I could turn around after 20 minutes of detouring through downtown (which, by the way, is the worst place in the WORLD...) so, naturally, I was a little...aggravated already. Anyway, so I am in a place called Hell...oh, I mean Starke...and it is seriously the middle of the NOWHERE which I have heard isn't really a town but a huge speed trap...meanwhile, I have to pee so bad that I am pretty sure that it is coming out of my eyeballs. At this point, I think, well, it can't get any worse. And then it starts to rain. I hate driving in the rain. I hate trucks. I hate hydroplaning. I hate it all. Worst of all, I hate talking on the phone while driving in the rain while having to pee. WHILE BEING COMPLETELY LOST IN THE SPEED TRAP MECCA OF THE UNIVERSE WITH NOWHERE TO TURN AROUND. But alas, my phone rings...and not only is it an unknown number, it is a relay call. MEANING? There is a deaf person on the other end. MEANING? The phone call will last for 45 minutes. Now, don't get me wrong, I love everyone. And I love said deaf person, but they have just passed a no-cell law in Florida and it is one thing to have to talk for three seconds to say, "I am turning around and will be there sometime before Easter" but it is quite another to have to wait for an operator to type that and then wait for a typed response and so on and so on...you get the picture.

So, my bladder is exploding, I am lost, driving in the rain, on a relay call, and I am in the speed trap from hell, so I can't even hurry up. Yep.

Once I picked my guest up, things went alright. He was so thrilled to have been able to come that I thought he would burst, but...then, if he had talked anymore, I might have stabbed him. Have you ever seen the Penelope character on SNL? Picture her, only shorter, male, blonde and gay, and you have my companion. And now you can see why I wanted to stab him.

Once we actually got there, things went alright, aside from the bitching from him when I got to drink beer and he didn't because he is only 20 (bastards) and doesn't even DRIVE...but we listened to music and looked at cute boys and when the day was done, I was content to have him sleep through the whole drive home.

The next day, I had invited Thing Two because I needed a buffer so that I wasn't homicidal. It worked out rather well and I managed to shush the gay successfully throughout the Toots and the Maytals show. Thank Cheesus. The show was great and I got some fantastic pictures...which I will share later...and I was able, after several road closures and detours to make it home by 4 in the morning, leaving me three hours to sleep before work! WOOT!

Now I have a bitch of a cold and am trying to recover before the Ben Harper show on Thursday...Holy God...Help me.

Dread Locks and Night Swimming

This weekend sort of slipped by when I wasn't paying attention. Friday started entirely too early with a trip to the airport and then to bring my grandpa to the doctor and by the time "Intervention" was over, Spliff and I were being hauled off to see the hot bartenders. Seriously, people, Spliff hadn't met the new hot bartender/neighbor yet and I couldn't let her wait another minute. Too many martinis later, I was spilling an entire container of fries on the floor and trying to pick them up and get them to the trash can without dropping any of them. Let me tell you...this is not easy. They may as well have physically run away from me. It took forever. And I wanted to EAT them, not DROP them.

Saturday started out pretty normal with Spliff's little head popping into my room at 11 to say, "Herrrrro?" I spent the afternoon procrastinating and not accomplishing any actual homework at all and then checked my myspace and found out that, TA-DA! There was a reggae festival in two hours! A reggae fest will always mean an encounter with The Psycho Rasta and other assorted hot guys with dread locks, but the whole experience usually turns out well. Psycho Rasta manages to stay about an arm's length away from me and aside from the irritating glare thing that he does, I barely notice him. Or I pretend I don't until it is impossible. Jerms' band played a really fun and energetic set and Spliff and I danced around while Jennagiraffe tried to talk to a boy. The whole thing was like a reunion. There was so much beautiful hair in one place I felt like I might burst into flames and I didn't even blink an eye at Z when he tried to lead me away from Jenn. That's right, folks, even with weak knees and flushed cheeks, I stayed by Jenn's side. What the hell is WRONG with me? Eventually, he is going to get tired of hitting on me mercilessly and THEN what will I do? I will kick myself in the ass, that's what.

Anyway, after dancing around in the still, 90 degree heat for several hours, we decided to head back to the house and go swimming in the ocean. Because there is nothing better than night swimming. I managed to drag JM AND Mr. Johnson in against their will and we walked home at 3 am with stringy hair and smeared mascara (Mr. Johnson has neither hair nor mascara to worry about)...My bed is full of sand and my hair feels like straw but holy crap, I love the effing ocean.

It was a good day, internet. A good day, indeed.

Warped

Tomorrow, for the first time since 1996, I am going to the Warped Tour. I feel too old to attend.

The first time I went, I was 16. I was accosted by the "girlfriends" of Limpbizkit (yes, I knew them before they got all...retarded...) and given a free ticket and an assload of pot. I spent the day smoking out of Fred's new "gravity bong" in the band room and listening to Magic Mike bitching at me about not bringing an extra joint, passing out from heat exhaustion, and having cold Zephyrhills poured on my face by both JB and John Otto. Yeah...but I got to see Pennywise. And 311. And Blink 182 before they sold out. I know...You're jealous.

LBG is not a common concert goer. In fact, she rarely goes to any shows. And the good ones that she has been to (TRICKY) were with me. Because I rock. Anyway, I feel like this: I don't have anything else to do...she is depressed, I am a mess. We will have a great time. We will be old enough to drink beer...(We will be the oldest bastards there.) But Pennywise will be there again. And...well...I may be old...but I sure do like Pennywise...

What in hell do 16 year olds like these days anyway? Jared Leto's lame-ass band?

Things of note...and ADD

Over the past two weeks, tons has happened. The problem is, every time I sit down to blog about it, a thousand other things run through my head. You know, I wonder if the mail is here yet and if my school books have arrived. I wonder if I have finished all of my homework or if I remembered to get everything I needed from the store. My ADD is in full-swing and I can barely complete a thought these days.

I haven’t been sleeping very well and am having weird dreams about gang fights and Vincent D’onofrio. (Which may well be a symptom of watching too much Law & Order, but you can’t stop me.) So, here are some of the things that I have neglected to tell you, internet.

Spliff fell down the stairs outside of our apartment, landing her unconscious at the bottom until Rad Neighbor found her and called 911. This meant a really long night in the Emergency Room for both of us and a whole lot of hysterics. She is okay, aside from a chipped tooth, a shiner, and a bunch of bruises. I hate the emergency room. It smells like pee.

Eppernepperhart came in to town for the 4^th of July, which was nice. I got to hang out with him more than I have in ages. We had a great time despite a little drama leaving me want to hit Magic Mike with my car. All is well now.

I started school again and am currently working on getting back into the swing of research papers and homework. It isn’t fun, but with any luck I will be out soon enough and I can finally start doing something that I like instead of working in hell.

I am slowly getting all of my music onto my iPod and realizing that 80gb is a whole lot of freaking space. I need more music. Damn.

Tonight, JM and I are going to see 311. I am only kind of excited about this because a) I have seen them before and b) I don’t really like them all that much anymore…but I am pretty stoked about going to a show. It has been a while.

So, that’s about it for now. I have to go and prepare to drink lots of overpriced beer with a whole lot of people who like 311.

Howie Likes Bald Chicks

So, a couple of years ago…(actually, quite a few years ago, I can’t remember how long)…T and I went to Hotlanta to see Tori Amos. I had seen her twice before and she had never disappointed. Well, this time, she sucked ass. She was bland and boring and not at all like the Tori I knew and loved. Not to mention that our seats were horrible. The only redemption was that they guy that opened for her was pretty good. I had never heard of him before and he stood, so small, up there on the big stage all by himself and managed to keep my attention longer than Tori did. This little guy’s name was Howie Day.

Howie Day evidently has a temper and a drug problem. He also, evidently, likes dried up, bald pop stars that he meets in rehab. According to everyone in the world, Howie is now dating Britney Spears. Because neither one of them is fucked up enough alone, they would like to combine their insanity into one compact little ball of sad, wastes of human flesh.

I can’t say that I am shocked. Only amused. Because, if only all of us could be lucky enough to meet our new loves…In rehab. After assaulting a flight attendant. Go, Howie!

Omnium-Gatherum

I don’t want to pack my stuff. I want to wiggle my nose or something and make it all magically put itself into boxes. And while it is packing itself, I will wiggle my nose again and make Taye Diggs appear to massage my back. You know, because I will need to relax after all that hard work. And when Taye Diggs is done giving me a back massage, he will then give me 50 million dollars and then he will finally realize that Idina is kind of frightening looking (albeit amazing, but he will forget about that, because he will be blinded by love and adoration for me) and he will propose to me instead. Yep.

Also, Pete Yorn is coming to Freebird on November 4th. If this whole damn move weren’t bleeding me dry, I would totally be going. Feel free to donate to the “Criz hearts Pete Yorn” Fund. (I prefer large bills, but if you can produce Taye Diggs, all will be forgiven.)

I actually did speak with D for about two and a half hours last night. It went very, very well. As much as I like hearing the news about her family (seriously, it is like a soap opera!) and everything, I think my favorite part of the conversation was this:

D: And I think you’ll be happy to know that I am no longer a Rebulican.
Me: OH! You can tip strippers now?! That’s awesome!
D: Yeah!

Because everyone knows that tipping is essential.

So, for the second night in a row, I have gotten about four hours of sleep and I am starting to feel delirious. Not to mention that the coffee that I got from the café this morning tastes like they have been using the same coffee filter for a week and this is the last bit that they could get out of it (and still get away with calling it coffee) before changing it. That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna drink it. That just means, I will bitch about it until someone goes to Starbucks and comes back with something acceptable for me. (I won’t hold my breath on that one.)

“Boy to Avoid circa 2001-2005” has been emailing me for the last few days too. Which is not only a bit irritating, but also disturbing. He insists on talking to me about the new Red Hot Chili Peppers album. I keep telling him that, although Anthony Kiedis holds a special place in my heart for that whole “Under the Bridge” hotness, I haven’t been able to get into the Peppers since Blood Sugar Sex Magik. Dave Navarro killed the band. He did. His runny eyeliner and lack of talent sucked the soul out of the band. I mean really, remember “Rollercoaster”? What the hell WAS that?

Okay...that's really all I got.

The View

Best. Night. Ever.

Friday night, as I said before, Spliff and I drove to Atlanta for what could quite possibly been the best show I will ever see in my lifetime (Ben Harper and Damian Marley, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention.) One of the downfalls of being so intensely moved by a concert, I find, is that I can never really do it justice when trying to explain it. So, I am going to list some highlights and hope that the gravity this experience will somehow be conveyed.

I am going to start with things that pissed me off, because even though I still remember them, they had little to NO impact on the night at all. Which, if you know me, you will notice, IS HIGHLY UNNATURAL.

Things that made me want to cut people:
1. We got lost in Atlanta. For those of you who have driven in Atlanta, you can testify that this is THE WORST city EVER to get lost in.
2. The whore that was standing beside us who might as well been giving head to all of the security guys standing in front of the stage.
3. The other dumb bitch who pushed her way up to the first row (beside me) who evidently didn’t deem the whole thing worthy enough to get there early and EARN a front row spot but instead, decided to push her way in right before Ben started and breathe on my goddamn neck for the entirety of his set.
4. The fact that no one in the whole city of Atlanta knows where the Gallaway Center is, which happened to be where we put the car. THE CAR.
5. This “no buying beer after 11:45pm business”. What the hell IS that? Like, how am I supposed to remember every time that you can’t buy beer at NORMAL times like 11:45pm?!
6. Ben didn’t really play anything of his own that I would have been excited to hear. Just the generic stuff that everyone screams about. (I don’t mind this stuff, but I could have done with some…shit that gives me chills.)

Things that made me squeal with joy:
1. Damian Marley did not look nearly as much like a crack head as he has recently in pictures. Obviously, Bobby Brown got his claws in, but guess what Bobby! Damian is still a smokin’ hot rasta…and you are married to a washed out psycho crack head. HA.
2. He played “War”. One of my favorite songs of all time. And…he brought Julian and Stephen out to sing with him. Holy crap. Marley overload.
3. So many dreadlocks.
4. Stephen sang directly to me and Spliff during their version of “Get up, Stand up”, which he sang with his brothers AND Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals.
5. Leon Mobley blew kisses at us during “Steal my Kisses” and while he is…ummm…Leon Mobley…it was still adorable. (And oddly, I think this is not the first time this has happened.)
6. Ben looked like a god. (Duh.)
7. AND HE TOUCHED MY HAND.
8. And played "Heart of Gold" which I have only seen on YouTube and never in person.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.


I could go on and on…and on. But I won’t. Because I am sure that you are all jealous and bitter and well…I would just be rubbing it in. So…lets just say, that I came home after the best night ever with my best girl ever and am…

There are no words.

Today...

Really. What is WITH people?

I think I once described something as “wearing a wetsuit lined with sandpaper”…and that’s what today was.

Obviously, today was my punishment for having a headache for a week and finally breaking down and calling in sick yesterday. Today was hell. Because honestly, every single numbskull on the planet called me today. Okay, I’m sure that there are a few that were too busy, like, trying all day to push open a door that clearly states to PULL, but still…

The weekend was pretty good though, consisting of cocktails and vulgar pianists (my favorite kind) and the ever-crazy Jennigiraffe (Jenn, Jennajawhore…whatever…) and JGJ. All things I never seem to tire of. All things that seem to keep me pretty well entertained. Most of which will again be present next weekend.

Speaking of next weekend…

Spliff and I are preparing for the long-awaited Ben Harper/Damian Marley show in Atlanta. I can’t wait. Actually, that is the worst understatement. In fact, at this very moment, just talking about it, butterflies are flitting around in my stomach so much that…well…I might just vomit. Anyway, I may not come back. Assuming, (and I know that I have said this before) that I can somehow convince Ben that his wife is really a talking horse. Hmmmm…I don’t see how he could not know already. Damn that Laura Dern. Damn her.

In the meantime though, I have spent the evening drinking many a rum and coke, taking retarded pictures with my LBG and talking shit about our jobs…and watching Nip/Tuck while LBG ate corn in various forms. Corn. I know. I open the freezer to get ice, and she is awestruck by…corn. I really should marry her. So easy to please. And so good at cutting my hair. Oh yeah, I made her do that in return for the corn. Our friendship, its an exchange. I give her corn, she cuts my hair.

And now, because I have a fresh haircut and a belly full of corn and rum…(mmm…), I am going to bed.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Butterflies" - Toad the Wet Sprocket

Tags: bitching , beautiful people , life , celebrities I hate

Fair is FAIR!

I haven’t really been doing too much for the last week (which you may have noticed from the lack of blogging I have been doing) but I did manage to go and get my fix of guys with plaid drum sets and Mohawks. Pookie’s boyfriend, (who just rocks my face off) is in a punk band.

I haven’t been to a punk show since about…1996…and I have to say, it wasn’t a whole lot different than I remember. Smoky room, smell of stale beer, plaid things and suspenders, some blood, and I even met a guy from Gainesville who wears a cup and knee pads to shows. I do feel though, that I just don’t quite fit. I mean, obviously, I don’t fit. And I am okay with that, because even though Pookie knows all the words to all of the songs that the band plays, she sticks out just as bad as I do. No one cares, but its fun to watch. She even pushed a guy into a pole while he was skanking around and she then gasped, covered her mouth with one hand, and then tapped him on the shoulder to apologize with the other. Then I made fun of her for the rest of the night.

All in all I had a lot of fun. Outside of the fact that everyone acted like I was going to cry if I saw people pushing each other around. That kind of bothered me. It kind of made me want to pull a Billie Jean movie sketch and walk into the bathroom with long blonde, flowing locks and come out dressed in a ripped up wetsuit with a punk rock hairdo. Naturally, I didn’t. But only because I left my ripped up wetsuit at home.

The whole thing just made me giggle. I guess I just don’t look like the type who used to pile into a car with 5 sweaty guys to go to a smelly, soggy club and get pushed around. And I guess I’m really not anymore. If those bitches that I used to hang out with tried to get into my car smelling like that…well…I’d get one of my punk friends to kick their asses.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Big Gay Heart" - Lemonheads

punk

music

The Legend of Billie Jean


movies

Spazzing and Spawning

Spliff is buying our tickets right now for the Ben/Damian show.

My stomach is in knots. I blame Spliff for this. I used to be able to buy tickets to a concert and then just go on about my day. But she has (and I think I have mentioned this before) this massive case of concert anxiety which seeps out of her and into me any time a good show comes to town. She spazzes about everything working so that the tickets can be paid for, then that they can be acquired, then that we get good seats, then that we are not late, then that we are not struck by bolts of lightening on our way inside…and all of this? Yeah, I get it all right along with her. Evidently, no one freaks out alone in my presence.

Normally, I spaz about really important things like my bank account and not being able to pay my rent. Or like, not being home in time to watch Grey’s Anatomy. But now…I got a new disease…and right now, I know that Spliff is online, sweating her ass off, and trying to buy tickets…and I am sp excited, I could vomit. (I know that doesn’t SOUND all that great…but…Vomit = Super Effing Excited. Promise.)

In other news, my dad will be here tomorrow from Guam. I haven’t seen him in three years and surprisingly, don’t really care that he is coming. I got excited for about a minute and a half, but that faded when I realized that I will be stuck doing the bulk of the entertaining of the dad because the Fish Head lives three hours away. Dammit. I think that I have explained before how much (although, I love them) I don’t really like hanging out with my family. They drive me nuts. Fish Head being the exception to the rule.

Also, it has been decided, since I keep acquiring them, that an entire wall of my apartment should be covered with televisions. I am well on my way. Seriously. (Pictures to follow.) And to think this all started with a boy who may or may not be named Bobby and a couple bottles of wine which became known as the Great TV Heist of 2005. And now, just like my tortoise shell sunglasses, the TVs are spawning.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: “Chinacat Sunflower” – The Grateful Dead

Yippee!

I’m going to see Ben Harper with Damian Marley!!! (repeat x 3)

(Insert little dance.)

(Insert drooling.)

(Insert incapacitating joy and childlike glee.)

(Insert fainting.)


Okay…I’m done. (Insert giggle and look that says “I totally lied just then”.)

I’m going to see Ben Harper with Damian Marley!!! (repeat x 3)

me and jj from mofro 

Front Porch Soul

I don’t like to write about concerts I’ve attended because I can never really do them justice. Because “talking about music is like dancing about architecture”. But I saw a show the other night that honestly made me wanna grab a bottle of Jack, sit on a porch somewhere while the sun was setting, bang my foot and play the harmonica. There are problems with this of course, since I hate Jack and don’t have a porch or a harmonica. But…whatever.

We went to the House of Blues in Orlando to see Mofro (again) and I have to say that it was quite possibly the best Mofro show I have seen yet.

The opening band was The Legendary JC’s whose lead singer was a stick of a man with more energy than Mick Jagger (and I assure you, the last time I saw Mick in concert, I really thought he might burst into flames at any moment) and a voice with so much soul, you had no choice but to feel it. Bask in it, even.

The crowd was diverse and filled with older men with dirty fingernails and scruffy faces, high school kids who barely looked old enough to leave the house alone, and I even saw some very impressive dread locks. It didn’t seem to matter. All that seemed to matter at all was the power of JJ’s voice and the overall good feeling that seemed to come over everyone there. And it was unlike any show I’d seen in a long time and like and unlike any Mofro show I’d ever seen.

It felt like a union. Of hearts and voices and minds all there to attain one simple goal. “Front Porch Soul”.

In itself, the entire show was amazing, but the very last moments blew me away. JJ brought Andrew (from Greyhounds) out along with the singer from The Legendary JC’s for a jam session that made the crowd go wild. And by wild, I mean abso-fucking-lutely crazy. By that time, we were standing in the back of the venue and got a chance to watch everything from a totally different angle. The heads bobbing. The hippies in the aisles bouncing and spinning. The overall goodness.

Get some of the goodness.

What's the Buzz...

Well, I made it through Monday and I only had to deal with about seven crazies today. Dealing with crazy people is about 90% of my job. And it isn’t like in my last position where I had to babysit them in the Psych Department, now it is just, they want to call me all day and cry because they can’t get out of their bathtub or because their husbands are refusing to wear clothing. Things that I can do nothing about. Things that they should take up with a shrink. Not their doctor’s secretary. I can say though, there is never a dull moment in my office. Between the middle aged white lady rapper, the crazies, and the doctor who can’t figure out how to get a pen (IN AN OFFICE FULL OF PENS) without assistance, I am pretty busy these days. Busy and completely out of my mind by the end of the day.

So in order to celebrate the end of Monday, I bought a bottle of white wine, put my pajamas on, poured a glass and put on my new super cute shoes to break them in so that I don’t hate them tomorrow when I wear them to work. You don’t have to tell me how exciting my life is, I know already.

There has been a lot of chaos over the last couple of weeks and for some reason, when I have a lot to say, it never makes its way here. Again, I am sorry, internet. There have been reunions and questions and “power hours” and talk of the psycho rapist ex of mine, and even a fantastic Ben Harper show. But it has all been too much all at once. So I will try to give you the rundown.

I had drinks with a guy I had only seen once in the last eight years or so. The one that introduced me to the psycho rapist ex-boyfriend and then immediately regretted it. The one that I used to get high with about 3 times a day for a few years in high school. One that I never expected to hang out with again. But it was a good time. And when he wanted to play pool and I agreed, I immediately thought of how much anxiety there is in the game of pool for me. (Don’t ask, I am very neurotic about very strange things.) So, he said he would try and show me. It went like this. I got a ball in on the first try.

Me: Jumping up and down.
Him: “See? You can play.”
Me: “That will be the only time that happens.”
Him: Shakes head.
Me: Trying to take another shot. “OUCH!”
Him: Looking at my hand. “Did you get a splinter? How does someone get a splinter from a pool stick?
Me: “DUDE. A DEAD GUY hit me with a CAR.”
Him: “Oh…Right.” Laughing.

All in all, it was a good time. A little weird and sometimes a little too reminiscent of the olden days, but not bad. And I am certain that we could hang out again without any real issues. As long as he stays off the topic of restraining orders, the psycho rapist ex (who is now a preacher…oh yeah. Good stuff.), and all things “I used to have a crush on you” related, I think we will be okay.

The Ben show was fucking spectacular. I have to say, I miss seeing him outside in an amphitheater with the sun beating on my back and dancing around like a big hippie, but shit happens. And he still puts on a good show. Scratch that, not good, fantastic. And I didn’t even punch the guy who was practically standing on TOP of me during the encore. I just jumped up and down on his feet during Ben’s version of “Pressure Drop” and that made me feel a little better. But still not as good as elbowing the drunk chick square in her back made me feel. I get a little hostile when people are stupid at concerts. There is such a thing as personal space. There is such a thing as me, who pays good money to see Ben every time he is in my vicinity and would like to enjoy the effing show without being nearly knocked over every time the drunk bitch next to me starts swerving a little. If it had been her seat, fine. I could deal with that (for a minute), but the bitch SHOULD have been in the drunk bitch section where she belonged. I don’t fuck around when it comes to Ben. Don’t make me cut you.

Other stuff’s been going on…stuff that my outlet for is a little more personal. Well, a lot more personal. And one day, internet, I might share it with you…but for now…peace out.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Vernie" - Blind Melon