Protomen at 2720

So last night I went to see the band The Protomen at 2720 Cherokee. My first time seeing this band, and my first time at this venue.

The venue: have heard a lot about this place from friends. Pretty much expected it to be a cavernous barren space with suspicious liquids on the floor and a frightening bathroom situation. While the floor was sticky in places, overall the venue was a pleasant surprise. ID-checker dude, ticket guy and ‘bracelet of re-entry’ bestowing guy were all polite and helpful. The bartender was reasonably attentive (though he seemed a bit confused by the beer-pouring process) and drinks were typical South Side cheap, with mixed drinks at $4-5 (depending on who made them, apparently) and specialty beers on tap for $4. The space is pretty big, with a larger dedicated stage area than I’ve seen at most of St. Louis’ smaller venues. There are art installations and old toys scattered around and various tableaux from the Star Wars franchise adorn the upper parts of the walls, for your geeking-out pleasure. The bathroom situation was tolerable, wouldn’t want to camp out on the floor there, but neither did it frighten me into holding it all night. Overall, a pleasant surprise. Though they normally don’t book the types of acts I like to see, I would definitely see another show there. Also, I bought my tickets online, and the lack of handling/processing/”basically we just want more of your money and can’t think of a reason” fees were also nice. I’ve become so accustomed to paying an extra $2.50 or $5 or $10 for tickets that I was actually surprised to only pay the advertised price for the show.

The band: I’ve heard my friends talking about this band for a few years, but never really listened to them myself. I figured that they would not be my kind of thing, just based on the rabid fan-boyism abounding and talk of robots on stage. But any band that would inspire people I know to drive out of state for their shows, not once but multiple times—that band I have to see if they ever play StL. I mean, there has to be something there.

I wish I’d known a little bit more about them before seeing the show, because I could sense there was a lot there that I was missing. This band wanted to take the audience on a journey with them, and most of the audience was prepared to go along. I was not, however. I just could not buy into them, knowing nothing about them. Which was a pity, as it all looked like fun. Some of the songs I could really get into (the more rocking songs, or one almost operatic-sounding one) even without knowing where they fit in the overall story they’re telling. But some of them, mostly the slower ones, just seemed extremely dramatic for no reason, and I was lost.

This one I really liked. Has a very 80′s movie-montage quality about it – like… this is the soundtrack to the scene where the hero does whatever needs doing in order to prepare to defeat his enemies.

This song is available for free download at their site (linked above)

Overall, I thought they were pretty cool, but I realized while it was happening that a lot of the experience was being lost on me, so that was too bad. Anyway, I might try to listen to more of their stuff so I can understand the hype.

Overall, a successful night, introduced to new band and new venue, neither of which sucked. In fact, I got a little drunk, and I have not been drunk in a while. A few weeks maybe? A month? I can’t honestly remember the last time I was out drinking & being social – aside from maybe a single drink at dinner. Anyway, I was standing there wondering “Man, this is weird – why do I feel all happy and relaxed? This is kind of fun. Why am I enjoying everything?” and then I realized – it’s the magic of alcohol!

Over the Rhine at The Old Rockhouse

Saw Over the Rhine last night at The Old Rockhouse. My first time at that venue, and I enjoyed it very much, will definitely want to go back for more shows there. It’s set up so that you can go stand in a crowd in front of the stage, chill out at tables in the middle of the house, or super-chill-out at the bar in the back. Acoustics seemed great even that far back, and you could still see the stage very clearly. In addition, the windows have an incredible view of the Arch, and it was particularly gorgeous after the rains stopped last night. And their kitchen is open pretty late if you want to grab something to eat during the show.

Dave and I did have some problems finding the dang place, since it was pouring down rain and neither of us had been before, then on the way there while we could not see where the heck we were driving we also heard flash flood sirens and then tornado sirens. Not exactly the weather most conducive to driving around Soulard finding a place you’ve never been. But we did find it, and they have a large free parking lot across the street and very friendly door staff and wait staff, so A+ for atmosphere.

The show was great, they played their more pared-down tracks, and lots songs from The Trumpet Child, which was more than fine by me. They also played some new stuff, and one song (My Favorite Time of Light) was particularly nice.  Although it has to be nice for the artist, I don’t always enjoy hearing new things live for the first time—most tracks need a few hearings to grow on me—but they only played maybe 3-4 news songs, and the rest were from their back catalog. They did have a tendency to intro songs with super-long explanations, which was not all that interesting really, and was hard to make out as far back as we were sitting. Less banter, more singing, is always good in my mind.

Obligatory terrible cell phone photo. That's the band way in the back, and you can see the classic St. Louis architectural elements (tin ceiling, tile floor) in the venue. The flash on the left side is coming from a solid wall of windows from which you can see the Arch. It really is beautiful there.

I could not get a proper handle on what type of crowd it was. I had no idea what to expect, as I really don’t even know how to classify OtR’s music anyway (unless “music to play while you’re lounging in bed on a rainy day having slow and lazy sex” is a genre) so didn’t know what their other fans would look like. Now I know. They all looked like Christian Singles. And possibly Lesbian Christian Singles. I would almost swear that there were some youth group escapees up in the place. Not that there’s anything wrong with those groups, by any stretch, it’s just that I think of OtR’s music as very sensual, and the crowd was lots of mom-jeans and short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt dudes with sandals and that fringe of hair in the back? So that was odd.

But overall – loved the show. Loved the venue. Bartender introduced me to a screwdriver made with whipped-cream vodka that I will surely want to try again.

So… anyone up for seeing Rasputina with me in July? :-)

Here’s a song they did not play that I’d have liked to have heard:

And one they did play that was fantastic:

Another Weekend Come and Gone

That one was faster than average, I think due to spending most of Saturday in a drugged-out haze, in search of some form of sleep. Prescription meds can be a good way to find some rest, but a good way to lose some serious time too.

In other news, I am no better at relating to other people than I ever was, and tend to spend most of my time befuddled, running into walls and banging my head against them. I must really like that. People confound me. But I have it on good authority that I am dealing with some really confounding people, so it’s not entirely my own fault.

Dinner at the Stables on Saturday, for which I was barely conscious, but the food that I came home with tasted good the next day, so I suppose that was a success. Big Ass Indie Craft show was visited, but is mostly a big blurry cloud of felt and string and buttons—aside from the utter FAIL of parallel parking I tried to accomplish in front of the place. Was it my imagination, or was there a cop standing there? I think I ran over a curb too. Let’s see, after that I had another nap, some going out, an extremely ill-advised adult beverage, threw a minor fit, was consoled and then came home and went to bed, all piqued-out. I no longer remember what my issue was, but I was angry about it, dammit, and I was not going to take it anymore. So there.

Sunday was blissful, chilled-out normalcy, yummy brunch, yummy Mexican for dinner and the worst movie I’ve ever seen. And now it’s Monday again, and I resolve firmly to do much better next weekend.

Really.

Not that that sort of vow has helped me out any in the last eight months, but maybe this weekend?

Maybe?

Conspirabust

Headed out to Conspiracy last night – went for a full-on goth whore look, with an impressive display of boob and a thick coating of cosmetics applied around the appropriate facial areas. (Had a weird hair night, but that’s what headbands are for.) Got there, met up with hotpants and her BF and a few other people, was fixing to have myself a nice time. However, apparently someone didn’t remember to pay the light bill, clear it with their mom, invite the cool kids, oh yeah procure a liquor license, so the cops showed up around 1 a.m. and shut the whole thing down.

I have evidence in the form of a typically shitty cell phone pic that I snapped of the proprietress being hassled by the man. Since this event has been going on for what, four or five months now? you’d think these trifling little paperwork technicalities would have been straightened out, but apparently not so much.

You can't pin nothin' on me, coppa!

Anyway, it’s a shame. Not just because I wasted so much cleavage and lipstick, but also because it looked to be shaping up as one of their more successful events so far. They’d moved some of the vendors upstairs, opened the front entrance to the club and they really had a good crowd there. People seemed to be having fun upstairs, and it was the first time I’ve seen the dance floor up there really packed. In the fetish/play room I still think they need some kind of ringleader. You walk in and there’s just a room of gear and some random people tying each other up or looking like they’re getting ready do something. But with no explanation you don’t know who these people are, what they’re doing, or why. You don’t know if there’s going to be some kind of show, if audience participation is encouraged, or what. It’s not a skeevy vibe, it’s more of a confused/unorganized vibe. Just random chicks being tied up by random guys with no rhyme or reason for it. That does need some work. Also, they really need to enforce the “NO PHOTOS” signs they have in that room. The girl taking pictures of the “NO PHOTOS” sign being a case in point.

But on the plus side the bartenders seemed to have everything under control, with no huge lines or people ordering 27 drinks at a time, and that was a huge improvement over last time. Even at $15 instead of the previous $10 (for a girl who’s mostly going to be drinking water) this is not a bad bargain. This has the potential to be a really neat and successful event, it just seems as if they need a professional event planner to advise them*. I’ve heard rumors that there might be a change in venue – and I for one would love something closer to home with actual parking that doesn’t leave my car dropping gravel out of the undercarriage for the next two weeks.

Better luck next month, Conspiracy!

EDIT: Heard a rumor from a reliable source today that there was, in fact, no problem with the licensure of the venue, only something that was not posted that should have been. Apparently the building’s owners showed up with the correct documents after we were all gone. Interesting. There’re also rumors aswirl about who might have called in a tip about this issue and/or caused the booze cops to check into the place.

Apparently St. Louis’ Tired Old Goths aren’t too tired for a little intrigue.

*another case in point, their main website is not developed yet, so their URL currently resolves to their mySpace page. That’s fine, except the profile is set to “private.” Doh! For someone like me who wants more information or to see pictures of what the event looks like, but doesn’t use mySpace, this is nonsensical. You can’t encourage people to attend your event by preventing them getting information about it.

What the fuck, chick?

OK. So of course some random shit has to happen to me at the bar last night, when I was just standing there minding my bitchy, bitchy business. Why is it me who is always targeted by the crazies? We don’t know. It’s a mystery.

From time to time we get some random tourists in the bar. By three signs do we know them:

1. They ask for Bud Light. (No AB products at all are available at the bar, and we like it that way because we’re snobs.)
2. They try to pay with a debit card, credit card, or any form of legal tender other than cash money. (That’s when Matt/Eric sends them to the skeevy gas station for cash.)
3. They ask what the drink specials are. (There are no drink specials, everything is fucking cheap, and really strong.)

So two tourist girls walk in last night and sit down next to us at the bar. They’re not wearing all black, which is a strong indicator that something hilarious is going to happen, but not a certain indicator. So we knew to watch carefully. They then asked what the drink specials were. *sigh* and then when they heard there were no drink specials, they both wanted a Bud Light. *sigh again*. Then they finally ordered some PBR or something, and sat there being trampy and talking nonsense. Other than Hotpants and I rolling our eyes a little bit, I mostly ignored them, because they were ridiculous. Hotpants was trying to convince a friend of ours to try to get both of their numbers, I think there might have been some casual betting on that likelihood. But mostly we were busy with our own business. But then after 15 or 20 minutes, brunette tourist grabs my arm. I am not a fan of being grabbed by random strange chicks, as hot as that may sound. “Hey” she slurs at me. “I really need to introduce myself to you by name.”

I think “Whaaa?” and stare at her blankly.

“What’s your name?” she asks. I tell her. “Well, I needed to introduce myself to you, because I am sitting here, and I think you hate me.”

I think “Whaaa?” and stare at her blankly.

I then assure her that I rarely hate people I don’t know and pat her on the arm, hoping she will fuck right off again to hobag land, or wherever she came from. But no such luck. After now being assured that I do not, in fact, hate her, we’re apparently besties. Now she has to explain that she thought I was looking at her funny (maybe I was, but not for long) and that I was talking about her (maybe I was, but not in a very intent way). So she thought that once I got to know her personally this would change? I don’t know. Drunk girls are weird. So she wants to go to the bathroom. I REALLY really want to her to go to the bathroom too. Firstly because she would then be gone from my immediate presence, and secondly because she needs to experience the bathroom at this bar in order to be sure she doesn’t really want to be here. But she won’t go. She just wants more reassurance that I don’t hate her. But at this point I am starting to. Then blonde tourist with the ponytail interrupts us, and urges brunette tourist to go to the bathroom already, because “Jason” is on his way, he called and he’s on his way to pick them up, and it’s rude to keep him waiting. Brunette is all Wah wah you hate me! and blondie is all wah wah, stop making Jason wait for us. Finally the girl fucks off to the bathroom, comes back, slurs at me some more, and then leaves. Well, I think she leaves. No. In 15 minutes or so she’s back. With Jason. Jason is wearing a knee-length white tshirt with, I shit you not, some kind of bedazzling all down the front. Dooooouuche! So he fucks off back outside, and then – for some reason this is the funniest part of the story to me – the brunette is standing there again, talking about how her friend told her that everyone at this bar hated her, and why would her friend do that? I replied something about meh, you know drunk girls. Then she starts lambasting our friend Jeremy for “whispering” about her. Jeremy replies firmly that he was not whispering. She tells him it’s mean to whisper about her, just because she’s not from there. Jeremy replies again, most emphatically, that he was not whispering about her. I am afraid he’s going to start talking some shit right to her face at that point. But then Eric delivers her three shots in plastic glasses, which distracts her. So then she’s standing there talking to me about how that girls is her best friend, no matter what kind of shit she talks, and she loves that girl 4-evah! then she looks down at the three shots, declares “I’m making mine bigger!” and pours some alcohol off the top of each of the other two shots into her own cup!Then she toddles off merrily on her way.

Fucking drunk girls, seriously.

Gentlemen

OK listen up. It’s come to my attention that some of you single gentlemen feel as if you’re having issues hooking up with the ladies, and/or getting laid.

This is your own fault.

Never in my life have I witnessed such a concentration of guys with no game as those I saw last night. Honest to fucking god. There was some epic fuckwittery happening all around me, and it was a bit baffling to observe.

So here are a few hints, guys, and they may help you out!

Hint: If you’re trying to sex up a lady, do not tell that lady that there are a lot of other women trying to fuck you, and you’re considering fucking one of them. You might assume that this will put the lady in the mindset of “Oh my, I had better jump on this premium opportunity before he is snatched up by some other avaricious female-type person!” In actuality, this will put the lady in the mindset of “So why don’t you go fuck that chick up in the Niagara Falls area, then, and also remove your hand from my ass?” Women with any sense of self-worth do not respond well to your trying to play them off against each other.

Hint: Any interaction you’re going to have with a lady is pretty much going to involve talking. If you’re unable and/or unwilling to talk, you could try flash cards – but this is not likely to have a high success rate. If you walk away whenever your target lady is in the vicinity, you’re probably not going to be able to progress the relationship much.

Hint: Getting drunk and asking women to feel you up is not a path to blow jobs. It’s a path to creating a throng of skeeved-out women promptly turning their backs whenever you walk into the area. Plaintively asking “What’d I do? Why’s everyone avoiding me?” will not help your cause.

Hint: Being overly cruel and assholish in response to playful banter is not necessary. We’re not in a war, we’re in a conversation. Check your level of snap-back, and moderate it.

Hint: Giving women lectures about their behavior and/or actions is not necessary, nor is it likely to be well-received. We’re not looking for life coaches. Most of my lady-friends are competent adults, and none of them got to be the age they are without knowing how to take care of their own shit.

In general there is a progression to sexual/romantic interactions and it goes something like this:

1. Meet coincidentally (“Hey, good to meet you, what’s going on in your world?”)
2. Converse to your mutual pleasure and satisfaction (“So tell me what you do. Here’s what I do. Cool.”)
3. Do that another time or two (“Hey, so cool to see you again, how’s that one thing going?’)
4. Make plans to interact outside the original meeting place (“Hey, want to hang out at such-and-such thing that seems interesting to us both?”)
5. Exchange methods of contact (“Here’s my phone number, text me and we can arrange to meet at that very interesting place.”)
6. Interact outside the original meeting place (“I am so glad you were able to come out! Isn’t this fun?” Alternatively: “Holy shit this is a bad time! Glad I can share it with someone with your sense of humor!”)
7. Do that another time or two (“That was so cool/bad that we should do it again/do something entirely different next time.”)
8. Get sexed up (“I’ve got a great bottle of tequila/adorable puppy/comfortable bed at my house. We we should go check that out.”)
9. Keep doing that some more, or decide you’re not doing that any more and call it off. (“Hey we should totally do that again sometime.” or “That was awkward! I will see you around and we can mutually pretend it didn’t happen!”)

It’s honestly not that complicated, guys. Really. We women are familiar with this pattern, and are generally very, very gentle about interrupting the flow if we don’t want it to progress.

Additionally:

• Women who don’t seem to want to converse with you or constantly excuse themselves to use the bathroom do not want to go to step 4.
• Women who can’t seem to remember their own phone numbers or email addresses for some reason don’t want to progress to step 5.
• Women who invite you over to “watch a movie” want to skip to step 8.
• If you’re having a nice conversation with a woman and she suddenly walks away angrily and won’t speak to you any more, you did/said something wrong. Review your conversation and see what it was. Don’t do it again. Perhaps apologize or clarify. Don’t follow her around for the rest of the night trying to play it off, or seemingly not realizing that she’s dodging you.

FSM bless everyone, that was some sick shit to observe last night.

Addendum: Spilling multiple drinks on a girl, and then offering to lick the last one off? Also not ok.

Feel Bad, Inc.

My people are crazy. I know this, and in many ways I actually prefer it. The problem is that when you live full-time in crazytown, it’s way too easy to forget that’s where you stay. Your world gets all inverted, and crazy seems normal, and super-crazy only seems mildly odd. You start to question your own way of being, in relation to the madness, and then you feel badly about yourself because all of your sense-making and logic gleans no positive response in crazytown.

A friend of mine mentioned that she was frustrated this weekend, because no one she was talking to seemed to be making any sense. And I reminded her that our friends are usually pretty drunk and half of them are also high whenever we speak to them. And we’re usually drinking too. It’s not like we’re at a meeting of the rational-thought society, exactly. And that’s without even taking the crazy into account. And the crazy is in full fucking effect. We’ve got your anti-social, your socially awkward, your bi-polar, your raging alcoholics, your compulsive liars, your irritating braggarts, your garden-variety misfit/loners, your megalomaniacs, your mixed-message giving fuckwits, and a whole other assortment of emotionally stunted nutbags.

And I am not complaining about this shit, because it usually doesn’t get boring. We’ve got the artists, the muscians, the people who throw the good parties, the people who act out in ways that boggle the imagination. We’ve got the storytellers, the attention-seekers, the sexually promiscuous adventurers. We’ve got the people who do the things I want to talk about the next day.

We don’t  have the stay-at-home moms who sit on facebook at 10 p.m. talking about how they’re going to bed after they’re done baking tomorrow’s casserole and wiping their drippy progeny’s noses. We don’t have guys who spend all weekend rearranging their toolsheds and rating their top five breakfast cereals. And honestly, that is usually the way I prefer it.

But then again, there’s a point where I am standing in the street at 2 a.m. next to a trash can, and the very last of my friends has abandoned me to the clutches of a fucking weird-ass known psycho stalker who is trying to chat me up while wearing a helmet for no reason I can ascertain, and I realize that I may need to orient my life somewhat differently. That, you know, perhaps this isn’t exactly the result that I was looking for from my evening. That my people are crazy and entertaining, but they can also be unreliable. That there’s got to be some balance between keeping ourselves entertained, and this helmet-wearing freak-a-tron who is now somehow purring, right out loud. That a life with some reliability and some constancy might not be all bad.

And there’s also the realization that throwing your own small supply of sanity into the crazytown well, and wrangling with the same issues and nonsense for months on end without getting anywhere, that’s a recipe for feeling bad. I do love an unwinnable war, and to tackle some giant projects, but I tend to lose sight of the basic underpinnings of our social circle. We’re all fucking nuts. We’re in our late 30s and early 40s and we’re all apparently totally incapable of maintaining successful adult relationships. We don’t know how to act with ourselves and with each other. Somehow 2+2=magenta cornflakes in our world.  And it’s addictive, and it’s exciting, and it’s something to play with and look at and talk about and it exhilarates me, but it exhausts me even more. It leaves me feeling empty and broken and disoriented. It makes me question myself, when I am not quite sure that’s whose way of being I should be questioning. It is not making me happy.

I just need a break. I need a time-out. I need to not be in this same place. I think that the all-access pass into my world is about to expire for some motherfuckers, and I think that’s a good thing. I am just too tired.

Life. It’s such a fucking bunch of histrionic bullshit and seems to require way more navigational skills than I have acquired in my journey thus far.

Now, where’s my helmet?

Disjointed weekend wrapup navelgaze

Weird and curiously exhausting weekend, as I’ve been having lately. I really think I gave myself a jetlag last weekend by staying up until 2 or 3 and drinking three nights in a row, and I hope that I’ve done better this time around so I won’t feel like death on toast all week long. We shall see when the alarm goes off tomorrow.

It’s strange (and I swear I don’t think it’s just from the drinking) how all my nights/days/people/conversations seem to be blurring into one crazy mass of weekend lately, so that I have a hard time remembering which night certain things happened, or who was there, or who I was talking to. It probably doesn’t help that I go to the exact same places, and speak with the same general group of people each and every day. Hard to differentiate Friday from Saturday when they were identical except for what shirt I had on. But anyway, this conflation of events actually happens on the nights I stay sober too, so I think it’s just a symptom of over-stimulation, rather than over-imbibing. This morning I woke up and had no idea what day it was, or whether it was morning or night. I had that feeling you get when you wake up from an afternoon nap in the winter and it’s dark out and you think you accidentally slept all night. Except I had slept all night  and it was morning. Disorienting and strange.

Part of that is because I gave in and turned the air-conditioner on. It’s so special and secret here in my house all closeted away in the dark, with clean, dry air all around me. I think it’s partially a response to the last month spent with all the windows open and all the street noise pouring in, but I am really enjoying my cool urban cocoon right now. There’s something so self-indulgent about air conditioning. You have to have heat. Turning on the heat is a survival mechanism. But A/C is usually a choice. A choice to be comfortable and closed away rather than sweaty and hot and exposed to the sounds and noises of summer. Makes me feel like I am triumphing over something, but I don’t really know what it is.

Of course, like the booty, the interpersonal drama doesn’t stop in my world, so there was a lot of that to observe and take in and report back on. Not just my own drama, but some drama surrounding my friends too — that of  their own making and much which was circumstantial and/or inadvertent. And I am watching it all unfold before me like some crazy, sweaty, fucked-up flesh play, and I don’t know whether to be amused or horrified or enchanted with it all. It makes me feel kind of old, and kind of tired. It makes me want to disconnect and draw back a little. It makes me want to go back for more. But I was so tired of it all last night, and I thought I was taking a night off from it, and then I was in the middle of it again thicker than ever. And I don’t know whether I was too tired to care, or have finally acheived some level of peace and acceptance, but I do know that I didn’t get too concerned with what was happening, because I felt like I understood why it was happening. And I don’t know if that means I am maturing emotionally or becoming more and more defeated and dead inside. It’s really hard to say.

It’s sometimes hard for me to judge my mental state while I am in the middle of a thing. It’s only afterward that  I can actually assess and say “That was good for me.” or “Wow, shouldn’t have done that. What was I thinking?” So the best I can do is muddle through it, and do what feels right at the time and seems least likely to cause me imminent pain and suffering. So I try to do what I think the right thing is for myself, and the right thing for the other person, and expose myself enough to grow, but not enough to get hurt too badly. To me, interpersonal relations mostly feel like juggling heavy things made of glass while balancing on a gyroscope set on the deck of a sinking ship.

All I can really do is try to give myself permission to be who I am and want what I want, while accepting that this is exactly what every single other person in the world is doing—and I can’t take it personally when those things don’t mesh. I have to asses and take/refuse what is offered to me, I have to decide what of myself I will offer in return – if anything. I have to control access to the parts of me that need some protection, and share the parts of me that need some fresh air. It’s way more exhausting than you can possibly imagine.

I’ve read a few things in the last week or so that have made me stop and reflect. One of them was a blogger I love to read who said  (paraphrased) “There’s actually no requirement that you hate yourself. Other people will try to convince you that you should, and that sucks. But you really don’t have to.”

The other one was a snippet of this poem. (full text after the jump)

be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here

Just having a right to be where you are, and not making excuses for your existence can sometimes be a difficult thing. I find it hard to own my space and be easy in my skin. As harsh as I am to the world at large, I am much much harsher with myself. In general I do not surround myself with, or tolerate, people who would be gentle with me. I am never even sure how to deal with people like that, or this strange thing they’re offering. (Usually I distrust them, or they make me feel weird and self conscious so I huck rocks at their head until they run away crying.) And of course I don’t often remember to be gentle with myself. I tried this weekend though. To be gentle with myself and to be gentle with others. I think it worked out OK. I think it makes me feel more chilled out. Or maybe just more disconnected, it’s hard to tell.

Excuse the sentimentality of the poem after the jump, and please completely disregard the religious overtone. (Even Superbadgirls can sometimes be sappy, you know.)

Continue reading »

This is Not a Guest

I know that some of you will think I have a guest blogger posting here, but despite that risk I must inform you that I have been having a really great weekend. Friday was fun, and then I had an epic WIN day yesterday, with chilled-out napping, casual lunching, productive shopping and orgasmic driving-around weather. Top the whole thing off with a super-fun night out of shows and drinking, and a few hours of laughing as hard as I’ve laughed in a long time. I even spent about an hour in the middle of the night trying to explain to someone else why their negative worldview and scorn for humanity was so harmful to them —- and I wasn’t even struck dead by an irony-bolt or anything.

It was just all happy fun times, and I feel all relaxed and contentified now. I don’t know if it’s the good weather, or some kind of serotonin storm, but I am luxuriating in it while it lasts.*

Yay for the fleeting happy moments, from which we string together a life of fond reminiscences.

*It probably won’t withstand a trip to NoCo and my hateful, hateful family, so don’t worry, by this evening I am sure I will be back to myself again.

Conversational Conundrums

I told a friend this morning that I am going to get a new t-shirt, and I am going to wear it out every weekend from now on. And it’s going to say “Then why the fuck did you bring it up?”

Seriously. I had too many conversations last night where people would say something to me, and then I would respond with a comment on what they’d said, and then they’d get all paranoid and wig out and start denying all kinds of shit that I didn’t even care about in the first fucking place.

For the record – when I am having bar conversation with you, peripheral acquaintance, you’re going to get only four or five topics from me. These topics, loosely are:

• How we are doing with our various drinks
• How our respective days/weeks were (a.k.a. how I hate my job, don’t you?)
• Look at that fuckwit over there (sometimes “isn’t it crowded/not crowded?”)
• How the music does/doesn’t suck
• What we’re doing later

That’s about as in-depth of a conversation as I want to have with people who are not my actual friends. I don’t care if other people bring up other topics, but I do think it’s safer to stick to these, so you don’t have any misunderstandings. So for instance if you want to point out people in the bar you’ve fucked, or want to fuck, that’s cool. But don’t bring that shit up and then get all testy when I ask you a question, or make a comment about one of those people.

Don’t bring up specific problems or issues you’re having in your life unless you’re asking for my help in solving them. For instance: don’t bring up your mysterious computer ailments that you can’t solve on your own or afford to have diagnosed elsewhere—knowing that I could help you—and then say you don’t need help. If you don’t want or need my help then what the fuck did you bring it up for? You think I carry cookies in my pocket to hand out for commiseration when people have problems? I do not. My personality means that if you present me with a problem I will try to offer whatever resources I have to solve it for you. Don’t bring up shit I can help you with and then tell me you don’t need help. I am not your therapist, I am an actual actor in your world.

Don’t tell me you’re sad and can’t sleep and have all kinds of stress and then tell me you’re fine and don’t need anyone to talk to. I don’t care if you don’t want to talk to me about your problems, I’m private too, but don’t start talking to me about your shit and then get cagey when you realize I am actually listening. Don’t bring it up if you want to keep it secret, I don’t go for that cryptic bullshit. If you want to make enigmatic statements, make them to someone else. I don’t respect your angst or your quiet desperation or whatever issue you’re working over there.  Talk or don’t talk, whatever the fuck your pleasure is, but make a fucking decision already. Your leading statements practically leave an ellipsis hanging in the air after them, don’t freak when I try to follow up. I don’t really care all that much, but YOU are the one who brought it up.

Don’t tell me you’re lonely and then refuse to come talk to people. Don’t ask me a question and then promptly zone out on my answer. Don’t contradict yourself, don’t engage my interest then freak out when I ask questions about what you’re telling me. Don’t be patently feeling one way and saying you feel another way. What am I, emotionally retarded? No. Just don’t be so fucking weird.

So if you want to have bar conversation, have bar conversation. Topics listed above. If you’re my friend, and you want to have friend conversation A) Make sure I am not too drunk first B) Make sure there’s no one I hate standing right there (I am not going to talk about anything in front of people I hate. Real conversation requires some semblance of privacy, or else you’re always going to get some fuckwit chiming in with their unsolicited advice and commentary. Fuck that.) Once you know I am not about to pass out, and there aren’t a bunch of people standing there that I want to stab, then C) fire away with any topic in your pretty little head. I will talk about anything with my friends.

But seriously, don’t bring it up if you don’t want to talk about it. I have the time for that bullshit, but not the patience.

a torrid tale in 49 parts.

Summation of yesterday evening:

1. Took a second shower because my hair looked retarded due to heat and humidity.
2. Realized my hair was pretty much never going to dry, ever.
3. Left for party.
4. Got literally run off the road by a fuckwit cop who turned on his lights and flipped a bitch right into my lane without looking to see if there was someone there.
5. Was startled.
6. Regained some of my wits.
7. Found party location, stumbled up a dark alley to a darker backyard
8. Tried to navigate some stairs in the dark, thought I did pretty well until I stepped down, missed a stair and took a header into the chainlink fence, ripping my shirt, bruising up my arm and getting some kind of metal shaving embedded into my palm.
9. Hoped that my header into the fence had been kinda covert, but no such luck.
10. Navigated my way further into inky black backyard, hoping to avoid additional spills, tumbles and mishaps.
11. Realized I have pretty much nothing salient to add to any conversation regarding canning, or the usage of crock pots.
12. Drank some Sprite.
13. Hung out on the futon by the fire.
14. Left party for the bar.
15. Used some scotch tape on the inside of my shirt to temporarily camouflage the rip. It held up all night. Wonder if this will gain me any points with the disaster preparedness crew? No? Maybe with the crafting crew? Probably not. No points awarded.
16. Had some drinks.
17. Had someone sprinkle salt on me in a playful bid for attention.
18. Had some weird conversations.
19. Confronted an erratic scene-maker.
20. Saw someone’s grandpa roll in.
21. Had some more drinks.
22. Surprised a half-naked girl on the toilet.
23. Got sat next to by someone I’d mostly like to stab.
24. Remarked upon the behavior of a fuckwit.
25. Observed a pair of black lace leggings and made a catty comment.
26. Walked to the after-hours bar.
27. Got hugged on and felt up.
28. Got kissed on.
29. Dodged some weirdos.
30. Was physically accosted by a skeezebag.
31. Had a guy tell me that I smell so good he wanted to fuck my hair.
32. Observed a relationship-related fracas.
33. Got stared at + sneakily felt up by a guy in a Cardinals jersey.
34. Fled.
35. Got rescued.
36. Overextended myself emotionally.
37. Left the bar.
38. Helped commit some minor vandalism and general prankery.
39. Hid.
40. Observed the victim’s agitated and ridiculous arm flapping.
41. Helped compose a smart-ass text message.
42. Talked some trash.
43. Interjected constructive plot points into a extended tale of fuckwittery.
44. Watched someone have a 300lb bag of irony chips fall on his head, without realizing he’d been hit at all.
45. Re-overextended myself emotionally.
46. Had my ghetto shirt-repair stared at for an entire conversation. Or else had my boobs stared at, couldn’t tell.
47. Got made out with.
48. Remained confused.
49. Went home.

Protected: I don’t think this counts

Protected: Night Becomes Day

Weekend Wrapup – Gastronomical Delights Edition

You know, my weekend did actually improve after my whole misery-guts Friday experience. It was a struggle, and took some epic willpower on my part (plus a lot of patience on the part of my friends who are really sick of hearing my stories) but I managed to hoist my broken carcass out of the depths of resentful misery and into a better, more productive place. Yay me.

Friday was errand-running during the day, with a surprise appearance by MyTodd™. I bought a new jacket, which cheered me. Then Friday evening was drinking and being irritated. Saturday morning was getting over myself and then some errand-running. I had to run to the grocery store and pick up about 62lbs of meat and seafood for Sunday dinner. Later, Todd and I ended up going out to dinner at Franco in Soulard, which was delicious. I had the mixed greens to start, Todd had the onion soup. We both had the wood grilled bistro steak for our entree, with raito, green beans and pomme frites. I had peanut butter ice cream for dessert, he had an apple tart/vanilla ice cream combo. We loved everything. I especially enjoyed the green beans, since I spent most of my life hating them until once I had them prepared correctly, so now every time I can find good green beans I get all excited. The interior of the restaurant was very nice, low-key, calm and modern. The staff were extremely friendly, to the point of an almost obscenely cheerful obsequiousness. When Todd got up to use the restroom, our server rushed over and refolded his napkin into a fancy shape. That’s a little OTT for me, but it never crossed the line to truly disturbing/offensive. Continue reading »

Protected: Putting the needle down