See?
I know what I’m doing next week
Finally, this year I am GOING.
So, aside from all the shows with nudity warnings, what should I go see?
Adventures in Mating was recommended by a friend of Marsha’s
I think that Cake Woman recommended the Scrimshaw brothers, but I only got four hours of couch sleep last night, so don’t believe anything that comes out of my mouth. Or my fingers.
My smoke alarm is confused
I’m not on fire, I’m just really hot. Maybe I should put some pants on.
I definitely did not get enough sleep.
A little advice
Everyone should punch me in the nuts when I do stupid things, like right now. Tomorrow will be too late, except for Paul, who got a raincheck.
Random Notes
- The P is for POWER
- Why are the flags at half mast today at the U?
- I do not want to do my CSci 4011 homework
- Tonight is National Night Out, so I should go home
- Tonight is happy hour for a departed coworker, so I should go out
- Friday Dallas Orbiter plays at the Varsity
- Saturday I go do the College Drunk Fest thing at Paul’s parent’s house in Saint Cloud
- I steal all my humor from Penny Arcade wholesale
Argh. Okay, so I go home, change, go out, don’t drink too much, then go home and stay up all night to do this homework. OR I stay here in the nerd room and swear a lot because this is the most tedious homework ever.
Plan A it is! See you later, G!
Brendan Benson
Brendan Benson MOTHER FUCKING ROCKED THE MOTHER FUCKING 400 BAR!
So there I was at the 400, where they do not serve Summit for some inexplicable reason. WHAT THE FUCK. Anyway, I was pointing at the James Page tapper and the bartender asked if I wanted the Smithwicks. Whaaa? Irish ale? The irish parts of me hollered loudly and I pointed at that tap instead.
“Okay, you sold me, give me that!” I practically shouted. This may have been after I bought Stan and myself Maker’s Mark in honor of the Hawaii kids (not as good neat). The bartender looked at me quizzically and asked if I wanted to try a sample. I threw a slug in my mouth and swished it around before draining the finger or two that he had pulled into the plastic cup.
“I think he likes it,” said a cute woman standing right there at the bar. I honestly had no idea what to say because I wanted more ale more than I wanted that cute woman to talk to me. I think that I said something like “MORE, FUCKER, MORE GODDAMN ALE NOW BEFORE I KILL EVERYONE!”
Actually, I think that I said, “I’d some more of that, please,” before turning to the cute woman and saying with great aplomb, “how are YOU tonight?” I’m pretty sure that I had already had bourbon, because I was being my extra loud self. The woman closed her eyes and turned away in disgust. Stan just looked at me like I was nuts. During the show she stood behind us, then in front of us, and I imagined however briefly that she thought that I was cute and was doing what I used to do at concerts - stand next to a cute member of the opposite sex and pretend to not be interested. Nowadays I just don’t give a shit anymore, because honestly, who meets someone at a concert besides that chick who was dressed up like a schoolgirl for Halloween at First Ave that one time and let me finger her in her car a few nights later.
The opening band (Robbers on High Street) was spectacularly awesome. Stan and I shouted to each other about how tight the band was, and how much we appreciated the cheesy fake ass piano. Later, Stan commented that he thought that the opener was better than Brendan. Sacrilege! I bought their CD from some random cute woman before they were even done playing.
Brendan played only a few songs from One Mississippi, but one of them was “Sitting Pretty.” I screamed more than usual, danced, sang along, and almost knocked over a table. It was glorious. I think that I saw Blue. You’re my boy, Blue!
By the way, if you feel the urge to read EIGHTEEN pages of my blog you should at least say HELLO. Honestly. FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
Oh yeah, it’s my job to fix web shit. I really want to help you, but I feel like an asshole. Thanks!
Paul: I got reasonably drunk, but nothing like Saturday will be. You’re the fucking best!
Don’t worry, I’m fine
Despite a rambling and agitated email, I really am fine. I’m not at work any more, so table your requests to Radio K, or just send them directly to me. Okay, no one has any requests, and my rambling and agitated email probably just pissed off the recipient, so now the friendship that I had been trying to brew when it got interrupted by non-dateness is probably ruined too. Of course all my friends are like “she’s fucking crazy!”
Like I can point any fingers on that account.
Yours truly,
Ted
Could be worse
Could be raining
I guess that either Stan or Lisa will be attending Brendan Benson with me, especially since I don’t know anyone else who stole my copy of One Mississippi and played it over and over again in their car.
Or maybe I will go by myself. I need a wingman.
As good ol’ Doc Venture said:
I can no longer deny the world my super greatness!