Would you spend half the summer updating your website if you'd found such a delightful little spot, like the one pictured below?

I can't blame it for my absence here...buuuuuuuut I'm going to anyways. That and being SUPER DUPER BUSY. Though really, the photo is probably a scootch closer to the truth.

Cheers!

• Saw Pistolero play at the Gypsy Lounge. Predictably, they were amazing. This is a huge relief to me as I primarily go to the shows to support my coworker (he's in the band) and thankfully, they always put on a good one. Two birds and all.
• Caught the Detroit Cobras play at Detroit. Another consistently awesome band. Nothing but good things to say about them. Also, this show marked the first of theirs where none of my ladies or I broke bottles, poured beer on someone, or otherwise misused precious, precious alcohol. Progress!
• Went to Disneyland to have dinner at the Blue Bayou. Also while there, decided to fit in by acting 10. Tell me you're not surprised.
• Enjoyed some of the most consistently beautiful days down at the beach. My friends, bikini season is GO.
• Managed to acquire one of my (many; see also: falling down stairs while reading) freak injuries: I sprained my fingers? hand? something! on the ocean floor. I don't know how, either. (Actually, I kinda do: alcohol, skinny dipping, and 2am. Oops.)
Of course, my friends have been understanding about my newly crippled state:


While I described it, to him, as sprained fingers, I really have no idea what the fuck happened other than OMG IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS. I mean, I bruised my palm. I did't even know that could happen:

Live (stupidly) and learn (useless things), I suppose!

Remember all that 'look at me I'm so healthy working out all the time' stuff I spouted awhile back?

Well.

To the amazement of everyone (or just me, really) I'M STILL DOING IT. Like, a lot, even. Cause apparently deep down I'm this really tough (ha) toned (hahahahaha) machine that runs off rage and adrenaline and hot gym eye candy. And beer.

Lots and lots of beer.

Hence the concept of the Beer Mile™.

Let me back up. The iPhone, a magical and wonderful thing which can do much good and even some great, is also a bit like Satan before he turned all evil and by that I mean my my phone is sometimes the devil.

There's this app, Lose It, which computes and tracks calories. It is free, and it is awesome, particularly in regards to answering questions like 'curly fries or chicken tenders, which is less worse?' As I'm not one to get too hung up on numbers or restricting (curly fries and chicken tenders, people) it's been pretty rad.

Pretty rad, that is, until I attempted to log a night's drinks and HOLY FUCKING COW turns out everyone ever was right when they said that stuff was full of crap. (Perhaps the term 'beer belly' should have been my first clue?)

I think y'all know me well enough by now to know that I am not going to let some little piece of shit handheld device (ItakeitbackiPhoneIloveyouOHGODdon'tleaveme) ruin or otherwise change a night out, so I still go out (plenty), and I still continue to drink (plenty). But I do attempt to account for the odd glass of wine with dinner or beer while watching the Dodgers.

And here's where Beer Mile™ comes in; it is the extra (!!!) mile I run which effectively cancels out whatever drink I plan on having later that day. I understand this may come off as a tad obsessive and/or super lame, but I really just hope it serves to demonstrate my extreme love for beer.

Ex-fucking-treme, people.

With this context, the following should be hilarious. To me. And maybe one other person (Buffy McFlex, or BMcF):

BMcF: Home. And full of raw hippie food.

Me: Ima kick your damn motherfucking ass at Lose It today, bitch. Just thought you should know!

BMcF: Probably. Cause I had a bunch of apples and pbutter last night.

Me: Yes but that was last night. Sigh. Dammit.

BMcF: LOL but it was after midnight so it went on todays...

Me:Fuck yeah, technicality! (Which I have argued against before but I am heretofore switching sides.)

BMcF: Hahahahhaha. Whatever it takes for Hoey* to win!

Me: Eating good and working out? Fuck that shit, I'll cheat!

BMcF: LOL. I don't know how you'd ever win with all those beer miles hehehe

Me: I'm training for a 10k so I can have a 6-pack. No joke.

BMcF: Ohhhhh of beer. Not a tummy six pack. A funny you made. I got it now :)

Me: Oh shit I didn't even think of the tummy 6-pack.That statement says so much about me it's embarrassing.

***

It does, and it is.

*Hoey = not at all assholish nickname for Joey. SO CLEVER AND FUNNY, that guy.

Perhaps I should have asked the question (and oh, I don't know, waited for an answer?) before making a joke?

Hm.

I know not of this 'restraint' thing you speak of.

I feel ridiculously accomplished for having cleared out all (five) of my email inboxes yesterday, and for also finally logging into facebook after weeks and weeks and week of not doing it because I had forgotten the password (and because I don't really care for that site, much).

Turns out it still blows.

***

As you may have already deduced, there's not a whole lot to report. Saw a great, great show by Black Joe Lewis & Lucero. The night was only partially marred by Stacy's phone getting snatched, and my subsequent (and totally stupid) chase after the guy. I didn't get it back, but I did manage to run 5 blocks and hop one fence (in a denim mini skirt, gimmie points). Oh, and make my friend worry that I might be dead. I managed to do that, too. See how much fun I am to be around, people?

Later that week I spent quality time at the beach, with another friend, and our pups, and got yet another tattoo since I'm on a mission to get disowned and permanently place myself in a lower earned income bracket.

I mentioned all of these things on twitter (shout-out to my followers! Don't you love getting the same information twice? Holla!) which leads me to believe my life does not generate enough content for the plethora of social networking sites to which I belong.

Am probably spot-fucking-on with that one.

***

Oh, hey, wait! I thought of something I didn't twitter/myspace/facebook/plinky about! I got accidentally totally really super drunk on Tuesday (ok, yes, I did twitter that, but not what it led to ->) and hit on a gay guy who CAN YOU BELIEVE IT totally shot me down.

So, that was fun.

***

Anyways, sorry for the lack/duplication of content, I don't know what's up with me this week. Things are swell, it's just that I've fallen into a bit of a pattern of partyin' like a motherfucker > getting very little sleep > going to work > hating life because I'm so so so so tired which is a really lame thing to complain about but I don't let that stop me > going home and passing out for 12 hours straight > feeling fine and well rested the next day which without fucking fail leads me to believe it's time to get the party started...again.

It's a vicious, vicious (and only slightly awesome) cycle which is not really conducive to creativity. Or putting letters together to make words to make sentences.

AS YOU CAN SURELY TELL.

Cheers.

Sweet little things that happened within the past few hours:

• Woke up early (and on my own; so much better than the BUZZ BUZZ I'M IN YOUR BRAIN KILLING YOUR CELLS BUZZ BUZZ of the alarm). I love not having to rush in the mornings, but as a night person it's a rare occasion that I don't sleep in until the last possible second and have to hurry out the door.

• Got pretty much the best 'good morning' texts in the history of its kind:
  

  (Doesn't ring a bell? Please, allow me.)

• Listened to the Dodgers game in bed for a bit. Can't praise the MLB iPhone app enough.
• Had enough time to run downstairs to grab yummy tea goodness.
• Ran into super nice cute man downstairs who proceeded to buy my yummy tea goodness. Yes, this did make it taste better.
• Rocked out The Kills and Peaches (going to see her next month!) while getting ready for work.
• Headed off to work for the last time until Monday.
• Confirmed some weekend plans with friends which may or may not leave me standing come said Monday. (They involve skateboarding. And beers. AND ME. Enough said.)
• On the way to work/at work, kept up with the Dodgers game as they barely beat out the Phillies, almost but not quite making up for letting (former Dodgers player!) Werth steal THREE bases in ONE inning in an earlier game. Which, I can't lie, was pretty damn amusing.

***

Yes, sometimes it really is the 'little things' that make all the difference. Even (and especially) in light of the BIG HUGE things which kinda suck.

Like the fact that I miss my brother. Even more, I miss how my family used to be. (I'm aware that this makes me sound like a selfish asshole. Nothing new there, though.)

I remain constantly thrown by how very different and damaged my family is now. It's been over two years. It's not getting any better.

I really thought it would.

But I'm still grateful for the little things.

Since I'm a bit of an asshole with majorly fucked up priorities (surprise!), I often tend to empathize more with animals than humans. Shut up. You know you do it, too. (Like when a horse gets shot in a movie. Why'd they have do that?! Poor little horsie! Why not shoot the lead actor? It's not like anyone cares about him, right? Or when news coverage of natural disasters starts talking about abandoned pets OMG start the motherfucking waterworks, amIright? What? I'm starting to lose you? I started awhile ago? Hmph. Anyways...)

Last year I posted a few comics by Coco Wang that highlighted a few of the tragedies which resulted from China's earthquake in May. Some were outright heartbreaking, though the strips about the Wolong panda reserve are a bit more lighthearted:

(See more of Coco Wang's comics here)

***

Earlier last week I stumbled upon these photos of the rehabbed pandas. One of the captions stated that "to help the pandas recover from trauma caused by the disaster, keepers gave psychological support in the form of games and hugs".

You all know how very much I love my job at the library, but I think it goes without saying that I would start LIGHTING BOOKS ON FIRE if it meant I could take up that gig.

(Really though, I'd only burn the Shopaholic series. No big loss there.)

Through an odd coincidence (we were enrolled in different programs at different universities) both my mother and I earned degrees last year. Not ones to let an occasion go uncelebrated, we (ok totally and completely 100% she) planned a trip to Paris and Rome.

Yes, we DO know how to fucking party.

Here's us outside the Louvre:

And another, one of my favorite pictures from that trip, just outside the Vatican, in Rome:

Prior to this photo, I had been walking ALL DAY EVERY DAY and (sometime in the afternoon after a glass or two of wine on the roof of the Castel Sant'Angelo) I stubbed my toe so hard it felt like it had been dipped in kerosene and then LIT ON FIRE and there was nothing to do but keel over and begin bawling. Making American tourists look good, that's me!

This is something my dad and I would generally openly mock and laugh at (since I wasn't really hurt, just tipsy and clumsy). My mother is generally more the type to rush over with a first aid kit and hugs.

However, I guess traveling with me for over a week had toughened her up a bit (read: made her want to hit me but that was only for a minute and to her credit she somehow restrained) and I couldn't have been more proud or her than when she whipped out her camera to document my obvious (and totally babyish) pain. I am not even kidding, my heart swelled.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Love you!

• Was totally horribly feverishly sick. Decided to hasten my impending death by going to Home Depot, a totally hellish hothouse on even a normal day.

  
  Add in the weekend crowds.

  And crazy heat/humidity.

  And hi, lines.

  Still alive after that ordeal, though barely, I decided to then climb on high ladders and inhale paint fumes. Pretty much the best sick person ever? I SO am. And now my bedroom is finally finished being painted. Only 5 months after I started, wheeee!






• Went to a BBQ where absolutely no food was served. Uh, oops? There was plenty of beer, though. And a piñata! And I got to beat the shit outta it!

  
  Baseball bats + aggression = candy and mini vodka bottles? YES please!

• Got tattooed...again. (See what I do now that I actually have free time and $?) I'm way swollen here:



...or just super duper buff. I mean, considering all of the healthy (fever, accidental paint huffing, not eating but definitely drinking) living I've been doing lately, it could totally be that.

Totally.

"Je pense le matin..."

That.

THAT.

I fount that yesterday while scrolling through my notes folder on my phone. Scrolling through my notes folder on my phone, for what I believed to be the first time. The evidence, however, said otherwise.

I have no record of thinking that, writing that, or saving that. Normally I would just brush this off as one of those things I do (dance, sing, make out, fight) when drunk, but this tests even those admittedly lax limits. I mean, slipping into another language? The fuck?

The weird thing is, there are several like this. Mostly in English, but about things which I have absolutely no clue. I mean, they cover everything from shopping lists (for things I don't want/need), notes on knitting (don't do it), random number sequences (those hurt my head), and in one instance, just an all caps FUCK (that one, at least, sounds like me).

While I'm pretty sure that no, there is no way that somehow somewhere wires were crossed and these are not MY saved notes, I like that much better than the possibility that there is clearly another person living inside my head.

And that they might be French.

(Of course, there's always the alternate explanation of The Friend Who Likes to Fuck With You. I am not ruling this one out. Not one bit. Though friend? LAAAAAAAAAME. I already think I'm nuts. Ha! Face!)

***

This post may ring some dim bell in the recesses of your mind, in regards to that one time I went to France and said I'd write all about it.

And then I didn't. For months and months and months.

Or like, seven.

It's just that there was SO MUCH to write about, I didn't know where to start. And I think you know by now that when it comes to large, complex tasks I'm like eh, fuck it, I'll take a glass of wine in the bath, thanks.

Regardless, I've uploaded a few of the 4,698,890 photos taken from the trip [I'll take my glass of totally earned wine now] and have attempted to at least caption them, so that I can finally finally FINALLY maybe even one day write something about the whole ordeal.

What I'm trying to say, really, is that the post, hopefully up next month, is going to suck balls. But there will be pandas. Oh yes.

There will be pandas.

Pretty much every single day around 7pm you can find me reading in the tub. (The same goes for 2am.) Last night was no exception. I had just arrived home from work and was winding down with a good book, when I got a text (yes, I bring my phone with me in the bath; I have problems) asking if I wanted to grab something to eat.

I figured I could fit a quick dinner with a friend into my busy schedule of reading, bathing, and nap nap napping, so it was off to sushi. As we were leaving, my friend invited me to a party at a bikini bar, but I declined because I didn't feel like getting drunk and obnoxious around a bunch of people I don't know. No, I prefer to inflict that particular brand of pain on close personal friends and other people who can make fun of me for it the next day.

Like magic, just as I was driving home from dinner another friend (see? I totally do have more than one!) messaged me, requesting a partner in crime.

Well.

You know I haven't been going out much lately, and then how I nearly killed myself trying to produce an insane amount of work in a short amount of time which effectively killed my hanging-by-a-thread social life? And how all of this not going out and not being social was becoming less freakish and more the norm for me?

Yeah.

I decided to fuck that noise.

***

I pulled up at the Pike to meet up with my friend and was greeted by a totally strange and yet completely natural-seeming for Long Beach spectacle: the night's entertainment, fire dancers, rockin' out in the parking lot. They were awesome, and totally emptied out the bar which meant YAY SUPER QUICK DRINKS FOR JOEY! (I did stand outside and watch them for a good 10 minutes, though. I'm an automatic fan of anything that combines bikini tops, a boom box, and lighter fluid.)

From there we went down 4th Street, finally ending up at V. After a totally nice and not at all date rape-y stranger bought my friends and I a round of the strongest kamikazes known to man, I got shot with a water pistol, talked Dodger talk to a like-minded uber fan, was propositioned for cuddles (blech, I know), was invited to a mass water balloon fight, somehow managed to get totally shitfaced off three drinks (and that shot), and very easily coerced someone into driving me home since I was completely and utterly unable to operate anything more sophisticated than a bar game.

It was a good night. And -I'm practically weeping with joy as I type this- since I've gone ahead and declared it summer, I anticipate many many many more of these, like soon.

Cheers.

Back from my vacation of sorts, which was lest restful than I planned. I didn't really accomplish much that I had initially set out to do. Mostly this is because I was up late at night, having mini heart attacks, and writing. Not writing here, obviously. Not even writing on the internet. Like, writing real stuff. (I'm as surprised about this as you are.)

I was working on a project of sorts, which had to do with school -OMG MORE SCHOOL WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING- for which I was writing, writing, writing up a storm. And people? I am all written out.

WRITTEN OUT. <--- proof, if you ever needed it, that what I am saying is true.

Seriously, here's what last week looked like:

I only left out the photos where I'm rocking back and forth and crying tears of stress and frustration ("I'm so excited! I'm so scared!") in the bathtub. You'll just have to imagine those.

Thankfully, I've just recently completed said project, and am slowly slowly slooooowly coming around to the idea that writing may, one day, not be equated in my mind with pure and utter torture. With a little help, I've even been able to sleep again!

And it hasn't been all bad. There were a few good moments:

I only left out the photos of me napping cause that only happened like every other hour or so. Oh naps. I missed them so much. Aren't they the best? I'm pretty sure the Yeah Yeah Yeahs meant to write an ode to naps but the printer messed that shit up and they kinda got stuck loving maps. I would have demanded a reprint, but that's just me. (I got your back, naps.)

(Isn't this so very clearly the mind a person who NEEDS a nap? Like, right now?)

Anyways, now that super big huge scary awful terrible project is behind me, I've gone from spring break directly into summer. It's pretty safe to say that it's gonna be smooth sailing, from here on out. At least until school starts again. And that's so far away I'm just gonna put it out of my mind until the last second because that has certainly never bitten me in the ass before!

Cheers!

Hope you all had a Happy Easter, zombie savior day, or just a lovely Sunday. I somehow ended up with THREE Easter baskets (yeah, I am an adult, why do you ask?) which meant OMGSUGARILOVEYOUSOMUCHGETINMYMOUTH.

I'm not kidding. This was breakfast:

Notice anything off about that package of Peeps, aka the most delicious melt-in-your-mouth holiday treat in existence? That one pink Peep? Not an accident. My mother, clearly in competition for the Cute Mom crown (a shoo-in since she stabbed that other bitch) got me this card for Easter:

And she RIGGED THE PEEPS PACKAGE to match.

She wins.

***

Because I see no reason why being an adult means an end to all things fun (like Easter baskets!) I'm taking most of this week off to celebrate the holiest of holy weeks: spring break.

There will be a whole lot of Dodger games, shows (Coachella!), decisions about how much more money I would like to burn in the name of institutionalized education, propping up of the economy with my fierce love of shoes, and -I'm gonna go out on a limb here- probably not a whole lot of posting.

Cheers!

Yes, I am a bit late with this, but I've been busy. Enjoy!

I know this may shock some of you, especially newer readers who aren't yet fully aware that I have a highly addictive personality and tend to pick up, run with full force, and then totally drop hobbies on a monthly basis...but here goes:

I've become a bit of a gym rat lately.

Why? Other than aforementioned addictive personality? Maybe I'm training for a marathon. Or to get into ninja school. Not at all because it's probably a good idea to direct my general rage in a direction that doesn't involve punching people. Or because it might be a nice change of pace to spend less going out in a month than I do on rent. Or because maybe I'm just a tad sick of sycophantic assholes who make up the (I shudder at this term) bar scene. Nope. Certainly not any of those last few reasons.

Must be ninja school.

Exercise idiot that I am, even I knew that when you don't work out much (other than the occasional 'hopping fences and running away from the scene' thing I'm so fond of) and then you REALLY, REALLY DO, you're kind of prone to injury.

But people? I did not see this one coming. At all. At this point I've been working out regularly for over a month, and while I expected some pain in the beginning, I thought I was safely past that point of embarrassing lazy-ass-hits-the-gym injuries. But, oh, haha, body, you so sneaky! Way to get me drop my guard, and then fuck me up right good!

I won't get into how my almost totally or ok maybe not quite life-threatening injury happened (mostly because I don't know!) but after a major workout (I recommend listening to hardcore at the gym and proceeding to kill machines) I went home, slept like a baby, and woke up an elderly cripple. My neck refused to turn more than a few degrees in either direction, which necessitated me turning my entire torso everytime I had to look any direction other than straight ahead. Dudes, even walking hurt.

To help make work bearable today, I stocked up on Ibuprofen, maybe something a bit stronger, annnnnnnnnd brought my microwaveable neck cozy to work. I'm just gonna keep typing like that's not a really embarrassing admission. (It gets worse: it's scented. With potpourri.) I only wore the cozy in the back, at my desk, not where the general public could see it and laugh and point. Only where coworkers could. And myself, cause, let's be honest, I look really fucking stupid:

And after working really super hard for a bit I took the neck cozy off to head out front for my turn at the reference desk. Only, ha, once again, foiled by my body! Thanks, super-pale, sensitive skin! It's not enough that my neck is shooting sharp pains from shoulder blade to skull, how about we make it look like I have some sort of deadly rash, too? Awesome!

So my body has turned against me, and I'm in pain. Funny that this time it's from working out, and not my other cough cough usual activities. WHICH WERE MUCH MORE FUN. I'm just sayin.

Only a (small) matter of time until this addiction is ditched in favor of competitive television-watching with roomie? Pretty much!

It should be noted that I took that picture for the sole purpose that in the event we died that night, everyone would know where we were. You know, in case the Loopt location updates, semi-frantic tweets, and random text messages to friends weren't enough.

You can never be too obnoxiously obsessed with your iPhone careful!

***

My lovely lady friend Stacy, who sponsored Sunday's adventure (and who you may remember from an earlier post) has finally(!) resumed posting up a storm over here. Go and visit, because between both of our sites (and thanks to a certain upcoming night in Venice) I'm pretty there will be a post (and dear god, probably photos) involving one or both of us in some state of dishabille, throwing undergarments at a hot guitarist, or -even worse- dancing.

Then again, we aim high, so perhaps...trifecta!

You know those friends who just take and take and TAKE and are always asking for favors?

I know, right? What. A. Bitch.

***

We got to show just as it was starting, and thank goodness it was a reunion show, so we weren't the oldest people there. The venue normally attracts a very young crowd (it's all ages). I hadn't been there in years, since high school, really. When my parents would drop me off.

The bands were surprisingly enjoyable, the show itself was a total sausage fest (I saw maybe 15 girls), and the eye candy was delicious, if occasionally a bit too close to 'illegal'. The only thing missing? Say it with me now: alcohol!

After the show we beat it a local bar that someone at the show had suggested...only to find out it had closed down and was now on it's way to becoming a piano bar. Good call, dumb ass! (Don't trust a straight edge crowd to be hip to the bar scene, I suppose.) So we were left to our own devices (danger! danger!) to stumble into Off Limits.

Well.

I go to some seedy bars, y'all. Hell, Fern's is one of my regular spots, and while I think it's just lovely, I've more than once had friends refuse to meet me there. But Off Limits? WINNER, hands down. I mean, I was a bit afraid to go to the bathroom alone, and I am tough as shit, people.

It wasn't one particular thing; while there were a few little 'off' things (you could smoke inside, yay for breaking the law; the 7 or so people inside had all likely been drinking since noon or 6am; the general eau de meth; Dixie cups serving as shot glasses; the certainty that at least one fellow had a gun in his car out front) it was more just a general feeling that shit could get very out of control, very quickly.

So, yes, I loved it.

Stacy and I attempted to observe from afar by burying ourselves in whiskey and Chippendale's photo hunt, but in between getting hit on and loudly/drunkenly whispered about, we were called to settle an argument between the bartender and a patron over how important it is for a date to have most of their teeth.

Yes.

After further conversation (spanning such topics as 'are steetwalkers sexy?' and 'how many times have YOU been in prison?') and a few more drinks, we called it a night and went our separate ways. Which for me meant heading back to Long Beach, hitting up 3 more bars, and staying up until the wee hours playing video games and not possessing the motor skills to pass a single damn level.

Or, the usual.

***

As far as St. Patrick's Day, I didn't majorly fuck up anything, so there's really not much to report. So sorry. (I'll try harder next time.) Though thanks to a punch bowl full of Jameson and a guy with an accent, I may technically be married according to Scottish tradition.

(But not American law. God bless the USA!)

Last year on St.Patrick's Day I had to work early, with the screaming! children! the following morning, so I only managed to do a disappointingly low TWO possibly ill-advised things (hang out with an ex, get a tattoo).

This year, however? I don't have to work until noon tomorrow. Which pretty much translates to HOW MANY BAD DECISIONS CAN I PACK INTO ONE NIGHT?! I'm thinking bitchin' snake tattoo, for starters.

The best part? I get to blame it all on green beer and Jameson. Not my staggering immaturity! Not my frightening and totally mystifying declining tolerance for alcohol! Not my terminally bad judgement in all things, ever!

No wonder everybody loves those batshit-crazy Irish.

Cheers!

Crap, I haven't been round here in awhile. Most sorry; I've been up to A WHOLE LOT of no good lately. No, like a lot a lot. More than that. Yes, right about there. So, to catch you up to speed I could type up a few lengthy, insightful, and hopefully humorous posts detailing the many ridiculous adventures that have transpired, or I could just recap things quick and dirty style, in bullet form.

Bullets it is:

• Had an impromptu date show up the other night at 11pm, when I was (oops!) already drunk. I was dancing on the bed to shitty club music when he arrived. That poor, poor guy. (Though we're totally going out again. I don't know how, either.)
• Loved, loved, LOVED Watchmen. I went in biased, having loved the book and wanting the movie to succeed (sorry, Mr. Moore), but still, loved it.
• Super excited for baseball season to hurry up and start...especially since Manny and the Dodgers stopped dickin' around.
• Am tentatively planning on going to Coachella, though the dates fall on a bad time for me. (The anniversary of sad stuff. Not boy related.) Trying to decide if I wanna risk crying in public. Cause I really, really hate that shit.
• Recently celebrated, in grand fashion, roomie's bday. Forgot to eat that day, drank a little more than I should have, kissed a couple people (I'm a total makeout whore) and...minutes later, hit one of them. A bunch. (My hand is still bruised). Good fucking thing this day only happens once a year. Happy Birthday, roomie!
• Oh, and for her bday, a girlfriend and I got her tickets to see Peaches. With us, of course. Because giving gifts should always be win/win, right?

Cheers!

Nathan, my fine Texan friend, came through and uploaded some photos he took at the Murder City Devils show at the Henry Fonda Theatre on February18th. Since then, I have not been waiting anxiously and pestering him about them NO I HAVE NOT.

Let me preface these with a note that he took them, all of them, while situated directly in the middle of a fucking riot of people, all dancing, pogoing, moshing, falling down, crowd surfing, and all around crazy-making. How he managed this feat, and with such great results, I have no clue. I guess it's that thing people call 'talent'? Huh. I wonder what that's all about.

(And if it sounds like I'm gushing, it's just cause he's handsome. Oh yeah, and good.)

See the complete set (as well as more of his work) here.

Aren't y'all glad I'm not freaking out fanboy style over MCD anymore? Wasn't that shit annoying? Didn't it get old quick? And remember how I said I'd get back to 'normal' posting this week?

Well, about that.

TOO FUCKING BAD FOR YOU.

I am so, so sorry....but you have no idea how excited I am for this. Unless you read all of the breathless MCD related posts. Then you may have a clue. (Did I mention that I was sorry? Because I am. So very.)

See all of you -or all two of you who are still reading this- Thursday night, in line at the IMAX theatre. Cheers!

I'm waiting for super good Murder City Devils photos to be uploaded (a friend flew out from Austin to see them and took a TON of great shots at the show) so I can steal them and post them here, but until then you get stuck with the one that I managed:

I only managed one photo, because, uh, I only took one. I was too busy having fun and dancing my ass off and trying not to get knocked over and wondering how many new bruises I'd have in the morning.

(Five.)

During the show, this was uploaded to the MCD twitter stream (shut up, they are too still rock and roll):

which linked to this picture:

which, oh hi, creepy fan ladies!

***

The show was one of the few experiences where I've genuinely enjoyed the collective energy of a crowd (since normally I kinda hate big groups as they are more likely to contain these people called 'assholes') and I can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else than smack dab in the sweaty, raucous middle of it all, right next to (and fuck, I mean right next to; I inadvertently touched balls, people) perfect strangers and good friends alike. Everyone was singing along, dancing or something which slightly resembled dancing, crowd surfing, and rocking the fuck out. And I was lucky enough to get to do it again, the next night.

Next stop, Coachella.

***

For readers who aren't into the Murder City Devils (WHY DO YOU EVEN COME HERE?! Ha, no, I kid, I love you all. But you non MCD people significantly less.) I should return to regularly scheduled posting (more exciting apartment painting! a kitty! Maybe a paint-covered kitty! I may or may not have gotten drunk sometime this week!) later this week.

LUCKY YOU.