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:: 5.11.2001 :: (listening to: Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out) We went to this going away party for this lady who we both used to work with at the Pit-Of-All-Hell nursing agency, the place I quit because they outlawed music at our desks. Apparently, now you have to ask the supervisor if you want to go to the bathroom. When we walked into the party everyone cheered loudly, since Miss Rodeo America and I, are, as you might expect, the coolest people in any office situation. It's not hard to be cool when your competition are overweight office ladies and bitchy middle aged nurses. I waved the bottle of wine we brought in the air as a way to participate in this cheering, at the same time showing everyone that I did, indeed, bring better wine than they did. Snobbery! Yes. I was famished, and was corned by the gay physical therapist who has always wanted a piece of my, uh, action, so I reached over for these chicken things that were on the food table. I piled three of them on my plate, little breaded nuggets with sesame seeds on top. Silly me, I thought they'd be hefty chunks of yummy white meat, you know, some sort of nugget. I bit down hard into one of them and hit solid salty-bone and a ton of soy sauce. I almost puked right there, but I had to keep carrying on my conversation. My next move was to find a place to ditch the little bits of Satan's chicken dinner, so I casually put my plate down on a chair and moved away from it, slowly. I stuck to bread and butter for the rest of the night. The English nurse who used to live in Guam was pissed drunk, and kept hugging and kissing my cheek as her boyfriend looked on warily. MRA just made fun of me. The guy who liked me kept trying to pinch me, and the kids that were there who I used to babysit ran around until Smackdown came on. When we got home I turned on VH! (Video Hits with no videoes) and they had this history of the music video show on. They mentioned something about "Indie Rock acts getting into the video-making fray" and then proceeded to show videos by such core indie-rock artists as Smashmouth, The Barenaked Ladies, and No Doubt. I was surprised that VH1, normally known for its twenty-turned-thirty-something crowd, would cater to my indie rock tastes. Thanks VH1! (10:05 AM) :: (link)
Today was the official start of "hot car" season. My car, with its heavily tinted windows and
fly purple seat covers, tends to heat up beyound belief in the summertime. You can open all the
windows, but the problem will not go away. Today sucked for that reason.
On Cinco de Mayo we went to a barbeque. When we arrived, there was no food left, and no beer, but
luckily we brought our own. We spent the entire evening outside in the cramped back patio area,
making runs inside for bathroom use only. I think we were the only people not on massive amounts of
E, since everytime we went up stairs there was alot of random touching and fondling between
party-goers, as well as conversations based on "how they felt" at that moment. One guy felt like
he was floating, whereas some girl thought she was a cloud. Some guy in the kitchen kept trying
to talk about baseball with me, in an effort to open my bro-file. I resisted. I drank too much and
ended up sleeping in our guitar player's room, since he was off frolicking in Baltimore for the
weekend.
Yesterday it was too hot to sit around in our room, so we got some beer and iced coffee and sat in
the living watching the 1970's marathon on VH1. I think we watched six episodes of Behind the Music
in a row, including Cher, Genesis, Rod Stewart, 1972, and1975, and the Saturday
Night Fever episode. Right now I think my brain hurts from the 70's overdose, but I got to see
some good footage of The Boss rocking his heart out. I've realized that Bruce had as much to do
with saving large-audience music as the punk bands had to do with starting a new brand. It's all
too relevant.
The only thing happy with the heat is my lizard, who thinks it's finally the right temperature.
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