My Luck Could Change

SDAM is so damn good.

Last night was supposed to be all about breakfast for dinner and watching In-Demand TV with Frank. But then Chris called with tickets to the San Diego Area Music preparty to the awards, so I, being the great friend that I am, so totally ditched Frank to schmooze with some of San Diego's finest. We got there late, but beyond some acoustic guy, some spoken word, and some random awards not fit enough for the ceremony tonight (ie. 'best rock hair'), there really wasn't that much more than the schmoozing. So I made up for that with the copious amounts of whiskey I drank ensuring that I didn't remember the name of anyone new. But thanks to my new camera phone, I've got pictures to prove some of it:

Jose Sinatra and I in a passionate embrace:

Nate, FrankT and I before we stalked them all the way to Landlord Jim's downtown:

I forget these peoples' names, but they seem nice enough ;)

And, my beautiful date:

After Landlord Jim's we made our way back to Scolari's for open jam night and, lord help me, we played Warehouse. When we could barely walk a straight line we thought it was a good idea to get up on stage. It wasn't.

After Jack-in-the-Box and a gallon of water and a lil' rest on Chris' couch, I finally made it home after 4. Today isn't going to be as fun as I would like it to be. Blech.

Oh, and I met some peeps from the Buzzkill Romantics. Even though I was drunk, annoying, kissing her ass and trying to hook up a show with them, the guitarist seemed really nice and was appreciative that I post their music. I LOVE this song:

Listening to: The Buzzkill Romantics - Pretty Girls Need Friends Not Lovers

You're Right - I Have No Shame

Put up a couple pix from last night in my 'parties, etc' photo album. There's a bunch more on mixermixer. In fact, my butt now adorns their main page! Not quite as embarassing as the other photo, however. I don't wanna talk about it.

Last night was really fun. I got blitzed and sang 'Hash Pipe' and 'Warning' really, really poorly. There were a bunch of people there, Chris and her new interest (?), mixer people, Frank, James, and my new friend Matt! I've known Matt for a year and have hung out with him countless times, but last night we finally made it official. We've stepped beyond being acquaintances and are now, officially, friends. Not speed-dial worthy friends yet, but maybe someday.

I've got to run and get ready for tonight...I'm going to comedy night at 4th and B, then on to the Ken Club to see Campaign For Quiet, San Diego's sexxiest rocker boys.

Listening to: The Secret Machines. Right click to open Nowhere Again in a new window. One of the better new songs I've heard in a while.

And Everyone Who Read the Blog Was Happy

You know, I really don't understand people sometimes. Why Chris wouldn't think to mention to me that practice had been cancelled this whole week, I dunno. So instead of practice last night I had 10 minutes of standing outside his apartment by myself feeling stupid followed by 10 minutes of watching the Screamin Yeehaws practice...which, I swear, is louder than when they play live.

So I met up with James early, we head to Longboards for the now inexistant karaoke night. I'm only going to have the one drink, I say. Then James dips off and buys Jagg shots when I start to get boring. He said I only needed to stay until his friend Paul arrived, but seeing as how we came together in his car and I really didn't feel like walking the 3 miles back to his apartment, I got suckered into, like always, staying for much more than one drink.

After the bar we went to Taco Motion for some carne asada fries. I really don't understand how restaurants like that aren't closed down by the board of health - not that I'll stop eating there. But to get to the only bathroom in the place, you have to walk THROUGH the kitchen, dropping various hairs and sneezing your disease all over the food. I was reluctant to go back there in the first place, but needs always conquer desires. There's no toilet paper there though, and I'm happy, justified when I tell my bladder that I tried, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for you. But then the woman behind the counter did a beautiful thing. Without even prompting her, she rummages in the back for some toilet paper for me. All the while talking to me in Spanish assuming that I'd understand her, and not giving me evil "gringa." looks when I replied in my drunken, broken Spanish. Back in Minnesota where it made sense, I was planning on majoring in Spanish. After my time in Spain, I was nearly fluent. And ever since I moved to San Diego, my apartment about 30 miles north of Mexico, I've had extremely little use for the language and I'm losing it fast. Like, last night, when I told her, instead of "there's no toilet paper in the bathroom" I said, "the bathroom doesn't make paper." And she didn't even look at me funny. What a great woman.

But now I'm delaying the inevitable this morning. My girlfriend is finally back from 5 weeks in Japan so we're getting our boys together this morning. Then this afternoon I need to cram like hell for my soc exam I might be lucky to get a C on (a 'C'?! Me?! Why didn't I drop this f'n class?!) All this on 5 hours of sleep since Jeremy woke up at the crack a dawn. At least, with band practice cancelled, once I get this exam out of the way I won't have too many obligations for a little while, play catch up on things. Til then, I've got to get my butt in the shower lest my morning-after whiskey offal offend my friend.

Every Day is Like Sunday

Thank god for Sunday. Without it I would have had to call a mulligan on my entire weekend. I walked into practice Sunday night and Chris said that we had just been asked to play a show, but that he thought we weren't ready yet. As we sat there, and sat there, and sat there, waiting for our drummer to show up I told Chris that he needed to start yelling at me more, quit being so damned positive about my bass-skills and give me a kick in the butt where I needed to improve. He said he really didn't have anything to yell at me about, so I asked him why, then, did he not think we were ready to play? When Mike finally called about 5 minutes before the cut-off time, we agreed to play.

Drove out to Chasers and again, waited and waited for the night to get on. Got bored and started drinking - which may have helped what little nerves I had to calm, but didn't help my playing much. The first guy up was Burke Hilborne - just a guy and a geetawr. At first, all I could do was laugh at how horrible he was, but once he started crooning "shit fire on a hell biscuit..." all I could do was laugh at how great he was, in a very non-selfconscious, but probably should be kind-of-way. Then it was us, and I did pretty well. Totally forgot the beginning of one song, but only after warning Chris that I had no idea how it went, so I guess that's fair. A few flubbed notes, but for only playing bass for a month I think I did pretty well, buzz and all. There was hardly anyone there, so I think that was a great way to get my first show out of the way. Now I just have to remember all the songs I know, piece one more together, and work on my rockstar moves. Cake.

The next guy who played came in from Hemet on the Grayhound. He played a song with a 15 minute intro and said "evil" a lot. He also seemed to really like to talk about how people often confuse his gender. It was horrible. I won't get anymore into it, since I'm only mean to people when they're there to shout obscenities back at me.

This week so far has been pretty good. It's only Wednesday and I've walked 6 miles, done an hour and a half of pilates and fit some yoga in there somewhere, too. I'm tired as all hell today, so instead of working out I'm saving all my energy for practice and afterwards, with James. James has been the busiest guy lately and is going out of town this weekend again for some dumb wedding thing. After that he's mine though. I'm going to steal him and tie him up in my closet and slide his food under the door, removing his gag only so that he can ramble about how fabulous I am when my ego needs some strokin'. You've been warned, James.

Tomorrow night Campaign for Quiet is playing at the Sandbar in Mission Beach. I'm headed down right after I get out of class, so come join us all, 'round 9pm.

Friday I might just spend an evening with my TV since I've had this DVR thing for a week and have only watched 20 minutes of TV since. Saturday I've got a babysitter so I'm gunna go see Farenheit 9/11 with Adam, maybe hit the 70's party afterwards. Gunna try to fit some studying and a trip to the zoo in there somewheres, too.

Too tired and busy to write anything articulate or meaningful, so now you've got a longhand version of my daily planner. Yee-hawr! Shit fire on a hell biscuit!

Liver, Schmiver

You know what my least favorite hangover is? Today. I'm not physically messed, just a little tired. But all my dreams last night were these haunting, guilty panic-attacks and it's all I can do this afternoon to quit trying to retrace every single one of my steps last night to figure out what I did that would be so wrong as to cause this....dread. It's the alcohol-depression hangover! And I hate it!

Ana picked me up around 6 last night and we drove over to Rock Bottom in La Jolla. I made it all of an hour before my will collapsed and I bought a pack of cigarettes. There is NO WAY a quitting smoker can go out and not smoke on their third day w/o a cigarette. Day three is the worst day. Day four is finally this...calm, but day three is a tempest. Throw three margaritas and second-hand smoke into the mix and my battle was lost before I could even think to fight it. But that's not keeping me from starting over today.

There was a hella people there, I was really suprised. Especially considering the appetizer I had wasn't all that good and the weak-ass margaritas were $8. Guess I'm not a early 30's professional, or I might understand that place a bit better. I was eager to get to Lips.

But first we had to stop by some girl's apartment so A could get high. Sigh. She claims I'm exaggerating, but when we were driving down the 5 I saw a few times that we were going 50 MILES AN HOUR. On the 5! Some 70 year old guy in a hat passed us like we were standing still. But, since she was high, I'm sure it felt like we were flying :)

Lips was fun. Matt and Kelly met up with us there for some transvestigial entertainment. Drag queens never cease to amuse me. Especially when they're 250 pounds, in a thong, and rubbing themselves in military men's faces. Then it was on to the Ken Club because we were looking for somewhere to go and that was the first thing I heard on the radio. Some band with two drummers was up on stage. Interesting gimmick. By this time I had already been "cut off" an hour prior so my memories aren't as crystal as I prefer them to be. Left on Ana's insistence, got some Taco Bell, came home and stuffed myself, writing those really horrible drunken unintelligable emails you all know and love.

All night last night and now this morning, too, I have this looming feeling like I'm missing something. Someone. Can't put my finger on it and can't wait for it to go away.

Tonight I sure as hell am not going out again...I feel gray enough as it is right now. I think Frank might be coming over for a roast dinner and Risk. Tomorrow night I've got rehearsal so I've got to get my slackin' ass on the bass pronto. I can't believe my class starts in three days already. But like I said, if i wasn't manic with all the things I have to do, I'd be bored to death. So it's good to be overwhelmed. Better get started.

And Now the Post You've All Been Waiting For

This Memorial Day weekend was the best in memory. Thursday I took my last final and walked out of class at 7 feeling giddy. I'll have grades next week, but at the very least I've got a degree and I'm almost positive I got my honors. I had told Adam to take me out to dinner to celebrate (sad, I thought, that I'd have to specifically tell him since he'd never think of such a thing on his own), but I come home and he's on the computer in sweats and Jeremy's eating peanuts and raisins for dinner. Sigh. So I called my James/Frank rescue squad and we headed down to the Living Room (coffee and cake for them), and the Alibi (whiskey, for me). Campaign for Quiet set the bar record at their show there a couple weeks ago, so Frank treated me to some of the free drinks he gets. Managed to get drunk, eat, and sober up before midnight and made my way home since I knew I'd be up at 7 the next morning.

Took Friday off. Felt bad about letting Jeremy do his own thing for most of the day, but we all need downtime, including him. It was either hang out in my pyjamas all day reading and practicing bass, or be a really cranky unforgiving mom. So PJ's it was. Friday night I procured a babysitter so Adam and I went out together for like the third time this year. Met up with Matt, James, Frank and some of his friends down at 4th and B for comedy night and overpriced Long Island iced teas served in cheap plastic cups that barely hold their shape if you're holding them. Spillapalooza on my end, again. The first guy to come out was genuinely funny, especially since it was all marriage jokes so I got my two cents and elbow-jabs to Adam in. The next guy up was local and now I think he'll be forced to move. Had we rotten tomatoes, this guy would have been covered in them. Totally mysogynistic in a totally not funny way. Even the guys were on our side as we booed him off stage. He managed to make me laugh ONCE. I made him laugh once, which is sad, seeing as how he was the one standing there on stage in front of 400 people, not me. Anyway, the third act was some hypnotist guy from Vegas. A definite departure from most of the deep work James and I witnessed in our philosophy class, but seeing 20 guys think they're lengerie models is more funny than past-death experiences any day. Left there and headed to some other bar where I had way too many whiskey cokes and Frank and Matt tried to out do eachother in carbomb contests. I've never seen Frank that drunk before, so for once I wasn't the one everyone was picking on. Left there, finally, thank god, and headed over to the "hardcore punk rock party" in a warehouse basement downtown somewhere. It was either my personality or all the drinks, but I felt really comfortable there and was loathe to leave and go back to my boring apartment. But I guess some other people were getting uncomfortable about the hardcoreness of it all so we actually made it home a few minutes earlier than I told the babysitter. Passed out promptly and woke up with Jeremy about 4 hours later.

I got a nap on Saturday, but, like most naps, woke up feeling worse than before. Adam had cleaned up the house a bunch, but I still had more cleaning, shopping and over three hours of cooking to do before my birthday/grad party Saturday night. Thank god for all of Ana's help. But by the time everyone got here I was completely exhausted and spending all my energy trying to be happy hostess rather than enjoying myself. Figured it'd be mute point by then anyway. I had a Corona during a game of presidents and assholes and it just made me want to go to bed even more. Luckily, everyone got the hint and were gone before 3, a miracle at most of my parties.

Sunday. Hmm. ?? I had a quick practice in the evening and then was going to head over to James' to pick up his steam cleaner. Called Frank for directions and ended up dancing at the Casbah instead of steam cleaning that night. Good call. Except I can't dance and Frank was making me go-go with him up on stage, facing the crowd, mostly sober so I still had my humility and ego in full operation. Next time, if there is one, I melt with the crowd on the floor. Especially since, because I never go dancing, I didn't know any of the songs. Oops.

Monday. Went with Jeremy up to Ana's early afternoon to hang out poolside and eat a half gallon of her boyfriend's bomb homemade salsa. Even though it was like 90 out in Escondido, the pool wasn't heated and it was cold (ok. not hot.) last week so I was a total puss and could barely even stick my toe in. Jeremy, on the other hand, jumped right in and stayed in the pool for 2 hours. He must have inherited his dad's nordic naughty-bits to be that fearless.

Tuesday had practice again and sucked even worse than I did the last time. I played a lot during the day so I'm thinking that by the time I got to practice my hands were probably already tired. Chris still kissed my ass, though, so I must be doing something right. Went out with him for a drink after practice to Scolari's Office since I had never been. Reminded me of every other Superior bar, minus ashtrays and the pickup trucks outside. Had one drink and went home, like I said I was going to but never ever do. But I did. Amazing.

Yesterday I spent my entire day procuring quarters for laundry (my bank sucks and is NEVER EVER OPEN) and doing said laundry. All day. (minus mystery shop). Went for a walk in the evening with Adam and actually managed to run a little bit. Came home and pigged on dinner, blew a million bubbles into the setting sun, got Jeremy to bed, and went and read my arse to sleep. Excitamundo.

Today I cleaned, (mystery) shopped, and cooked, like any good housewife. I've made $175 this last month mystery shopping, even during finals. Not too shabby. Until 20 minutes ago I hadn't had a cigarette since Tuesday, so I'm doing better, but I still suck for smoking. My philosophy professor's setting some quit smoking hypnotism workshop thing up this summer, and I can't wait. Without Erwin physically here to keep me in line, I need help. Or to never see my husband or drink again, since those are always and only my two triggers. DAMN ME!

So now that I've spent 2 hours in the kitchen whipping up a few different meals, dinner's still not cooked. Ran out of gas for the grill. Sent Adam and god knows when he'll be back. It's only a mile away, but I've managed to write all this starting about 15 minutes after he left. And he's starving, poor guy. Anything for my tequilla chicken I guess. Off to drool over all my prepped but raw food.

MS. Does anyone want to loan me $150 til the 14th? I'm in dire need of some Lalapalooza tickets and will have cizzash to spare in less than two weeks, but I dun wanna wait that long to buy tix with a lineup like this years. Pretty please?

Last Call for Alcohol, Last Call for Freedom of Speech

If I'm unable to eat pizza without rubbing it all over my face, how is it that I can type perfectly? To everyone who came out tonight, or to anyone I bumped into: thanks for the birthday and grad props, free drinks and free underwear. It's going to be an amazing weekend (the Michael Calivicci called me!!!) and all I can say is: I wish you were here.

UPDATE
Just a thought...you know those breathalyser ignition lock things they give to people who've gotten DUIs? Yeah. I need me one of those for my computer. I still haven't figured out why I think it's a good idea to post during my post-drink pizza binging.

When Life Gives You Poop, Make Poop Juice

Weekend good.

Friday I was a nrrd and stayed home playing bass trying to get ready for my first practice with the band. It was prac-tastic! Late night run to Taco Bell to feed my current addiction (cheesy bean and rice burritos), had a glass of wine, called it a night since I knew I'd be up at 7.

Saturday I had a mystery shop at a guitar store - got paid almost $30 for 45 minutes of my time at a store I was planning on going to anyway. Next weekend I get paid to get my oil changed. Mystery shopping is the coolest.

Headed down for practice at 5 in Chris' stuffy North Park apartment. I sucked, but no one was too suprised since I warned him when he asked me to join that I didn't play bass. Learned the better part of 4 songs, was completely retarded on the rest. A good time, though, and it's so nice to be in a band again, working that part of my brain.

Left Chris' around 8 and headed (eventually - I got lost trying to find the 5 and, somehow, ended up in South Park) to JAMES' BIRTHDAY BONFIRE BONANZA! I had brought only a 6 pack so that I wouldn't be too drunk to drive but Fucking Frank insisted I do a jagg shot. And then another. And another. I was wasted in an hour. Not in as rough shape as Ana, though, who was puking/passed out starting around 9:30, poor girl. I'm really proud of myself - I've never ever been able to be the puke bitch without puking myself, but I held her hair like a pro and didn't gag once. Adam said I must be getting used to it, which scares me a little. It was so cute to see Ana and her "designated driver" sitting on side-by-side lawn chairs with their heads between their knees puking in the sand. Very cute. You go girl!!

Frank drove Joe's truck back to James' so we could ditch those drunk-asses and head down to PB. Ended up at some crap bar where they were playing some crap dance music. Lost James and his friend, pushed Frank to the middle of the dancefloor and I hung out on the fringe trying to not get molested, dancing my white little ass off. I had my new cowboy hat on (thanks, Frank), so EVERY SINGLE GUY that came up to me opened with some sort of 'howdy, cowgirl' line. HOW ORIGINAL!

After last call we got our requisite carne asada fries and horchata, then headed back to James' to crash and give him his birthday spankings. But, for some reason, it's MY ass that's sore today.

Woke up fevered and dumb. Drove my sorry self home and tried to be the bestest most coolest mommy I could be with only 1/4 of my liver and even less of my brain. I think it made me more at his level today, cuz for once I could actually play with his trains for more than 15 minutes without getting annoyed.

Had practice again tonight at 8. Sucked again, but still no suprise. I've only got 7 songs and until Friday, so I should be alright by then.

In summation, I'm tired, sore, and slowly turning into an alcoholic thanks to my friends knowing that I have no willpower when they shove a bottle of jagg in my face. The end.

I'll Be There to Meet You Lazy Bones

A deep sadness pervades today. I've only once, I think, slipped in to anything truly personal here, so I'm biting my tongue tonight.

So, instead, I'll ramble about my night last night. I desperately needed a drink or five so James and I headed to the Alibi. I hereby nominate myself for Token Drunk Dancing Girl of the 2004...I hadn't even finished my first drink, but The Attatchments played a damn fine 6-song set. Once again I'm totally blown away by what passes for an opening band at a dive bar here in San Diego. I don't think this town will ever succeed in jading me. I wish I were a better reviewer, but I find it so hard to categorize music and when I'm at a show I'm way too busy enjoying myself to be taking mental notes of catchy riffs.

The Pawnshop Cowboys were up next and I was busy studying Drew, the bassist and breaking glasses the whole set. Drew is seriously one of the best bassists I've seen, locally anyway, so I tried to break it to the rest of the band as lightly as I could that there's NO WAY IN HELL I'm filling his shoes. They seem to be OK with that, though, and if I have half as much fun playing with them as I do seeing them live, I don't think I'll care much either.

Frank showed up somewhere in the mess and had to deal with the, by then, drunk flirty Anna. You know how I be. James told me yesterday that that's why people like me so damn much which made me realize that I've got about 10 more good years in me and then I'm going to have to come up with a new gimick. Hopefully by then I'll be fabulously rich so I can just buy pool boys at whim. Yes. That is now my new life plan.

I really, truly hate those paper toilet seat covers and even after at least a couple years of trying to get used to them, I just can't. Especially when I'm drunk. You have to so gingerly pluck those things out of the case lest you tear it where you most need it, then spend a minute of your life you'll never get back trying to rip the mid-section of the thing away from the rest of it without, again, tearing it where you'll most need it. So then, you place it on the seat, the midpart drips down into the toilet and starts sucking up the toilet water and pulling the rest of it into the toilet. So then it's a race to the finish. Pray you're not in some complicated-somehow pants that take you more than 5 seconds to get down or you might get the ol' 'PSYCH!' from the fucking thing as it slips into the toilet right when you sit your ass down, giving you those crabs you were trying to avoid, or, worse yet, 400 lb. girl ass germs. It's a love/hate relationship with those things. The covers, not the germs.

So, after 5 drunken attempts at getting the seat cover thing right, I finally rejoined the rest of the world. My original plan was a 2-drink max, drive myself home at midnight kind of thing. I've said that before, haven't I? Never happens. I looked down at my watch and magically 2 hours had passed, and instead of sobering up, as to my original plan when I saw it was nearly 11, I was as drunk as, well, as drunk as everyone expected me to be. So then I had to let James take me back to his place to sober up. He had a 80-pound veggie tray that I made very very quick work of. I know I've said this once before tonight already, but thank you James for always being there for me, including 2am on a Wednesday night.

And so now, just to get a bit of my overwhelming emotional dilema off my chest, I will share some Radiohead lyrics from a gorgeously sad song and be done with it:

Red wine and sleeping pills
Help me get back to your arms
Cheap sex and sad films
Help me get where I belong

- Motion Picture Soundtrack, Kid A

Mother is the Necessity of all Invention

I never thought that a night at the Moose Lodge would be such a potentially life-altering experience. I'm now the new bass player for the Pawn Shop Cowboys and a tentative member of the Moose Lodge.

The only problem is that well, for one, I don't play bass. I've played guitar for 10 years and they said that they'd teach me what I needed to know, but I've got 6 weeks to learn a new instrument. That, and my penance for not having to pay any membership dues to the royal order of the moose is to bartend one night. The only drinks I know how to make are whiskey cokes, the Code V (my invention - code red mtn dew and vodka. Even at half and half, you can barely taste the vodka through all the chemicals. It's great!). Those and a white russian. And here I am, supposed to bartend sometime in the next few weeks. And learn the bass. And finals in 2 weeks. And everything else. My life is gon' be crazy, but what else is new, right?

Last night was a great time. Frankeee met me here and we carpooled down to the band house. I helped them load up and we headed down to South Park for a wild night at the Moose Lodge. The Pawnshop Cowboys were on first, right around the time my buzz kicked in. I was in an out of the stageroom during their set, but not because they didn't rock. I remember thinking to myself as I sat in the luxurious Moose Lodge bathroom how great it was that I live in San Diego where a band like that is the opener, instead of Duluth, where they'd be closing the show. Really talented guys and since they've got horns I was totally sold. Which is why I ended up talking to Chris, the lead singer/guitarist, and, apparently, joining the band.

Next up was the UltraVires - a powerpop agglomeration of, what, 8 or 9 crazy cats from LA. Total cliche'd Iggy Popish lead singer, punk tambourine girls, etc. They were great. I danced so hard to their cover of "Rollin' on a River" I thought my head would explode.

Campaign for Quiet was headlining this, the first of many rock n' roll nights at the Mooselodge. And what can I say about the sexiest band alive? They sadly entrusted my photographic skills to try to capture them rocking beneath the mounted moose head, but I was so wasted by that point I couldn't look through the view finder of the f'n camera. So, in advance, I apologize for wasting the last of the film.

There wasn't much time between the end of the show and last call, but I made the most of it. Somehow, amazingly, someone started playing the Dead Kennedys, so when that guy offered to pay my way, I was so down for becoming a Moosette. Drinks so cheap I cry happy tears? Sign me up!

Left the show with Frank and his friend Ben to get some carne asada fries to quiet the beast. Driving around San Diego, at 3 am and 300 mph with the windows rolled down on a perfect summer night blasting:

The Darkness - I Believe in a Thing Called Love

The perfect ending to a night at the Moose Lodge. ROCK ON!

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