goddammit, no one else is awake
Jul. 27th, 2003 11:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lauralhThe past few days have been like living in a sitcom. Not that our lives aren't enough like a sitcom anyway, but some days are moreso in need of a laugh track than others.
Thursday: Not very sitcom-like except, well, we got to Contour and Dan, one of our bartender buddies, was back. He'd been on a six-week "hiatus," so everyone clapped when we saw him. And then they laughed when Steve and I asked for Jaeger bombs [for the unenlightened, that's Red Bull with a shot dropped in the glass]. And then the next morning when I woke up feeling shredded, the audience died laughing. Oh, also BP was there with one of his insane "girlfriends" and they left together.
Friday: Went out to have lunch with Steve, and Fritz shows up. The audience claps, because, well, the Romanians are like Kramer. Later we hung out with these Brits that Steve is working with for the week - well, Helen is working with them, not Steve. Anyway they're all from London and have the most gorgeous accents. I fixated on the cutest one, who was Welsh and looked a bit like a more manly/sexy version of Robert Carlyle. And one of the other Brits told me he had a girlfriend. However - the two girls in the group of Brits seemed to think he was gay. I suppose that was easier than continually fending off advances. Maybe he just told one, and it got spread around. But there was no way.
big laugh from this line: "You know, if you ever go out drinking with Brits, trying to keep up with them? Not the smartest idea in the world."
I passed out right when we got home, pretty much. Steve apparently went back out with the Brits, to their hotel, and stayed out till 7am. I still felt bad the next morning. Lay in bed half-asleep listening to the 80s station till my stomach roiling took over. Was sick and then drank a glass of Emergen-C and got online till I couldn't bear sitting up anymore. Watched Pretty in Pink till Steve woke up.
"So, I have two Bjork tickets left, and this girl in Portland doesn't want to mail them to me. No, she wants to drive up to Olympia, meet me halfway." I take one look at Steve and ask what he's doing awake. "I sent her an email at 7am saying tomorrow would be better. She calls me, I don't answer. She calls again, I don't answer. First message? Today would be better. Second message? Ok I'm going to Olympia, see you there." [pause for laughter] "FUCKING CRAZY BITCH!" [audience cracks up] "SO, up for a road trip?"
Got dressed and looked for tapes, as Steve's current rental car has no CD changer. I settled on "Dance Mix '98" for maximum annoyance factor. I queue the tape up to "Shut up and sleep with me" much to the delight of the audience. We get in the car, it's set to our local dance station. "I don't wanna hear this gay dance music. I wanna hear MY gay dance music."
That lasted about thirty minutes before Steve wanted to drop his wrists and lisp. I then told him about Nick's college roommate whom we nicknamed "that flaming Cuban faggot." He wasn't really gay - or else he just didn't know it. You know how it is. He just would do weird gay things like crawl into bed with Nick and me Saturday mornings - on Nick's side. I'd be awake before Nick would, and then Nick would suddenly awaken and realize what was going on. "Get off of me you flaming Cuban faggot," he'd mumble, and Juan would die laughing. He'd also play "Kung Fu Fighting" off Nick's machine really loudly to annoy me.
Traffic made everything terrible and boring. I started talking about the relative masculinity of Seattle versus the relative femininity of Tacoma. "Even the name - Taco Ma." And then I had to pee. Steve said "There's a bottle in the back." Audience giggles. Then I start taking him seriously. "So it's a WIDE MOUTHED bottle, right? Gatorade? I guess that's about as big as those specimen cups at the doctor." Steve looks at me and says "You know I was kidding, right?" [laughter] "Well I REALLY HAVE TO GO!" [guffaws]
So we took the next exit - 30 minutes later. HAHAHAH! We decided to eat as well, so we went to BK. I haven't eaten at a fast food restaurant in years, although I do remember the term "plain". It was sort of confusing, anyway. "See, THIS IS YOUR NUMBER. THIRTY-SEVEN." [the audience giggles, those who've seen Clerks guffaw to themselves.] Finish food, take 99 to Tacoma, in hopes the traffic would be better. It wasn't at first, which was amusing, but finally it was, and in Tacoma we got back on the highway and it was all fine.
And then, Erik calls. Audience whoops and cheers, since his guest appearances have been few and far between since he moved out - especially now that he's in Olympia for the summer. So we make plans to hang out with him after selling the tickets. Girl calls also, to let us know that she's grabbing food and may not be at the appointed coffee shop. She wasn't, of course.
Olympia is interesting. All you fuckers who don't like facial piercings would just about die there. In the bad way. "It's like Seattle, without the yuppies," I say. It really is. We read The Stranger and talk about cool upcoming shows. Then I start reading the funny weird personal ads out loud. "Six males ages 18-23 seek 6 females ages 18-35 for gangbang."
Finally the girls show up, we make the exchange and head for Erik's. We talk about all sorts of crap for hours - and Steve gets a nosebleed. Blood. Every. Where. Oh man, it was gross. I have a weak stomach for this kind of thing, and what with the coffee we had I was just going a little nuts. Could not look at him while talking. Not. At. All. Ack. I volunteer to drive back, since Steve basically seems completely shredded by now.
We get back and he tells me he doesn't want to go out. So I shower, take his extra Sqaurepusher ticket, try to sell it via phone, don't, get there, park, and get in line. Three other people are trying to sell their extra ticket. So I don't bother. And, then, you know, about third in line and guess who shows up with an entourage in tow. This guy. You know the one. We're just friends now. Right. Anyway he has tix but his friend doesn't, so I sell it to the friend. Let him cut with me. We go in and I find![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xamichee. Also interimlover, who almost bought my ticket but bought one of the five extra they had instead. It all worked out I guess.
xamichee keeps saying that I needed to get that Strong Bad tattoo on my arm. And I dryly say "Right, why don't I just get one that says BIG DORK instead?" And he says "Well, you should get it on the other arm. Because, you know, too much on just one." I'll stick to the hip if I do it, thanks. Really every single person but one is from the Pacific Northwest who voted for the facial piercings in my poll. And vice versa. By the way, any girls reading this who voted yes because they too have facial piercings should go argue with the jerkfaces who think they're ugly.
Anyway after the show I call up Steve - and he's at the Contour. HAHAHA. So I drive over and hang out. Briefly. I ask Steve who's there, and he starts naming names, "Ang, Angela, Fritz" and RIGHT when he says Fritz, guess who comes out of nowhere and lifts me up and swings me around. You got it. The audience cheers and whoops. But I'm not really feeling the vibe - Russian Night has gotten progressively more alien - so I go home.
I pick up my vibrator, smile at the camera, close the door. The audience whoops and cheers as the camera fades out.
Thursday: Not very sitcom-like except, well, we got to Contour and Dan, one of our bartender buddies, was back. He'd been on a six-week "hiatus," so everyone clapped when we saw him. And then they laughed when Steve and I asked for Jaeger bombs [for the unenlightened, that's Red Bull with a shot dropped in the glass]. And then the next morning when I woke up feeling shredded, the audience died laughing. Oh, also BP was there with one of his insane "girlfriends" and they left together.
Friday: Went out to have lunch with Steve, and Fritz shows up. The audience claps, because, well, the Romanians are like Kramer. Later we hung out with these Brits that Steve is working with for the week - well, Helen is working with them, not Steve. Anyway they're all from London and have the most gorgeous accents. I fixated on the cutest one, who was Welsh and looked a bit like a more manly/sexy version of Robert Carlyle. And one of the other Brits told me he had a girlfriend. However - the two girls in the group of Brits seemed to think he was gay. I suppose that was easier than continually fending off advances. Maybe he just told one, and it got spread around. But there was no way.
big laugh from this line: "You know, if you ever go out drinking with Brits, trying to keep up with them? Not the smartest idea in the world."
I passed out right when we got home, pretty much. Steve apparently went back out with the Brits, to their hotel, and stayed out till 7am. I still felt bad the next morning. Lay in bed half-asleep listening to the 80s station till my stomach roiling took over. Was sick and then drank a glass of Emergen-C and got online till I couldn't bear sitting up anymore. Watched Pretty in Pink till Steve woke up.
"So, I have two Bjork tickets left, and this girl in Portland doesn't want to mail them to me. No, she wants to drive up to Olympia, meet me halfway." I take one look at Steve and ask what he's doing awake. "I sent her an email at 7am saying tomorrow would be better. She calls me, I don't answer. She calls again, I don't answer. First message? Today would be better. Second message? Ok I'm going to Olympia, see you there." [pause for laughter] "FUCKING CRAZY BITCH!" [audience cracks up] "SO, up for a road trip?"
Got dressed and looked for tapes, as Steve's current rental car has no CD changer. I settled on "Dance Mix '98" for maximum annoyance factor. I queue the tape up to "Shut up and sleep with me" much to the delight of the audience. We get in the car, it's set to our local dance station. "I don't wanna hear this gay dance music. I wanna hear MY gay dance music."
That lasted about thirty minutes before Steve wanted to drop his wrists and lisp. I then told him about Nick's college roommate whom we nicknamed "that flaming Cuban faggot." He wasn't really gay - or else he just didn't know it. You know how it is. He just would do weird gay things like crawl into bed with Nick and me Saturday mornings - on Nick's side. I'd be awake before Nick would, and then Nick would suddenly awaken and realize what was going on. "Get off of me you flaming Cuban faggot," he'd mumble, and Juan would die laughing. He'd also play "Kung Fu Fighting" off Nick's machine really loudly to annoy me.
Traffic made everything terrible and boring. I started talking about the relative masculinity of Seattle versus the relative femininity of Tacoma. "Even the name - Taco Ma." And then I had to pee. Steve said "There's a bottle in the back." Audience giggles. Then I start taking him seriously. "So it's a WIDE MOUTHED bottle, right? Gatorade? I guess that's about as big as those specimen cups at the doctor." Steve looks at me and says "You know I was kidding, right?" [laughter] "Well I REALLY HAVE TO GO!" [guffaws]
So we took the next exit - 30 minutes later. HAHAHAH! We decided to eat as well, so we went to BK. I haven't eaten at a fast food restaurant in years, although I do remember the term "plain". It was sort of confusing, anyway. "See, THIS IS YOUR NUMBER. THIRTY-SEVEN." [the audience giggles, those who've seen Clerks guffaw to themselves.] Finish food, take 99 to Tacoma, in hopes the traffic would be better. It wasn't at first, which was amusing, but finally it was, and in Tacoma we got back on the highway and it was all fine.
And then, Erik calls. Audience whoops and cheers, since his guest appearances have been few and far between since he moved out - especially now that he's in Olympia for the summer. So we make plans to hang out with him after selling the tickets. Girl calls also, to let us know that she's grabbing food and may not be at the appointed coffee shop. She wasn't, of course.
Olympia is interesting. All you fuckers who don't like facial piercings would just about die there. In the bad way. "It's like Seattle, without the yuppies," I say. It really is. We read The Stranger and talk about cool upcoming shows. Then I start reading the funny weird personal ads out loud. "Six males ages 18-23 seek 6 females ages 18-35 for gangbang."
Finally the girls show up, we make the exchange and head for Erik's. We talk about all sorts of crap for hours - and Steve gets a nosebleed. Blood. Every. Where. Oh man, it was gross. I have a weak stomach for this kind of thing, and what with the coffee we had I was just going a little nuts. Could not look at him while talking. Not. At. All. Ack. I volunteer to drive back, since Steve basically seems completely shredded by now.
We get back and he tells me he doesn't want to go out. So I shower, take his extra Sqaurepusher ticket, try to sell it via phone, don't, get there, park, and get in line. Three other people are trying to sell their extra ticket. So I don't bother. And, then, you know, about third in line and guess who shows up with an entourage in tow. This guy. You know the one. We're just friends now. Right. Anyway he has tix but his friend doesn't, so I sell it to the friend. Let him cut with me. We go in and I find
xamichee. Also interimlover, who almost bought my ticket but bought one of the five extra they had instead. It all worked out I guess.xamichee keeps saying that I needed to get that Strong Bad tattoo on my arm. And I dryly say "Right, why don't I just get one that says BIG DORK instead?" And he says "Well, you should get it on the other arm. Because, you know, too much on just one." I'll stick to the hip if I do it, thanks. Really every single person but one is from the Pacific Northwest who voted for the facial piercings in my poll. And vice versa. By the way, any girls reading this who voted yes because they too have facial piercings should go argue with the jerkfaces who think they're ugly.Anyway after the show I call up Steve - and he's at the Contour. HAHAHA. So I drive over and hang out. Briefly. I ask Steve who's there, and he starts naming names, "Ang, Angela, Fritz" and RIGHT when he says Fritz, guess who comes out of nowhere and lifts me up and swings me around. You got it. The audience cheers and whoops. But I'm not really feeling the vibe - Russian Night has gotten progressively more alien - so I go home.
I pick up my vibrator, smile at the camera, close the door. The audience whoops and cheers as the camera fades out.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-27 11:57 am (UTC)alternatively:
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
no subject
Date: 2003-07-27 01:32 pm (UTC)