I love The Faint

I knew we were going to be in trouble when I noticed the blonde and the brunette slamming up against Scarlet's back. There were two opening bands for The Faint show, and midway through the second act, Services, a large mass of what had to be toddlers in back of us decided slam dancing or moshing was called for. I'm no stick-in-the-mud, but the writhing they were doing all up in our space was not called for at the time. My Texas ghetto upbringing came out as I switched places with Ali and prepared to do battle. I hadn't been standing there since 7:30 smelling the foul human stench that would permeate the air periodically and holding strong through the first opening act to lose my place to high school kids with rhythm problems. After I got slammed into for the hundredth time, I did what any Texas girl would do. I pulled my arm forward and slammed my elbow into the blonde behind me. Oops...you don't like my dancing (*blink, blink*)? She moved. Unfortunately, the crowd literally pulsed as we waited for The Faint to go on. I knew we were doomed. Once they took the stage no dam in the world was going to be able to hold back these bodies.

I was right. The Faint bled music on the stage and the floor directly behind us went crazy. I tried moving with the crowd (hell, the music is danceable), but it so didn't help. I was doing everything I could just to stay on my feet and not get crushed. I know at one point I was laughing (because what else was I supposed to do) and holding on to Scarlet just to stay upright. About 3 minutes later I got the signal from the Al(l)i(e)s that we needed out of the pit. I have to admit I was a bit relieved because the fact that I was too fucking old for that had been scrolling through my brain.

Once we escaped the writhing mass of bodies, I inhaled the energy fed to us by The Faint. As hot and tired as I was, this group was bloody awesome. I wish I were some famous music writer who could put words on paper worthy of describing the way their music made me feel.

Instead, all I can say is that maybe you should go buy their cds.

Chronicle of a death foretold

I know I have no right to talk about it like it's a real person, but the void in my heart is similar. At night, its place by my head is now simply another unoccupied place in bed. When I wake up in the morning, I have been like a ship adrift at sea with no recognizable port in sight. My phone, Leonard II (2Molly to some of you), is dead.

Imagine barreling down I-66 at 3 am discussing with your mates what your next move should. Suddenly, nature is mentioned and you have the brilliant idea of a hike at a trail hidden nearby. Your trusting mates follow you blindly into the night, sliding one foot in front of the other down the rocky path. The old Civil War ford at Bull Run stretches before you whispering your name as it slides over the mossy rocks. Allie sits on a nearby rock asking for reason, begging me to keep my arse on dry land; however, my mate, Brendan, knows my adventurous spirit and is probably just as tipsy as I am. He follows as I begin my trip across the river and watches in slow motion as the slippery rocks claim flip flop #1.

Amazed that my shoe could disappear so quickly into the night, I fall to my knees and begin groping around the jagged rocks below. One shoe down, I attempt standing only to windmill my arms and flail about like a chicken. At some point flip flop #2 decides it misses its brother and takes off. Nothing between the river bottom and my feet, I sudden feel it important that I rescue my flip flops from their downstream death. To my knees again, only this time my fate is far worse.

Oh, dear friends. The cockiness of my last post was splashed back in my face Friday night as my phone slid out of my bra and into the stream below. Brendan made a valiant attempt as phone rescue, but it was too late. Submersion kills a phone faster than anything. For the second time in a year, I have violently laid a $300 phone to rest, and now I'm determined to spend some time reflecting on how much I need online-internet-email-aim phone that brings me joy.

Sigh.

Follow me

Cutting edge trendsetter...that's me. Laugh if you want, but soon every girl you know will be sporting her cell phone in much the same fashion.

For months now, possibly years, I end up carrying my cell phone tucked neatly into my bra. What's a girl to do when she needs her cell phone with her 24-7 and has no pockets? Simply slide the phone into that place where the strap attaches to the actual bra part and you're done. Think I'm joking? It works. Even phones such as my virtually disappear, and it works with even some of the skimpiest bras.

Perhaps I'm too comfortable with the idea and have been doing it for too long. I have been known to get some interesting looks when people see my cell phone appear. Slowly, though, I am acclimating the world to this cell carrying phenomenon. My heart warmed this past week when, looking down from the stands at graduation, I see Allie reach for her cell phone...stored in that special place. : )

What not to wear

During my bookstore shift last night, a man walks up to me and asks where I go to church. Already my guard is up. "Not around here. Somewhere in Alexandria*," I responded. "Oh," he said. "Are you apostolic?" At this point I'm perplexed and will readily admit I didn't know what "apostolic" was. I answered with "I'm baptist**." He then proceeds to drop the bomb. "Well, you dress the part, and it's so refreshing to see these days. Not many women do."

Fuck. In other words, I look plain and conservative. Looks like it's time to slut it up at work again. No more hair pulled back, skirt below the knee looks for me. Sigh.


*Leaving aside the fact that I technically haven't been to my church in a year.
**Though, technically, I have a real issue with the labels within Protestant religion.

Never combine alcohol and spray paint.

Friday evening was the culmination of a long week and meant to be low key. A few friends dropping in on a birthday party and then headed to a local bar for a drink or two. Party...check. Local bar...check. Drink or two...turned into several more. Really, I blame the need to consume more than two drinks on the cover band we were forced to listen to for $8. In fact, perhaps this is best racket going. Charge an $8 cover fee to hear a cover band that consisted of an Avril wannabe and an elven white guy with a gerry curl, thus forcing people to drink even more to tolerate the music and run up an even greater bar tab. An entire post could be written on how much fun we were and the "friends" we made. This, however, is not my point (see first sentence).

Still lit when I got dropped off at my apartment, I decided it would be the perfect time to make my debut as a graffiti artist. *shaking head* Grabbing the supplies that I've had ready for a couple months now, I loaded them in my tote and stumbled out the front door. Pumped with a drunken energy, I began texting and or calling my drunken mates to let them know of my foolishness. Not surprisingly, despite their (also) impaired state, they expressed concern at my stumbling alone to my pre-selected target at roughly 3 am. Brendan couldn't take it, I guess, and came back as my get away car and later accomplice.

Parking near my planned target (a target I had staked out for months, btw), we exited the car and proceeded to walk along the darkened sidewalk. I expressed concern that my shirt was white and not the best color for nefarious activity. It was decided I should take my white shirt off to better blend in. I was cognizant enough to realize that my pale skin probably glowed just as brightly in the dark. Still, we plodded along until I dropped to my knees in what I thought was the perfect area. Sliding my latex, hypoallergenic white* gloves over each arm, I pressed the stencil on the sidewalk had at it. It appeared the dark sidewalk, while perfect for camouflaging our activities, was not the best canvas for displaying my work. I knew of a better spot but was worried because it was well lit and potentially had a camera. Despite my moments of clarity, we convinced drunken selves this didn't matter and ended up there anyway.

To end what is now becoming my ode to bumbling criminality, I'll say that (1) smart decisions are not always made while drunk, (2) taking off one's shirt does not make one hide better in the dark, and (3) I need to get better at making stencils because mine failed tragically. All of that comedic effort and all I got were spray painted blobs.

*Really. What kind of nefarious artist do I imagine myself? Sigh.

Why I'm sometimes a bad environmentalist

I bust my ass all day trying to restore the rivers of the world; however, every now and then it hits me how bad of an environmentalist I can be sometimes.

1. I fell asleep during An Inconvenient Truth, even moaning a little.
2. The whole "if it's yellow, let it mellow" thing grosses me out, if it's not my toilet. I'm worried about the whole issue of accidental splash.
3. I listened to a whole powerpoint presentation on why recycling is bad without bothering to refute it (even though I disagreed).
4. I drink a lot of Diet Coke out of plastic bottles.
5. I like bubble baths and sometimes leave the water running when I brush my teeth.
6. I could probably start my own landfill with the amount of post-it notes I use.
7. In addition to post-it notes, I have a proclivity for all sorts of specialty paper products, sometimes wanting to own them "just because."

To do lists

I like lists. I like lists enough that I sometimes include making a list of the lists I need to make on my to do list. Why I like lists is beyond me, since the majority of my lists either go unfinished or never give me the satisfaction of "checking" completed things off.

Today's Personal To-Do List:

-buy groceries (spawning a separate list)
-paint the pool on my train set (*cough* art project)
-buy new comforter
-begin compiling stuff for all of the care packages I need to send
-blog
-take self portrait

Today's Work To-Do List:

-enter the remaining applicant information into the database
-set up site visits for Thursday
-sort and box all of the research and bibliographic data for Berkeley
-financial reporting
-slam my head in a door (see financial reporting)