Submitted by megan on Mon, 04/17/2006 - 12:32
How is it that an afternoon at work can last for a week, but my three day weekend passes in seconds? This working business fucking sucks. Not that I don't like my job, cause it's pretty sweet. But would I rather be hanging out at home in comfortable pants and no bra? Yes, yes I would.
In a move quite unlike me, I've left all the stuff I needed to get done this weekend until the last day. Not quite the last moment, but it's 12:33 pm and I'm meeting Shelley for tea in 6 hours. With a book review and a website review and my god, the cat hair piling up in the corners to take care of before then.
Friday night was a superfun night. The Hilotrons played at Barrymores and put on a fucking great show. As usual. There were about 250 people there (of whom 172 actually paid, and the rest were a combination of official guest listers and regulars that just get in for free). It fills my heart with pride to look around a crowded room at a bunch of people dancing their asses off to the results of my Beard's hard work and talent. Of course, I'm proud of the rest of the Hilos too, but I'm don't suck their cocks, so it's a different kind of pride.
Especially amazing to think back just a couple years ago, when 50 people out was a good crowd, 45 of them other music types. Scenesters, one might say, if one were feeling slightly ambivalent towards scenes and one's own place in them.
We stayed past close, the lights way down and we hung out with some of the other band people - I got a chance to talk to this woman Natasha (wife of a Flap), who's mid-PhD in Clinical Psych and doing a totally cool study on depression in adolescent girls and their relationships to their fathers. Considering my bouts of depression and fairly strained relationship with my father, I had about a billion questions to ask her. She seemed a little taken aback, probably because 1) at rock shows, girls don't usually get asked what they do. I'm as guilty of this as anyone else. 2) Mental health history is pretty personal information to be spewing out to someone you didn't know existed 5 minutes before your mouth spills the sentences "Oh yeah, I've been through the wringer on that. Were they daddy's girls before they hit puberty too?"
It was the 11th anniversary of the current management at Barrymores, so there was much smashing of glasses and bottles against the stage.
The Beard and I managed to have a decently long talk with this bouncer I've had a crush on for months. Every time I see him, I just want to get his skin between my teeth. I thought he was coupled for a long time, so just put it on the back burner, a funny thing to do for a gal who's coupled herself. But the plain fact of the matter is that poly is not the default, and I don't hold with cheating.
Enter irony. I find out he's playing the field because he starts fooling around with the Beard's roommate. In a weird (entirely Freudian fetish) twist, his availability to the roomie simultaneously makes him available and unavailable to me. Cause the roommate is a certain kind of straight,* and I can only imagine how she'd react to me asking to share her new boy.
Of course, that's working on the assumption that the hot boy wants to be shared.
My jesus. Shared. I'm going to go jerk off now.
* A kind of straight as in considering other alternatives as weird alternatives, not viable options. I'm not going to get into a high school argument about which boy who has dibs on. Not that I don't like her. She's great - very strong and opinionated - I enjoy spending time with her. But I can envision, only too clearly, how the "So that guy you've just started sleeping with..." conversation might go.