Hot damn, I am wrecked--completely broken upon the gritty shores of SXSW. People, I have black boogers, which can only mean my lungs are filled with a black sludge. Beside a quick lunch with my out-of-town visitors, and a tiny trip to the grocery store, I have done nothing. Sweet sweet nothing. Or rather, I took a 4-hour nap on my face. It was great. I reacquainted myself with the kittens (I believe they spent the week under the bed in sheer fright of my visiting friends, because you know, they have legs and voices).
It was an amazing week. Lots of good shows, perfect weather, the mountain laurel and wisteria blooming, so many friends whom I haven't seen in years (try 15 plus). I managed to get a sunburn ring on my ankles (damn you socks losing a some of your elasticity throughout the day), and a bit of pink to my shoulders, but nothing like the lobster burns of so many others I saw downtown looking like they should be hospitalized. I saw a lot of 2am, and ate sporadically (did I really wolf down a street sausage slathered in onions while searching drunkenly with my mates for a cab?). My body hates me. I don't blame it.
OMD and The Dead Milkmen made my old heart pitter-patter, but the show that blew me away was my friend's band, The Congregation. I hadn't seen this cat since we graduated college (that's way back in the way back then for those keeping count), and once again, through the miracle of Facebook, we reconnected. Of course I said I would check his band out when I found out they'd be in town (they're from Chicago). But here's the thing, I didn't exactly have low expectations or anything, it's just that I support a lot of friend's bands, because I'm a good friend like that, but I never actually expect them to make my day! I was in a rotten mood yesterday, things were complicated with a friend, and shit just wasn't going well (my allergies had me feeling like someone had cold-cocked me on the back of the head), but oh, there were horns, and deep bluesy soul singing. I found I couldn't help but smile and start grooving a bit (I don't groove, I stand with my arms crossed looking vaguely askance at the crowd). The men were so foxy in their suits, and their lady singer made me purr. I wanted to give them all hugs afterward (since I'm not a creeper, I only hugged my friend). They even gave us condoms! And the guitarist is not only super sexy, he's a physicist (he's married, sadly--erm, uh, happily for him)! Look at me, I'm totally geeking out over my love for this band. If you're in Chicago and they are playing, I will never forgive you if you don't go see them. I'm so serious. I'll punch you in the genitals.
Once I've had some extended rest, I'll attempt to do a better breakdown of my SXSW fun. I also said I would do that for my Boston trip. So, perhaps, I'm just full of lies.
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Tomorrow I have a job interview in a different department. Yes, that means I am actively trying to escape Twit and the Ex-Cops. We'll see how it goes. I spend more time fretting about what to wear than the interview itself. Going for all black with red tights and my fancy black, knee-high boots. All my tats will be covered, but I worry I will look too stylish. Maybe I'll wear my glasses to balance things out a bit. Having experience in HR just makes me even more judgmental and twitchy. Gah.
Thus I should get to bed. No one's going to hire me looking the way I do right now. Nothing says responsible like sleep lines across your face!
Wikus just wrote me, "Good luck with your sleeping, and good luck with your interview. I'm sure you'll do swell. You'll probably get so many points that they'll bring out a Pac-Man machine and have you put your initials into it." That is one good friend.
It was an amazing week. Lots of good shows, perfect weather, the mountain laurel and wisteria blooming, so many friends whom I haven't seen in years (try 15 plus). I managed to get a sunburn ring on my ankles (damn you socks losing a some of your elasticity throughout the day), and a bit of pink to my shoulders, but nothing like the lobster burns of so many others I saw downtown looking like they should be hospitalized. I saw a lot of 2am, and ate sporadically (did I really wolf down a street sausage slathered in onions while searching drunkenly with my mates for a cab?). My body hates me. I don't blame it.
OMD and The Dead Milkmen made my old heart pitter-patter, but the show that blew me away was my friend's band, The Congregation. I hadn't seen this cat since we graduated college (that's way back in the way back then for those keeping count), and once again, through the miracle of Facebook, we reconnected. Of course I said I would check his band out when I found out they'd be in town (they're from Chicago). But here's the thing, I didn't exactly have low expectations or anything, it's just that I support a lot of friend's bands, because I'm a good friend like that, but I never actually expect them to make my day! I was in a rotten mood yesterday, things were complicated with a friend, and shit just wasn't going well (my allergies had me feeling like someone had cold-cocked me on the back of the head), but oh, there were horns, and deep bluesy soul singing. I found I couldn't help but smile and start grooving a bit (I don't groove, I stand with my arms crossed looking vaguely askance at the crowd). The men were so foxy in their suits, and their lady singer made me purr. I wanted to give them all hugs afterward (since I'm not a creeper, I only hugged my friend). They even gave us condoms! And the guitarist is not only super sexy, he's a physicist (he's married, sadly--erm, uh, happily for him)! Look at me, I'm totally geeking out over my love for this band. If you're in Chicago and they are playing, I will never forgive you if you don't go see them. I'm so serious. I'll punch you in the genitals.
Once I've had some extended rest, I'll attempt to do a better breakdown of my SXSW fun. I also said I would do that for my Boston trip. So, perhaps, I'm just full of lies.
_____________________________________________________________
Tomorrow I have a job interview in a different department. Yes, that means I am actively trying to escape Twit and the Ex-Cops. We'll see how it goes. I spend more time fretting about what to wear than the interview itself. Going for all black with red tights and my fancy black, knee-high boots. All my tats will be covered, but I worry I will look too stylish. Maybe I'll wear my glasses to balance things out a bit. Having experience in HR just makes me even more judgmental and twitchy. Gah.
Thus I should get to bed. No one's going to hire me looking the way I do right now. Nothing says responsible like sleep lines across your face!
Wikus just wrote me, "Good luck with your sleeping, and good luck with your interview. I'm sure you'll do swell. You'll probably get so many points that they'll bring out a Pac-Man machine and have you put your initials into it." That is one good friend.
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