Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Stats That Shape a Valentine’s Weekend
Floors Peed On: 1
Movies Watched: 2
Win-Loss Record in Varied Competitions Against a Certain Indian Guy I Know: 2-1
When discussing my plans for the weekend (both here and in the Real World™), I totally forgot that my band was playing. Friday, someone at work asked me when my band was playing again, and I was, like, “Um, I think we’re playing this weekend . . . oh shit, wait, tonight!” What is that a sign of?
By the time I arrived to help load up equipment (and just after realizing a song I’d been digging on corporate radio for the past few weeks was Liz Phair, who I’d been dissing for being a huge fuckin’ sellout), everything was done so we had to kill time before heading to the venue. I visited the storage-center men’s room. It was pretty dark outside, and the light inside wasn't working. Rather than pee with the door open, I estimated where I thought the toilet was in the pitch-dark bathroom. And started peeing. On the floor. Without going into too much floor-pissing detail, I eventually found the toilet . . . right about the time I was just finishing up. Ah . . . yes, I’m am just that classy.
Oh, the show we played was opening for a performance / showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Not being a fan myself, I only stayed to see the “virgin” initiations. There was a suck-and-blow game (with spanking as punishment), putting a condom on a plantain (using one's mouth and with one's partner holding the plantain between her legs . . . the guy in this competition made a noble effort), “pin the maxi-pad on the pussy,” and simulating a farmer-provoked sheep orgasm. Really, the fun never stops here.
Saturday was, of course, the Big Day. After the decidedly lopsided candy exchange, I can safely share my card for Michelle. On the front, it reads (paraphrased): “If you’re going to be my Valentine, there is one small thing I need you to do,” and on the inside, it reads, “ME!” When I saw that in the store, I laughed and put it in my basket. And I continued to chuckle to myself as I finished my shopping.
We actually went to the movies to see Lost in Translation, even though we could have bought it for what we paid to see it. (Some of this might have something to do with the remaining gift-card dollars I had at AMC.) After that, it was time to get ready for dinner. To summarize that experience, it was very good. I went with a Seafood and Lemon Linguini ($18), while the missus chose the center-cut filet ($25). The appetizers, drinks, and desserts made it the Most Expensive Meal Ever Eaten™ (incidentally, it was served by the Most Talkative Waitress on Duty™ . . . Mr. Glory Hole said that our dinners would seem cheaper if you thought of it as paying by the word).
The Girls were playing later that evening, and a group of us went to a local dive bar to drink and shoot pool. I won two games of pool against my Indian friend (somewhat competently, but he returned the favor by beating me at disc golf on Sunday). After the Girls’ show, most of us went to another club for Mira’s show (their drummer, Mr. ADD, is sitting in with us). All in all, a long night.
On Sunday, we had a pretentious-eatery brunch, which was surprisingly filling. Lots of running around that day. And then, that evening, we brought all the good feelings to a screeching halt with our viewing of Sylvia; considering the subject matter, we shouldn’t have been shocked that it’d be such a mood-dimmer. But still. (And two movies in one weekend? Yeah, that’s a record.)
This would have been posted yesterday, had our heating oil not run out in our furnace, prompting a very long lunch to assess the situation, call a heating technician, and then call the oil-delivery people when it’s determined that we’d run out of oil. That, and the mean-spirited chess game I was having with some guy who called me a “cunt” (on IM) when I stole his rook away from him; I was going to delight in beating him, as I was ahead, but I ultimately lost. He gloated, and I told him to “eat my ass.” The End.