goblinbox

In which I have a fairly rotten cold. And a lot of fun, too, but the fun sure ain’t helping my cold any.

Thursday, I was pretty much wrecked at work because I’d decided to party the night before, but it turns out that I’m actually even better at phone-based IT work when I’m exhausted: it makes me talk – and think – more slowly and most customers really respond well to me when I’m half crippled.

The Dog Park and Two Bars

Friday, Bindu and I went to the dog park with our new friends J– and Turbo. Here is a fuzzy picture of Bindu and a couple of random Labs:

I met the cutest two-year-old English bulldog bitch in the entire world. The thing was built like a flat-faced toad, was totally friendly, and had the most hilarious underbite ever. I laughed every time she looked at me.

After that, J– and I went to the pub and had sweet potato fries (after intense deliberation I have decided that I do not like them) and built this awesome fire and talked our faces off and OMFG ARE WE HILARIOUS:

Then we went to the Red Monkey and hung out with Becca and Adam. I took this picture of my drinkin’ buddies shortly after we’d entered the “You are so cool, I fuckin’ love you, man!” phase of our evening:

We went to after hours at J–’s house on Stateline when the bar closed. I slept on the couch; J– slept on the floor because some other dude had passed out in his bed.

Around eleven the next morning I went home and slept in my own bed until I had to get ready for the gig. I coughed for, oh, about three hours straight. Stupid cold. Stupid girl who stays out all night with a cold!

The Gig!

Saturday night was the Mega Jam Blues Slam at the Kennewick Jack*son’s:

There were four bands. The Coyote Kings went on second; I fronted their last 3 songs for them. I had the dance floor COMPLETELY PACKED while I was onstage, and did a little “Lemmie get a hell yeah!” “HELL YEAH!” thing with the audience that really amused me. The crowd was really superlative and the joint was packed. This pic was taken while we performed a cover of Delbert Mcclinton’s Shaky Ground:

I’ve been coughing my face off for a week now, so I’m relieved I only did a few songs; I don’t think the voice would have lasted much longer than that.

Walking around the venue after getting off stage was fun because most of the people in the crowd were blues society members; one entire table actually started clapping when I walked by, and a couple other people just full-on hugged me. I gave out a lot of business cards and decided that I need to buy one of these and get a bunch of old live cassette tape recordings into MP3 format so people can have more free downloads.

There was supposed to be a jam at the end of the evening, but there were two more bands doing sets after ours and most of the Kings just didn’t want to hang out. Since Becca and I had ridden to Kennewick with Rocket and S–, we went with them over to cute little biker bar Dax’s in Richland and listened to a set from the Seattle rockabilly band, Guns n Rosetti. Then we went home because no one – the bass player, the drummer, myself – was really interested in going all the way back over for the jam… I wanted to go, sure, but mainly I was congested and tired and needed to go home to bed since I had to work the next day.

Sundays are mellow.

That next day is today. I’m at work. The volume is really low and frankly I’m wondering if I’m going to get rescheduled or simply laid off or what. Anyway. Behold the office Xmas tree:

I wish I could get sushi for lunch, but I think they’re closed on Sundays.

There’s something deeply satisfying about just getting drunk with people and hanging out; my only regret is that this week’s opportunity to do so coincided with so much snot. Snot, snot, snot. I’m snot-locked.

In other words, I’ve had a lot of fun. But I also have a deep, wracking cough that probably wouldn’t sound like this if I’d not done the drinking/smoking/standing outside in the cold/staying up all night bit. I believe that barring a call from Mick Jagger wanting to party on his Lear jet I’ll just go ahead and take the next week off and act like a mundane: bed rest, herbal tea, dog cuddles, and no staying up all night again until the cough is gone.

In which I totally raged old school style on a school night, yo.

I’ve been fighting a cold. I am quite congested. I should be hydrating and resting, of course. It’s annoying.

Last night after work it seemed like a good idea to go down to the bar on the corner to have a drink and read a little before going home. Well, you know how things go: I started with a cocktail and ended up this morning with my head on a strange king-sized pillow and some random cuddly boy octopussed around me.

Surprise!

Seriously. I totally didn’t see that coming.

And by “morning” you should understand that I mean noon-ish, because I work swing now and don’t have to be to the office until one. Which is, yes, terribly rockstar of me, now that I think about it.

Anyway.

At the bar last night I sat next to the owner; we talked, he bought me a round. I met a dude named J– in a cute corduroy coat and he and I hung out with A–, one of the sushi chefs from Aloha who often makes my roll when I go there for lunch. I ended up with a loan officer’s business card. Somebody bought another round. Hilarity ensued. Eventually A– left, and J– and I hung out with W–, the DJ at whom I yelled “Are you fucking kidding me?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” last weekend when he started spinning Old Time Rock ‘n’ Roll right after Beyoncé or something. (Yeah, he totally remembered me for that.)

Long story short: I ended up at an after-hours party in a Full-On Bachelor Pad (complete with lawn furniture in the living room and boxers all over the bathroom floor). There were beers. I decided not to drive, and the host invited me to sleep in his bed since there was no couch. I only got about five hours of sleep because I kept waking up (there may have been some overheating on my part, and some sleep apnea on his) and while it was technically stupid to party when suffering with a cold, I most decidedly needed the laughing and hilarity and carrying on.

I have new numbers in my cell phone, tentative plans to hang out with some people Friday night, and Bindu and I have a date to go to the dog park this weekend with J– and my new canine friend, his Australian sheppard T–, whom I hope will become Bindu’s new friend. I would say that in spite of feeling exhausted (and having had to call my G’ma this morning like a kid to say, “Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know I stayed at a friend’s house last night and I’m not in a ditch or something”), it was time well spent.

And I totally didn’t get laid, alright? On purpose. Now please excuse me while I take a little disco nap here on my keyboard before my next call.

In which my fucking browser ate my post so I had to write the whole thing all over again! Gah! So NOW this post is totally an exercise in Weird Tense. It’s a good thing I majored in Literature, y’all, or we’d never make it through this.

Yeah, so I’d started out today’s missive with something about this morning’s yoga class and how after only going twice I can touch my toes again, and how I paid for the rest of the sessions to make myself keep going.

And then I told you (again, but you forgave me) that I bought a yoga mat, and that it will be here Tuesday, and you were all happy for me and my yoga class.

Then I said something about how every time I want to write a blog post, all I can think about is stuff I’ve seen online, and how I’m not really doing anything IRL but working and sleeping. And then I cleverly said something about how I should get excited and make things so everyone would know that I know all about the Internet’s meme-of-the-week and I thereby retained my geek cred, which is totally important since obviously that’s all I have.

Then I cleverly segued into something along the lines of how much I love the Internet because it’s so awesomesauce and I was all ‘and here’s a story to prove it,’ and I went on to tell you about how last week someone on Twitter – where my entire social life takes place – linked to these totally fantastic posters some guy had designed for IYA09, and I told you about how I’d left a comment on the post – because hello! did you see those posters?! how could I not comment? – and that that’s what got me an email this week letting me know that the posters were now available for purchase.

Then this morning, Keef (the humanoid who has awesomely been hosting my site for free for about a geological age) hit me up on IM to discuss some server stuff, and I asked him if he’d seen the posters, and he hadn’t, so then I linked him, and then he had, and he allowed as to how wouldn’t they be great screenprints, and I totally agreed, and then it evolved into him emailing the artist to see if he, the artist, was interested in actual honest-to-God screenprinting, not that giclée stuff, which basically means “ink jet” anyway, and the artist said he’d already been asked several times if the posters would be available in that format, and it turns out that Keef totally does screenprinting, and so there you go.

Point being, I didn’t actually get excited and make anything myself, but I know people – online – who totally do that shit all the time.

And I watched CERN’s tweets as they spun up the LHC, and hung out at a live talk about Drake’s Equation at Astronomy.fm (during the moments I was blowing off the Tedious Data Entry Project I’m involved in at work) and so basically, other than going to yoga class and smiling at a bunch of strangers and being reminded yet again of my total and complete lack of muscle strength, I’ve really basically just had my head up the Internet’s arse all day.

Oh, did I mention that I love the Internet?

I did?

In which I give you a preview of the exciting weekend to come!

Work ends in 40 minutes. I’ll be hanging out with K and seeing Becca. There will probably be cocktails.

I have tomorrow off. I will be sleeping. A lot.

Tomorrow night, I’m playing at Woody’s for Dayton Days. It’ll be a good old-fashioned bar gig, and I’m looking forward to it.

Sunday I will be at band practice.

Monday I’ll probably be toning inside wiring for my cousin’s stand-alone DSL.

Twitter’s outages these past couple days are buggin’ me.

In other news, my mother was not killed in yesterday’s tornado.

In which I do a gig I feel good about… and drink WAY too much wine.

Yesterday I came home on my lunch break and took a shower and put on jeans and cute shoes. After work I came home to drop Bindu off and smear on some mascara. By seven I was at the Sapolil Cellars tasting room on Main street. The joint was packed.

The owner hugged me and pointed to my co-worker, KJ, whom I’d invited to come. (He’d been sick earlier in the week so I didn’t think he’d show, but there he was.) I sat with him for a bit and then the gig started. He and I ended up hanging out all night and having a freakin’ blast, going to the sorts of events we wouldn’t normally go to. (As he said later, “I haven’t had this much fun in Walla Walla in years. It’s like we went to another town, man.”)

RB and Cookie played a couple of tunes, then I went up and joined them. We did a good, long set and then took a break. It was early enough that it was still light out. During our second set, we had a keyboardist and a harp player sit in, and people were dancing by the end. We even got called back for an encore. All in all, a good gig. And the cash money at the end didn’t hurt, either. (This band pays me. I love it.)

A., the owner’s daughter (whom I adore because she’s funny as hell), kept pouring me wine so by the time we left the joint around ten I’d probably downed at least an entire bottle if not significantly more. I prudently put my grandmother’s car in the garage and caught a ride with KJ. We followed A. to the Flying Trout tasting room. The wine there was served in beer cups instead of stemware, the crowd was younger, the decor was minimalist industrial basement, and the DJ utterly failed to impress me. I ran around drunk and friendly and probably annoyed the hell out of many innocent (read: less drunk) people.

The truth of wine being that I adore people when I’m wine drunk and love to accost them and talk to them about themselves, but I never shut up long enough for them to do so. Hah! It’s amazing nobody smacked me. Srsly. I had SO much fun!

There was a couple in the crowd dressed in snow suits. The guy had goggles on, and would push them up onto his forehead only when talking. I asked the girl why she’d decided to wear a snowsuit to a tasting room, and she said it just seemed like the thing to do. I met a skater dude in his late 40′s with tons of ink and got him to take his shirt off for me. I scattered two other conversation groups merely by approaching with my mouth running. I saw one of the chicks who works at the Starbucks I go to. I saw A., the chick we’d followed there, once.

After that it gets blurry. I bought some Cheetos at a convenience store at some point, but they were too gross to eat, and I could not now tell you what store it was. At one point I thought I’d lost my wallet but it was easily found in KJ’s car. I didn’t get to bed until the sky was beginning to pale in the east.

The first time I woke up today I didn’t dig it that much, so I went back to bed and didn’t really start my day until six in the evening! I called RB and apologized for not answering when he’d called earlier in the afternoon, checked in with Becca, tried to eat at Rosita’s (closed Sundays) and ended up with a 7-layer burrito and a huge raspberry iced tea. Went to RB’s, listened to a bunch of Wilson Pickett, and discussed our set list for next weekend at the Balloon Stampede. (We’ll be on the Pepsi stage from 5 to 6:30. Come see us.)

Now I’m home and the dogs are sleeping on the rug. I have a couple of episodes of Doctor Who to watch, and several movies to choose from. I think I’m gonna hold the couch down, lest it suddenly decide to float away, and rest up for tomorrow: I have to do laundry and mow the lawn.

In which I get an extra day off to play in a garage.

Saturday I took the day off work so I could do a gig. It was at a private party in a Morton building and it was cold once the sun went down and I schlepped gear and ate nothing but chips and potato salad all freakin’ day, but I still made more money than I would have if I’d spent the day at work. After the gig the drummer took me to the Milton-Freewater Supper Club, which hasn’t been remodeled since 1967 and is all red and retro and tacky and wonderful and I’m totally in love with it.

Sunday Gramma and I had a party basically so there’d be an excuse to make the “real old-fashioned two layer cake with homemade brown sugar frosting” we’ve been talking about for three months. In attendance were two aunts, two uncles, two dogs, two cousins, a second cousin, and two neighbors, and the official excuse was that it was a birthday celebration. The food was good (quiche, tossed salad, a fruit plate, cornbread, and chili) and the cake was awesome. I had a really good time.

I have decided that today will be a big fat movie fest, and I’ve been lying on my bed working my way through an entire spindle of DVDs a co-worker loaned me. It’s fuckin’ sweet.

Now I’m thinking of taking a $20 bill and walking over to Loney’s to buy delicious junk foods. Because I’m not afraid to get deep into the lazy decadence, oh no I ain’t.

In which I stayed up way too late for a school night.

Becca picked me up after work last night. We stopped by her place briefly, then went to Mr. Ed’s for some fries (and to brainstorm about her new career path. That was really the point of getting together).

On our way home, we stopped at Barn Disease. Then we went to the Green to meet a friend of hers. Then we went back to Barn Disease. And then we went to the Blue.

We drank a lot, for a Thursday night. (And I ordered and ate nachos at midnight! Gah! Yesterday was a total wash in terms of calorie restriction, I’ll tell you that.) I made friends with a table of six guys. I saw disgusting images on a guy’s cell phone. I tipped my tender. I laughed. I got home at two.

I did not want to get out of bed this morning.

When I got to work, I got called straight into R’s office for my performance review. (I got a raise!) Performance reviews before coffee are weird.

Tonight I’m supposed to go over to Becca’s; her friend is having a birthday party in the apartment downstairs. I’ll probably go, but right now all I want to do is take a nap.

Mmm, naps.

In other news, I forgot my cell phone at home. I’ve become that person who feels weird without her phone.

In which I should have posted Sunday when the club experience was still fresh in my mind so that I could have amused you with witty anecdotes, but instead I didn’t and now all you get to read is this dribble.

Saturday night, I went with some new friends to a Latin club in the tri-cities. I’d never been to a Latin club before, but I’d totally go again. There were two dance floors – one hip hop and the other salsa – and the bouncers were all appropriately hard-bodied and cute, and it stays open until five in the morning. But the most salient fact is that there’s a freaking taco stand in the lobby. A taco stand! IN THE LOBBY! Brilliant! Because who doesn’t want a fucking taco after drinking and dancing all night?

The only problem was that they only served beef tacos; no beans. So I couldn’t have one. But the idea is still genius.

We were at the club until after four, then we had breakfast at Shari’s. I got home at six in the morning and then I slept half of Sunday.

Monday I went to the gynecologist for my post-op follow up. The doctor stuck half of one hand where they get paid to stick their hands, and with the other pressed down on the outside of my uterus as hard as he could and asked, “Do you feel any pain or tenderness when I do this?”

I scowled at him and said, “Well, uh – ow! Damn! I certainly don’t LIKE IT! And you can STOP that NOW.” The nurse made a little puff of air sound as if she were trying not to laugh, but kept her face neutral. (Actually, my gyno’s a great guy, and I realize that they do that pressing thing to find out if anything’s terribly wrong with internal organs they can’t see. But even if it is for a good reason, it still sucks when they do that. Because, uh, OW.)

Monday afternoon I went to band practice and we practiced. It was practical and boring. (I can’t wait to start gigging!) After that, RB and I hung out and shot the shit for awhile. Then I went home, ate some soup and went to bed.

Today I got up and immediately cooked rajma masala and rice, and then I came to work. I’ve been sitting here on my arse for eight hours now, and am really quite ready to go home now. K? Thx, bai.

In which I go out and meet people. Yay!

Saturday at work? Sucked. I was behind by about 25 calls all morning (until I finally got hold of one of the engineers and got him to remove a faulty TimeBank restriction that was keeping customers nationwide from being able to dial-up), and then in the afternoon I got bitched out by the biggest cunt I’ve ever had to deal with on the phone. I almost wish I could post the recording for you, because I was utterly calm and never once told her to fuck off even though she clearly needed to hear it. I was afraid for a minute that she was going to stroke out.

And yes, dears, there are people still on dial-up. Tragic, I know, but don’t you worry yourselves about it.

At six, RB picked me up in his gi-hugent new band van (it’s so big it seats the entire state of Texas) and then we went out for Mexican food. After that, we went to schmooze at the Crossroads. I ran into a girl I’d met the last time we’d been there and she said I could tag along with her and L., so I stayed when RB left.

After the Crossroads, we hit a small house party for an hour or so and then we went to Barn Disease for dancing. When we walked in the door, the DJ was playing 30-year-old AC/DC… and the dance floor was full. It may have been The Weirdest Thing Evar®. Srsly. Eventually the DJ switched to dance stuff and we all boogied for the last hour or so before last call. The guys from the house party showed up and I spent an hour with one of them discussing how no one else in the world is ever half as funny as your own little brother, who will catch your eye across a crowded room in such a way that you seriously wonder if you’re gonna piss yourself with the laughing.

After last call we went to after hours, which was at the same house we’d already visited, and we stayed all night. I got home at six in the morning. (I also took a substantial nap on the couch. I have no idea how people manage stay up all night just drinking heavily and smoking joints; I need cocaine, or coffee at the very least, sheesh!) At some point I realized that my ride and I were the only chicks there. Later someone’s mom showed up, and then later still a couple showed up, so by five in the morning there were four females in the room. I sang with L. a lot because he had an acoustic guitar with him. The people I met were all really fantastic over all, and – bonus! – were actually in my age group… or what I think of as my age group, even though they were probably all closer to 35 than 40, if I’m honest. I did a lot of very silly stand-up material, and the boys kept bringing it back again, until it got to the point where they’d holler out “radish!” or “Ziplock!” or “You’re the girl..!” and we’d all start laughing.

Needless to say, I slept all day yesterday. It was decadent and awesome.

In other news, The Curse arrived two days early. I’ve spent all day in bed feeling sorry for myself. (I still hate this process, even when I’m trying to be grateful that I’m no longer in danger of a fatal hemorrhage, because it fucking SUCKS.) I even blew off band practice, and I really needed to be there because we have a gig in just a few weeks. Ugh.

In which there very nearly was a happy reunion!

Yesterday I checked my voice mail. I hadn’t checked it since before I’d left because I knew most of it was junk.

There were nine messages, most of them offers for abandoned appointments with my hygenist, one was a call to remind me to pay my surgeon (because apparently I spaced sending him any money this month), and a couple of “call me” messages from RB.

But one was from Slick. (Slick was my best friend in college and I haven’t seen him since 1999 and I luff heem because he’s awesome.)

While walking Bindu around the block this morning, I called him. Guess where he is? HE’S IN DC. If I’d checked my fucking VM in DC I maybe could have SEEN him. How cool would that have been?! Additionally, he informed me that Seany – another friend from the same era, and from whom I once bought a gas stove and a fridge – lives in the very town I was staying in, Silver Spring!

Anyway, Slick’s sending me pics of himself and his wife (whom I’ve never met), so plz scuse me while I go check my email! Whee!

In which I went out and did things like a real girl.

Saturday I slept in until ten, and then took Bindu and walked down town to the final Farmer’s Market of the year. There was a band, lots of veggies, lots of people with dogs, and food. I ordered a tostada-like item from a little Mexican food booth and sat on a bench to eat it and people-watch.

Years ago, when Truck got married, I was a bride’s maid and had to make a floor-length, eggplant-purple, six-panel strappy dress with diaphanous sleeves. I still have the dress because it’s actually kinda cool, and discovered last week that I have a V-necked, 3/4 sleeve length tee that matches it! I’d cut the drapey sleeves off of the dress a few years ago (to wear it to another wedding), so now it’s just a long dress, snug through the bodice and with a spin of well over a yard. With a tee-shirt over it, it’s just a long purple skirt. I was wearing the skirt and tee with a green fleece vest, and had the blue dog on a purple leash with her green rabies tag (we totally matched so awesome) and a photographer followed us for a little way through the crowd. (Everybody loves purple, yo.) Maybe we’ll end up in the paper or something!

I walked past a booth and ended up chatting with two girls who are working toward starting a co-op grocery; they’re looking for investors and shares are only $150. If I should find that I have any ready cash in the next few months, I’ll probably buy a share or two because Walla Walla doesn’t yet have its own trendy, crunchy grocery store: people apparently have to drive to College Place to buy from the Adventists, who are, apparently, a vegetarian or mostly-vegetarian sect. Who knew.

Saturday afternoon I raked leaves out of the yard. I made ten piles of leaves, hauled four of them to the street in a wheelbarrow, and left the remaining ones to be dealt with the next day.

Saturday night my aunt and uncle picked me up and took me with them to the corn maze, which is a privately-run farm that plants a big crazy maze out of maize every year and lets people get lost in it. It’s like a haunted house, with people dressed up in scary costumes jumping out of the corn at you every so often, and a bridge to find and cross and a culvert to find and walk through, and lots of piped-in scary music and herds of squealing people, some of whom are tripping high school students locked arm-in-arm, stumbling and muttering, “Dude, I feel really fucking weird, man.”

It took about an hour to get through the whole maze, and it was really surprisingly fun. The moon was newly full, and there was lots of giggling and squealing from the people in the maze. When we got out, there was a huge crowd waiting to get in. It was like a Halloween Dead show or something.

After we got out of the maze, we all went to ‘the blue,’ aka the Blue Mountain Casino, which is a bar with some dice and card tables in it. We had sandwiches and chatted about local restaurants – apparently the sushi bar is really good – and had a couple of drinks. Afterwards I was dropped at home, where Gramma was watching TV with her dog in her lap.

Sunday Gramma and I raked the piles of leaves onto a plastic tarp and dragged them to the street (the city picks them up). It was a gorgeous, perfect Fall day and the work was nice. The yard looks much nicer now.

Sunday evening Gramma and I made dinner together. I made fettuccine alfredo, she made steak and creamed cabbage, and then we sat to have a nice relaxing meal together. Afterwards, we watched The Amazing Mrs. Pritchard on Masterpiece Theatre.

All in all – despite the poverty and the uterus monster – I had a really wonderful weekend!

In which there will be a little gathering before I leave.

Baby Girl, who is awesome, is throwing me a going-away party. It will be at the little bar on Saturday the 22nd. The official hours are from 7 to 9, but it will probably continue much longer. Please come there and let me hug you goodbye.

Even though September is my birth month and my moving-away month, all I really want are mix CDs from everybody. Send me off with some of your favorite music! Please?

If you read this, you’re invited. You might also receive an evite by email (twice!) or a phone call. Either way, please come see me off on the 22nd!