tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80393178284694004332024-03-23T10:45:01.288-07:00It Was InevitableItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-55660951135652961682009-01-28T19:26:00.000-08:002009-01-28T19:35:45.797-08:00<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Up late having made romesco sauce for Thursday Night Dinner and some really great chickpea dip for "food day." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Are there other offices that have such a thing as "food day?" It has to be sanctioned by management and has to be for a reason and everyone brings in food for lunch. We're having a lunch-time tailgate party for the super bowl. Really, I don't eat food made by other people. I don't know what's in it and I can't possibly know whose idea of "no meat" includes chicken broth or lard. Plus, it's on Friday, the day after TND, and I'll have leftovers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">XO</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">IWI</span><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-54775566073819455322009-01-27T18:53:00.000-08:002009-01-27T19:09:02.121-08:00Let's Cause Some Trouble<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There are just some things I should never do because it reminds me of how angry I am, how angry I've always been and it brings back all the hate and it makes me want to break things, don't worry, my own things, like dishes and glasses and things that will make lots of breaking noises when the shatter.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But enough of that.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">'Cause it's one thing to start it with a positive jam, it's another thing to see it all through.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We'll soon go on to meet the sweetest boy ever, and check out new pics of the cats, and somehow I'll figure out how to link to the OTHER blog - the Thursday Night Dinner blog. You wanna know what we've (we??? who is we???) been cooking up at the 542, right? I'm sure you wanna know where those fancy knives came from and how'd all those pots and pans get here? And, hey, you kill plants on a regular basis, so how's that bay tree so big???</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">XO</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">IWI</span><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-70744869503613193322008-01-14T10:04:00.000-08:002008-01-17T09:26:54.696-08:00I’m not saying we could save you, but we could put in a place where you could save yourself.<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Last Tuesday evening, I went to 63B girls’ night. It has long been a second-Tuesday-of-the-month tradition. It began for many reasons. One reason was so that we could finish conversations that we had started on the bus. There were a handful of us who rode the same express bus in to work and back home every day and we naturally just started having conversations. Of course, since we were on the bus, the conversations were limited to 20-25 minutes and frequently we’d have liked them to be longer. The group became very fluid, including some guys, people who no longer rode the bus, people who live in the neighborhood, friends of bus riders, etc. Throughout the years of this group, we’ve gone to each others’ parties, gone on vacation together, watched each other’s kids, networked, and all the things friends generally do with each other.<br /><br />Back in March, on the working-day after I got laid off, another woman from the bus was laid off as well. We each sent our resume to all of our friends, including the friends from the bus. While sharing job-search strategies, I found out that a few of the bus people had been going out of their way to help her out. Her situation is very different so I can understand how they might be more inclined to help her.<br /><br />However, these people have done absolutely nothing to help me. And, on more than one occasion, they had been in a position where they could help. At one point I asked one of them for specific help and the help he provided was the bare minimum of what he could have done. Even after the other woman has a new job, even after they know my unemployment has run out, even after they know that I’m temping and this job sort of doesn’t even pay the bills, they still can’t be bothered to help at all.<br /><br />This is especially bothersome because a handful of other people have been going out of their way to help me out. Some with job finding, some just by paying for drinks/food when they can or not charging me for sharing a hotel room, and some just by keeping my music library up to date. And by other people I mean old friends, new friends who I've known for less than a year, ex-boyfriends (or whatever) and people from the Hold Steady message boards. I mean really, some of these people don't even know me and they are doing extraordinary things for me. Seriously, the necklace guy has done more for me.<br /><br />So, on Tuesday when I met the bus girls I had to ask how much a Yuengling draft was because I only had $4. They all saw/heard this. Then, they sat around and talked about their promotions and raises and successful businesses. And when it was time to pay, they took my $4. </span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-35978872295078169732008-01-02T12:46:00.000-08:002008-01-07T07:24:28.280-08:00The 80’s almost killed me.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Thank you THS. Back in March, when I met Galen, Tad and Franz for the first time, all I wanted to do was thank them for saving music for me. On that first night, when they invited me to drink with them, there was no way to know just how much they were to change my life, or how much they already had. </span><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">For a very long time, I was pretty down on new music and tired of the old music. Nothing was catching my attention, nothing was making me want to listen, actively listen. I’ve heard a bunch of people say that THS has inspired them to pick up their guitar/drums/band again. Since I’ve never been a music playing kind of person, THS inspired me to like music again. And with that, two THS related people have sent me mixes in the last month or so. Mr. Howard Roberts of Leeds is one of the most amazing and sweetest people I’ve never met. Mr. Franz Nicolay is, of course, keyboards for THS. Bonus: I’m expecting yet another CD from another THS US member (who can, if he wants, just give me the CD when I see him in Tampa).<br /><br />1. Mr. Howard Roberts’ mix cd. The first track is Cherry Lips by the Archie Bronson Outfit. I have no idea what’s on the rest of it because every time I hear this song, I listen over and over and over. Songs shouldn’t be this good. Okay, I DO know what’s on the rest of it and it’s pretty darn good. If you’re lucky, I’ll play it for you some time.<br /><br />2. Mr. Franz Nicolay’s mix cd. Well, it’s not really a cd. It’s his 50 favorite songs of last year, sent via sendspace or whatever that thing is. (Disclaimer: I skipped the Churchill speech and one song wouldn’t load so I only have 48.) With few exceptions, these songs are completely knocking me out. Exceptions equal good songs instead of amazing songs. I’m listening at work and am completely distracted. Shhh, don't tell anyone.<br /><br /><br />Highlights from Franz' mix:<br /><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Give the Anarchist a Cigarette, Chumbawamba<em> (nothing ever burns all by itself, every fire needs a little bit of help)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">I Love Louisa, The Band Wagon <em>(beer goes very good with beer)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Me and My Gin, Dinah Washington <em>(I got juiced last night and took my man to his wife's front door)</em></span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Tickle My Spine, Looker <em>(Reminds me of the Prissteens, who I love(d))</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">These Windows on the World, The Gena Rowlands Band <em>(This is really beautiful and sweet and just a bit strange)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Direct Hit, Art Brut <em>(I adore Art Brut - top of the pops!)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">My Shit’s Fucked Up, Warren Zevon <em>(hysterical - I think that only Warren Zevon can pull this off)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Famous Virgins, Kate Ferencz <em>(I can’t love this song more, I have to listen to it at least twice every time and strangely, it mentions Immanuel Kant and asks Lewis Carroll, “when it’s raining in wonderland, what do you do?”)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole, Martha Wainwright <em>(I think this was my theme song about a month ago)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">To Hell with Good Intentions, McLusky <em>(Reminds me of LCD Soundsystem, but angrier and more rockin')</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Used to Call Me Baby, Split Lip Rayfield <em>(Used to call me baby, now she don’t call at all . . . we played Donkey Kong all the day long)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">All Men are Liars, Nick Lowe <em>(Every so often, I stumble upon a song I'd heard forever ago and never thought I'd hear again, this is one of those)</em>; </span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps Please, Splodgenessabounds <em>(this reminds me of something else, another band and another song, something about buying things in a convenience store)</em>;</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">I Drink, Charles Aznavour <em>(I give you a toast to the wine and the roses, to the deadly cirrhosis)</em></span></li></ul><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">P.S. Thanks, MC, for solving the dilemma of my last post without even knowing you were doing it.</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-7069487109440402212007-12-30T19:04:00.000-08:002007-12-30T19:12:18.561-08:00Separation Sunday<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I fucking hate Sundays. Can someone please come up with a way to make them NOT suck? </span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-90038928071005521302007-12-27T09:09:00.000-08:002007-12-27T09:55:19.442-08:00Girl You Gotta Cover That<span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">One of my random, under-the-table jobs was packing gift baskets for a shop in the strip. I had done it before, during the evenings right before Christmas. It’s all standing and walking and bending and carrying. About two weeks before I started, while perusing the Goodwill in Monroeville, I happened upon a pair of black shoes that looked like they might be good for the job. They were $3 + they fit = they were mine.</span></span><br /><span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Since I wasn’t sure how the “new” shoes would hold up for an entire day, I brought an extra pair with me. Standing for 8+ hours in uncomfortable shoes would suck. I arrived in the strip and found a nearby parking spot on a side street where the meter had been, um, removed. It was a beautiful, clear, cool morning. The Hold Steady had been playing on my IPod when I pulled up, so I figured I could listen to the rest of the song during the 3-block walk. I exited my car, hit play and proceeded up the sidewalk.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">At the end of the block, sort of at an alley, a construction pick-up truck with air compressor in-tow was parked. Nobody was around. A wooden horse was next to the truck at a slight angle. I ignored it. Until started sinking. I took two giant, slow-motioned, panicked steps before the first foot was out of the wet cement. On solid ground I looked around, embarrassed but laughing and completely surprised that still, nobody was around. I sort of stomped a couple of times, like you do to get the snow off your shoes, but it didn’t really work. Back in my car, I tried to wipe off as much wet cement as possible and changed my shoes. (Ha! Knew there was a reason I brought the spare ones!) Thinking that the cement people would probably be back I hid my cement-covered shoes so they wouldn’t know it was me. (Would I find am angry note on my car? Or maybe a smashed window? Or would they just point and laugh when I came back?)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">Around 5-ish when I came back to my car, all the sidewalk corners had been re-cemented, the one by my car twice, and completely covered, wooden horses surrounding and tarp over those, tied in place and held down by bricks. </span></span><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-32852532454486276942007-12-26T07:33:00.000-08:002007-12-26T07:43:57.060-08:00They met as kids he was angry and angsty. She was a damned good dancer. (see #6)<span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><strong><em>Recent good things:</em></strong><br /></span></span><span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"></span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">1. Two Fridays before Christmas I came home from a second interview at Pitt (don’t get excited, I didn’t get the job) around 4:30 and it was already starting to get dark. When I opened my front door, one of those spiral light trees was glowing in my “dining room.” It hadn’t been there when I left.</span></span><br /><span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"><br />2. One of the baristas where I get coffee on Saturday mornings gave me a giant free latte.<br /><br />3. The hott boy at one of my favorite cafes charged me $2 for a pizza and some coffee. Should have been about $10.<br /><br />4. A co-worker from my basket packing temp job bought my yogurt and grape leaves two Saturdays ago and then brought me Greek pastries at work one night.<br /><br />5. I have a new comforter and it is wonderful - 100% cotton cover, wool/silk fill. <br /><br />6. Dinner last Friday. That was good. Depending on how you look at it, it took one year or 16 years.<br /><br /><strong><em>Recent not so good things</em></strong>:<br /><br />1. UPMC temping. I’m in a cubicle and not answering phones, but there really isn’t much to do and I’m bored. Your healthcare dollars at work.<br /><br />2. I’m having a moral dilemma. Should I tell that girl what she’s getting in to? I mean forewarned is forearmed, no? The women have got to stick together, no? But considering that she KNEW we were still together when they started seeing each other, does she deserve a heads up? And will she even belive me?<br /><br />3. We’re looking at spring for another THS tour. So far away.<br /><br />4. My oven bakes so unevenly that about ¼ of my chocolate chip cookies are slightly burnt, but still delicious.<br /><br />5. I really don’t have anything to put here, I just wanted both #6’s to correspond.<br /><br />6. Okra. And being hopeful, but terrified, but unable to stop thinking and making up all kinds of crazy scenarios in my head that make no sense and gearing myself up for a big let-down, mainly because if I prepare for the worst, it won’t suck so badly if/when it happens and if it doesn’t, it will be even better, sort of a surprise.</span></span><br /></span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-39574274075208116902007-10-28T22:35:00.000-07:002007-10-28T22:40:11.134-07:00There were crosses and crushes, crashes and hassles<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">You all have one week. Okay, a little less. If you are planning to disappoint, hurt, betray, anger, or otherwise fuck with me, you have until midnight next Sunday. Tell me now and I’ll just let it go. Otherwise, I will not be so kind. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I just want to get it all over with now.<br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thanks.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">IWI</span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-42040541885800006642007-09-28T12:42:00.000-07:002007-09-28T12:48:54.977-07:00All your favorite movies, they ain't all that funny.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">My favorite movie: Breaking the Waves</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My favorite novel: Love it the Time of Cholera</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />It’s all so beautiful and sweet. It’s lifetimes of <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span>, distilled into 159 minutes or 360+ pages.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />For the past four or so years, I’ve been saying that it can’t get any worse. But it always does.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Okay, as I type this, Armando, cat of my heart, slowly, quietly climbed into my lap.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv4IH3SoH_4Ismt4jc8Ln1wIuK9On-Xu-ElBlNfqZMDls1LFVuZ9usERTP30SxDhudANfWlmcyn1LoiZrDwiQvBzMOxS9syDk7vmVNDtj_E6543l17GV02LcFHupWbtX-MRw_eqhvCwfm/s1600-h/Armando+in+the+Window.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdv4IH3SoH_4Ismt4jc8Ln1wIuK9On-Xu-ElBlNfqZMDls1LFVuZ9usERTP30SxDhudANfWlmcyn1LoiZrDwiQvBzMOxS9syDk7vmVNDtj_E6543l17GV02LcFHupWbtX-MRw_eqhvCwfm/s320/Armando+in+the+Window.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115343679057144338" border="0" /></a>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-455422852277947342007-08-23T07:51:00.000-07:002007-08-23T07:55:31.288-07:00Holly's Inconsolable, Unhinged and Uncontrollable, Part II.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is a 98% chance that M is leaving in three weeks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">That would be on my birthday.</span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-19793853799772553512007-08-21T14:46:00.000-07:002007-08-21T14:55:59.765-07:00Holly's Inconsolable, Unhinged and Uncontrollable.<span style=";font-family:Arial,Helvetica,Geneva;font-size:85%;" >5. My unemployment compensation benefits will run out and I have been unable to get a job. Is there an extension of benefits? </span> <p><span style=";font-family:Arial,Helvetica,Geneva;font-size:85%;" ><i>There is currently no Pennsylvania or federal extension of UC benefits.</i></span></p>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-25216044806471097502007-08-14T08:48:00.000-07:002007-08-14T08:59:55.726-07:00It hurts, but it's worth it.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ooohhh, one of my best moments EVER has been caught on video. About 3/4 through, Galen (bass) pours me some Jameson's FROM THE STAGE.</span></span><br /><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VwZirvyCBbQ"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VwZirvyCBbQ" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-84159121460978250232007-08-12T21:33:00.000-07:002007-08-12T21:40:41.366-07:00She drove it like she stole it.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Short Version:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Saturday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Drive to Toronto with M sleeping most of the way.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Check in to hotel, walk too far to have some tapas on Queen Street.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Sunday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Go to Peach Berserk on Sunday and spend too much money, go record shopping with M.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Have dinner and beer with M and Red. </span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Drink waaaaaayyyy too much.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Monday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sleep in, run some errands, get stressed over tonight’s show.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rock out up front with M, Red and a handful of others.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Drive Tad, Red and B to a great bar in Toronto where I meet a guy from The Constantines who I try to get to marry me to keep me in the country and a really sweet girl who I likewise try to get to marry me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Curse Galen for not coming out.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Chat with Franz.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Run out of Canadian cash.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Tuesday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Drop off M on Queen Street from where he will proceed to the airport on his way to San Fran</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Drive to Montreal with Red.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">QUOTE #1: Obvious American mom to her 8-ish year old daughter: “It’s Canada, they speak French here.” Daughter gives me confused look.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Arrive Montreal and check in, having to carry too many too heavy bags up too many too hot steps.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">QUOTE #2: As hotel attendant tells me where to park: “See that castle over there?”</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cab to the show, meet Red and others.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Chat with Galen.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rock out.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Galen pours me some Jamesons from his bottle on the stage during the break in Hoodrat.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can die peacefully now.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Go with the guys to a bar down the street.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Meet Bobby for the first time.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Try to learn how to speak French, fail miserably, Red gets my ass home somehow.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Wednesday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have no idea how I was functioning.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Check out, the attendant gives me a croissant because I missed breakfast.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Retrieve my car at the castle.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">NO SLEEP ‘TILL BROOKLYN.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nav system fucks up.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Thursday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Roam around Park Slope and eat breakfast for $4, including $1 tip.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Freak out because I call S and he says that the first band is playing and I’m NOT READY.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Furiously get ready and almost run to Prospect Park.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Unbeknownst to me, the guys I’m meeting have purchased the $50 tickets for the front section.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Those guys . . . buy . . . me . . . a . . . ticket and I cry.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We rock the fuck out and meet other board members (so, I’m a dork, shut up).</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Go to O’Connors and hang with new friends and meet up with Tad, Galen and sort of Craig.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Meet the THS lawyer and he asks me to call him “daddy.” (To answer your question, yes.)</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Drink too much and stumble back to MD’s.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Friday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Love to the Natural History Museum for stating the correct age of the planet.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dinner with C&H who demand that I say with them next time I’m in NYC.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Do something that is so secret, I don’t even tell M.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Saturday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hang with more new friends, drink, go to karaoke bar.<br />Have late-night NYC pizza.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Sunday:</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ice Cube and NWA said it best.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I’m home.</span><br /><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-18395184228363561812007-07-26T17:46:00.000-07:002007-07-26T18:25:31.437-07:00We put our mouths up to some dangerous drinks.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, yes, I have a couple of friends who could technically be my kids, if I had been incredibly unlucky in high school.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >Digression: Seriously, I have no idea how I successfully used the most unsuccessful birth control method for so long. Sincere thanks to whomever or whatever was responsible from both my parents and me. Especially from my dad who had a bet with the rest of his family as to which kid would get knocked up – or do the knocking up - first. Funny, the person at the top of the list (me) is one of three who STILL does not have children.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Almost a month ago was P’s 22nd birthday, 7/7/7. Unadvisedly, he decided to have seven shots, seven mixed drinks and seven beers starting somewhere around 11:00 am. That morning I sent him a text advising that he avoid “up” drinks and go for mixed drinks with juice or soda. He did indeed take this advice, as well as a mid-day nap. Later that night, M and I met him, his girlfriend and several other friends of theirs around 10:00 pm at a college bar in Oakland, heretofore referred to as CB, as I do not feel the need to admit to where I spent part of my Saturday night. However, if you really want to know, there will be clues a-plenty, including the fact that it semi-recently changed names and I hadn’t even been to it’s predecessor. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Since I hadn’t had much to eat that day, M and I opted for some O fries, which I haven’t eaten in, oh about 10-15 years. Yes, they were good. Yes, I got cheese. Yes, I’m planning to wait another 10 or so years. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />In one of the O windows there is a poster for some sort of alcohol with a white background and an airy table set with pastel colors surrounded by open windows with curtains flowing in a gentle wind. Yep, the top floor looks just like that.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />At CB, the kid at the door carded me and I asked if he was joking. For some reason, this always bothers M just a little but I do it anyway. The floor is dirty plywood, dirty as only years of spilled beer, puke, cockroaches, piss, grease, cigarettes and spit can make a floor dirty. I guess not so different from, say, the Electric Banana before it became Zarra’s or the Upstage before it became for-rent office space. Where we part ways is that instead of people who would be my friends wearing black boots, these are typical college kids in flip-flops. When I used to go to the Upstage <span style="font-style: italic;">(shut up)</span> and my friends would dare to wear any form of sandal, I would tell them to think about the floor and what may or may not be on it, especially in the bathroom.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />In typical college bar fashion, CB offered up an abysmal selection of beer. To their credit, CB has $1 Yuengling bottles and Guinness drafts. No Guinness in the summer for me, thanks. Give me a dark and stormy night and I’m there, but not on a summer evening with a low temp of 65. It does seem to be a trend now that crappy college bars have 1-2 decent beers on tap, possibly for kids to impress their friends with their stunning taste in beer, possibly for kids to impress their friends with their stunning ability to throw cash around, possibly because it deludes them into thinking that they will now attract a higher class of people.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />To the left of the bar and fastened (stapled?) to the sloping ceiling is a giant drink list of sorts. There are about eight different specialty Bacardi drinks to choose from, each with their own color coding and sexual innuendo name. I am repulsed and it’s gonna get worse. Scanning the room, I see that these color-coded sexual innuendos are served in plastic mini pitchers with a straw. At the end of the bar is a tall, stocky, early 20-something guy wearing khaki shorts, a blue oxford shirt and flip-flops, holding a pipe in one hand and a mini-pitcher of something blue with a straw in the other. (Readers, I cannot make this shit up.)</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />After scanning the bar and finding no decent whiskey or gin, I decide that a black russian might be nice. Both ingredients are available and it should be quick and easy to make. This is seriously an attempt to be nice to the bar staff. M orders a Guinness, I order a black russian with Absolut (no well-liquor, but with Kahlua, the taste of the vodka won’t be noticeable so there is no need to go higher) and we proceed to have a conversation. When the drinks are delivered, he has a Guinness and I have some sort of frothy, creamy thing in a collins glass. </span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Me:</span> Look of shock and horror</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />Pretty Blonde Bartender:</span><span style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me:</span> That’s not what I ordered.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />PBB:</span> What?</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me:</span> I ordered a black Russian.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />PBB:</span> But . . . can’t you just drink that?</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me:</span> NO!</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br />PBB:</span> Why not?</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me:</span> Because it has cream in it.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />PBB:</span> Really?</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me:</span> Really.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br />PBB:</span> What did you want?</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me:</span> A black Russian</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br />PBB:</span> Isn’t that what it is? Pause. Did you want just (mumble that doesn’t sound like “Kahlua”) and . . . (voice trails off on what I think is the word “vodka”)?</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Now there is a five-minute discussion between PBB and the ABB (attractive brunette bartender).</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" ><br /><br />Clarification: For purposes of this blog entry, “pretty” means that she could wear a sundress and have lunch with your mom; “attractive” means that she could wear a low-cut black dress and beat the crap out of your little brother.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />ABB proceeds to angrily grab a glass, fill it with ice, grab a cocktail shaker, pour in Kahlua and, without asking, pour in well-vodka. Now, both PBB and I look on in horror. ABB looks up with a scowl. PBB tells her that I asked for Absolut. Seething, she makes another.</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />For some reason, M feels the need to leave a tip. </span><br /></span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-72477795702424607202007-07-19T13:20:00.000-07:002007-07-19T13:22:58.482-07:00You're pretty good with words but words won't save your life<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Date</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Address</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dear [IWI]:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thank you very much for spending the time to participate in our interview process. We appreciate having the opportunity to meet with you and discus your interest in employment with [Company Name].</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although you possess many of the qualifications we are looking for, we have identified other candidates who we feel are a better match for the position. [Company Name] will retain your resume on file in case our recruiting requirements change.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Please feel free to call our office if you have any questions regarding our decision making process.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sincerely,</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Receptionist</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Date</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Address</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dear [IWI]:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thank you very much for spending almost two hours in our office inputting all of the information from your resume into our system and taking 6 different computer tests: one personality test; one cognitive ability test that we cautioned you would kick you out after six minutes but you finished in about 4; one Excel test, low-ability; one Word test, low-ability; one Windows test, remedial level; one Outlook test to see if you know how to send email. We appreciate you sitting in the conference room with the phone ringing and our very nice but ill-dressed and barely skilled receptionist fumbling through explaining her job (the job that you would be doing when we promote her) to you. We are sorry that we did not note, at any time, that the job includes reception duties. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although you possess many of the qualifications we are looking for, we realize now that we should have better read your resume and that in doing so, we would have then known exactly how completely and utterly overqualified you are for this position. We are sorry for not posting any information in our newspaper advertisement, as having done so would have saved both of us time and energy. We have identified other candidates who we feel are a better match for the position, as they seem to have no problem answering phones and making coffee. Also, they do not feel the need to edit the reports produced by the “professionals.” [Company Name] will retain your resume for further consideration, should we have a position that would better suit your skills.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sincerely,</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m still a receptionist until I find a suitable replacement.</span><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-28273762569016288892007-07-13T13:24:00.000-07:002007-07-13T13:58:44.054-07:00Saint Barbara I'm calling your name.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Please - cross your fingers, pray or do whatever it is you do. I just had an interview for a job that wasn't yet posted at one of my favorite places in Pittsburgh. My friend S send me an ad for position A for which I sent my cover letter and resume. They contacted me within 24 hours (!!!) and offered an interview for position B - a position that I really would love to have. It seemed to go very well and I'm hoping that everyone else thought so as well. Of course I thought of a million things to ask . . . on my way home.</span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-11743522191298265342007-07-10T14:46:00.000-07:002007-07-10T14:53:09.745-07:00I think you got something in those cigarettes.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">AKA, the placement agency blues.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">In addition to a resume, placement agencies (and sometimes companies) make you fill out forms with almost the exact same information on them, but in tiny spaces and handwritten (read: messy) instead of typed. (Suggestion: why not have a form for people without resumes to fill out and one for people with resumes that includes only the few extra questions?) Invariably, there are inappropriate questions on these forms. During my most recent trip to a placement agency (Monday), I was given a two-sided half sheet of yellow cardstock to fill out. After the first three inappropriate questions, I began to take notes. The following is the resulting list:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">1. Birth Date</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">2. Height</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">3. Weight</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">4. Home: Rent or Own</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">5. Have Auto (this didn’t bother me but the second part did) Type and Year</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">6. Smoker: Yes or No</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">7. Family: Spouse’s Name, Children’s Names and Ages</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I could write 10 pages about why these are wrong. But I won’t because you’ll just be bored and stop reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then comes the interview. Mine was interrupted twice, and each time I had to go back to the waiting area and wait. The office is full of sections like large alcoves each with four oversized desks pushed together so there is no privacy whatsoever. Everyone around can hear everyone else, including the interviewees. If this agency hadn’t placed me in a great job years ago, I would have walked out.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then they made me take FOUR tests. At least I could do them from home. Or so I thought. The typing test (yes, I said it) was accessible, but of course I got a lower score than I wanted. Maybe that was because I was sitting on my bed with my laptop on my lap. Not in the most desirable typing position, but I haven’t moved things back into the other room (with a “desk” and chairs) because the ceiling has yet to be finished. Why I felt competitive about a typing test, I’ll never know. My advice to most people is to never let anyone know you can type. It’s true. Don’t.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The other three (Word, Excel and PowerPoint) were not accessible BECAUSE I HAVE A MAC. When I called to tell them, I had to explain it because they didn’t know. They then had me make an appointment to come in and take the tests there. Damn, I’d have to go back downtown in the middle of the day, this time taking the bus ($1.75 each way) instead of paying $11 to park. (Note: Regardless of footwear and proximity to destination, do not park in the Kaufmann’s/Macy’s garage during the day, choose the PPG or the Blvd. of the Allies garage.) I then remembered that H sometimes works from home and has a PC. So I called and walked over to her place to take the other three tests.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Woe to me for not reviewing the “tutorials.” Apparently, the system waned me to do things their way, not necessarily my way. So I lost points because I think differently than the testers. Actually, I’m glad for that. Not so sure I want to think like the test makers. But I’m guessing that if I had reviewed the tutorials, they might have told me how I was supposed to answer. Wow, I'm acting like I care and believe that they will come up with a job that I might actually want.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next post: my Saturday night with the early 20-somethings.</span><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-21320599248083773892007-07-03T15:14:00.000-07:002007-07-03T15:45:10.509-07:00I'm gonna have to go with whoever's gonna get me the highest<span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:85%;" >On hold for the placement agency woman and therefore listening to “Smooth” by whatever that mid-90s band was and that Santana guy. I know that she doesn’t want to deal with me and my resume chock full of random experience and my salary requirements and the half hour that we’ll have to spend talking with each other. I have too much experience for anyone to take a chance on hiring me as an admin<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Digression re: hiring an overqualified admin</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">1. I really will leave for a better offer, unfortunately, that is extremely unlikely. Note current job search.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2. I have too many skills to let them push me around like I’m 18 and scared with a GED and associates degree from secretarial school.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">3. What company wants to “work” to keep admin/keep admin happy? We are expendable.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">4. Nobody REALLY cares if we’re good or not. As a matter of fact, they really want us to be “skilled” (aka know our way around Microsoft Office and answer the damn phone) but stupid (no asking questions or noticing inequities).</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">5. An admin with a B.A. does not want to make your fucking coffee.</span><br /><br />and not enough for anyone to take the chance of hiring me for something more. We both know that this is a waste of our time, but it’s our job to go through the motions.<br /><br />On a lighter note, Armando is about a foot away from me and twitching as he dreams in the late afternoon sun.<br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-37233207236752733832007-06-29T13:13:00.000-07:002007-06-29T14:21:15.129-07:00I Just Lied<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I just received an email stating that my cousin is now state-side and on his way home - not sure for how long though. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />In other news, there are more rumors of an Al Gore presidential run. Oh please, oh please, oh please.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Hydroplaning 101:</span> It feels really weird and you know immediately. You can actually feel your car floating and it feels almost exactly like it does when you're on a raft and a wave takes you in the wrong direction. Except that you're frightened that there is going to be a big crash and your just-paid-off car will be smashed to bits either by another car hitting it or by it hitting the very high curb, instead of being terrified that you'll be swept out to sea and be eaten by a shark. The odd parts about it is that there was so little water on the road yesterday and I wasn't traveling very fast. Probably a bit too fast for the bend, but nothing too extreme.</span> <br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6aib4cGN9q2emvBAg9mBjkV-QrefihXSqZFJp_lRGMBmhDlHC9EEeOTZGFRPUcwuEoVGmNp8N7t3FLEBpHQOGTjSin-ld5DNDQsAq-ppdEdii5iHmnZbXupu79c-uOl2Vwbs-BBBiPKO/s1600-h/PubQuizWin.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6aib4cGN9q2emvBAg9mBjkV-QrefihXSqZFJp_lRGMBmhDlHC9EEeOTZGFRPUcwuEoVGmNp8N7t3FLEBpHQOGTjSin-ld5DNDQsAq-ppdEdii5iHmnZbXupu79c-uOl2Vwbs-BBBiPKO/s200/PubQuizWin.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081598157441018722" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">And this is the pic I should have posted yesterday. Proof of the big win, if you will. Of course I did not have the presence of mind to take the picture. Thanks "SJ."<br /></span></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-9994445912233977332007-06-28T11:57:00.000-07:002007-06-28T12:17:39.391-07:00Pub Quiz<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Our team finally won <a href="http://www.myspace.com/brilloboxevents">Brillobox Pub Quiz</a>. M thinks I'm bragging, but I'm really just excited. It's not like I'm going around saying that we have the best team ever and that we'll win e</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">very Pub Quiz from here on out, it's more like we always come in 6th or 4th and we finally made it. Actually, we thought we'd be tied for 2nd or 3rd an</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">d have to arm wrestle.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And while I'm at it, a few weeks ago, I got a package from Hawaii labeled blackmail material. It contained a data cd with many embarrassing pics of me including this one </span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-R1SpPMAbgEDv9EOmBzHVm-gRIg68E4l7xaqaYIIlsem_1KCs-qFvphxDRINjo5v3Nz2NIrhPTErKWIBt00Fe4XLhmz9YgWvFtby-vu5pkTkrI8FCYXhcyAYWU_hVZumHUlVh7Ld8dzKC/s1600-h/Me+as+Cash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-R1SpPMAbgEDv9EOmBzHVm-gRIg68E4l7xaqaYIIlsem_1KCs-qFvphxDRINjo5v3Nz2NIrhPTErKWIBt00Fe4XLhmz9YgWvFtby-vu5pkTkrI8FCYXhcyAYWU_hVZumHUlVh7Ld8dzKC/s200/Me+as+Cash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081195933753748306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">(not embarrassing) that I like to call "Me as Cash" </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">and a dvd of me hosting a fake game show for my cousin who is somewhere in the Middle East. It's hysterically funny . . . if you were there.</span> </span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-46679989782013809622007-06-27T16:26:00.000-07:002007-06-27T16:33:03.667-07:00Redacted and Extremely Late<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yeah, this was supposed to be posted forever ago. If you want the un-redacted version, take me out for some drinks.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Saturday afternoon, and it’s getting later and I’m feeling sorry for myself and sitting on my bed watching “Notting Hill” (yep, you know it’s low when I descend like this). I’m under the impression that the show starts at 8. It’s after 4:30 and I’ll miss the end of the movie. Springing to action, I decide on an outfit. It consists of a black cherry print skirt, white button down shirt and red tie – black cardigan stashed in my bag for the evening chill. Departure time 5:20. I wait until I’m on the highway to start listening on my iPod. No, I don’t. I start it up waiting at the light on Braddock before the 376 on ramp. “We’re gonna start it with a positive jam.” Already I’m reeling. Somewhere around Somerset, over 75mph, I pass a cop with his radar gun out and am spared. Shortly thereafter I come upon a convoy of small white Comcast trucks, about 15-20, sporting Michigan license plates, traveling at a good clip, with two pacers out in front. They weave through cars looking like the Centipede video game from the 80s. They exit at Breezewood and I’m on my own again. Four tunnels and three rainbows later, Harrisburg is up ahead and my speedometer shows my anticipation. By now, I’ve heard all three Hold Steady albums and Neko Case’s Fox Confessor is about half way over. The toll taker decides to have a conversation with me and I tell him about the three rainbows. He says that it means I’m lucky today. We’ll see shortly.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />The directions from Google work. I did not follow a closed road to starve to death in a forest. The but Mapquest’s time is a little off for me, it’s not quite 8:00pm. The Abbey Bar is only a short distance from the turnpike but seems to have been the scene of some sort of festival, with a giant, empty white tent in the corner lot. Sorry if you’re into that kind of thing, but I really don’t dig it and it’s a little disappointing to think that the show will be full of those all-day-music-fest types. The first lot is full so I pull around to a second lot and ask some people in the parking lot drinking energy drinks and wearing those floppy army-green hats with the string under the chin, if it’s cool to park there for the bar. Yes. We chat. I tell them that I just drove in from Pittsburgh. “Right now?” they ask. “Yes, right now.” They want to know why and if it’s worth it. Worth every cent and every second. The downstairs restaurant people are nice and show me where to go, the guys at the door upstairs card me. Briefly I think that if I’ve driven all the way from Pittsburgh and don’t have my id and don’t get in to the show and for fuck sake I’m too old for this. It’s there and entrance is granted. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Scoping out the venue, the side of the stage is in front of me and I turn left into the room; merch table to my left and after that about 4-5 in-use pool tables; dance floor area on the right and a very long bar with some tall tables across from it. It’s big, college-y and wood-y. The place is full but not crowded and about half of the people look like they’ve been drinking there for some time. The bar seems to serve it’s own beer on tap and a decent selection of micro-brews in bottles and the ever-present Amstel Light. What is it with that crap? Just drink some water and take a Sudafed. The “upper shelf” liquors are displayed in small cabinets. There are no stools or chairs and everyone is drinking from plastic cups. I despise plastic cups.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />At the end of the bar I’m approached with “Oh my god, I love your outfit!!” She’s a short, slightly stocky blonde haired woman whose last name is Channel. She decides that I must need a beer after the drive and buys me one. (Her husband works for the Attorney General next door, they have a weekend house outside of Philly, and she usually dresses a lot like me!!!!!!! Instead of the jeans and t-shirt she has on tonight. Apparently, her husband does not speak.) The brewery’s wheat beer is pretty good, but needs the lemon. This should be the perfect opportunity to eat something, but I’m too keyed up to even think about food. I also meet a guy named Josh or Justin or something. He’s from Reading and he introduces me to his friends and people he’s met at the bar. He then informs me that THS isn’t going on until 11:00. Then it’s all vague about glassmaking and living in the country and satellite dishes and them going to the parking lot to get high.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />None of the conversation is keeping my attention. I turn away. I look up. It’s Galen walking toward me. Time stops. He walks over, puts his arm around me and says, “It’s good to see you darling.” We chat for a bit and he runs off to get something to eat. At least someone can eat. Maybe I should have mentioned that I hadn’t eaten either and maybe he would have invited me to eat with him and the guys. Probably not. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Some guy walks by me and my new “friends” wearing a black, white and red striped tie. We assessed each other’s taste. (Secretly, his tie was MUCH nicer than mine, I was envious and wondered if I could take him, or actually if I could figure out how to get the tie from him. Nah.) He told me that he was wearing it because he’s in the next band and something about looking good on stage. Now, I had been telling this J-something guy (who at one point in the evening put.his.arm.around.me – un-fucking-believable – at what point did I indicate that it was okay to touch me? Or that I was even the least bit interested?) that I was completely not into seeing the other band. He was surprised at how nice I had been to the tie-band-guy, almost accusing me of lying to him about the prospect of me enjoying his music. Hey, you never know, the band might . . . actually . . . be . . . good. But they weren’t.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Later I wander to the merch table and buy the “Live at Fingertips” cd and give the merch guy a LUPEC card. (Foreshadowing because I’ve waited so long to actually post this so I can: I assume that the merch guy is a random bar employee for no reason whatsoever.) Oh, and there’s Galen again, so of course I talk to him a bit more, insisting that he owes me a drink. You see, we had a bet in Pittsburgh, that he was not older then me. I lost and had to buy him a drink. I figure that, well, this is just my “in.” He agrees and says that he’ll see me after the show. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Finally the band with the tie guy is over, THS is getting ready to come out on stage and I’m working my way up front. Since I was Tad-side last time, I go for Franz-side. I can’t quite get to the stage, but I’m about 1-2 people back. I meet a group of kids from State College. They are just behind me and totally psyched and into THS. This is their second show, they saw them in State College (sigh, I should have been there too). Typically, I’d come to a show prepared to be here – pockets, friends with pockets, or somewhere safe to stash my bag, but in Harrisburg, I’m out. I had considered taking it out to my car and just bringing in my keys and id, but found out that there was a giant line to get in, as the bar was at capacity. Not – taking – that – chance. So I stow it on a ledge behind a poker machine. Luckily, it goes unnoticed and unmolested all night, and the State College guys even keep an eye on it for me when I’m otherwise occupied with dancing, jumping, screaming, singing, sweating and etc.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Positive Jam; The Swish; Stuck Between Stations; Hot Soft Light (I think this is when the band slowed down a bit and I had some guy help me tie my shoe that had become united during the insanity. I tapped a few people around me and asked the guy to help me out and nicely put my foot in his hand so I could tie my shoe. He was exceedingly nice and I was grateful – THANKS to you cool guy!); Massive Nights; Party Pit; Milkcrate Mosh; Chips Ahoy; Multitude of Casualties; (the setlist says Barfruit Blues but they did not play it) You Gotta Dance; Your Little Hoodrat Friend; Southtown Girls – encore – Citrus; First Night; Stevie Nix; Killer Parties + stage invasion.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />I think this was a rather mellow set. Maybe that’s because when I saw them in Pgh, their set rocked out a lot more. Nonetheless, the crowd was almost too much. They were rowdy, they were drunk, it was some sort of all day $2.00 draft drinking festival. I try to sort of make friends with the people around me in any sort of “pit” situation. That way they sort of look out for you, make sure you don’t get too hurt, etc. USUALLY. Now, I'm an old punk rock girl from way back and I've been to my fair share of all-ages hardcore matinée shows, but at "real" punk rock shows people are always respectful. There were a couple of guys though who were just too violent – seemed like typical jock types having drunk too much, and doing what that thought they were supposed to do in a “pit.” Some guy who pushed his way in front of me on my right in a gray hoodie was just an ass. On more than one occasion I asked him to be careful because there were two smaller girls behind him (who I happened to have run into in the ladies room) and he just gave me attitude. Sorry to say, I was really kind of rough with him - my elbow in his kidneys more than once - but he was acting like an idiot and hurting people. At one point I started pushing him very roughly and I think the people around me thought there might be an actual fight. Sadly, he never got the hint and made things difficult for everyone surrounding him. Even worse, he'll be all proud of his bruises the next week, bragging, mostly to himself, about how cool it/he was in the "pit."</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Wow, it seems like I didn’t have an utterly fantastic time. But I did, I did! I refuse to let stupid people ruin my good time with THS!</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />After the show I immediately looked for the kids from State College and asked them how they liked it. They were overjoyed – it was even better than they had hoped. I thanked them for keeping an eye on my bag and wished them a safe trip home and good luck in their future endeavors. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />At the bar, waiting for my cup of water, I found out why we were provided only plastic cups. Apparently there have been many fights upstairs and the bartenders take this very seriously. Cute little drunk girl on my left is complaining about not getting a glass and the guy on her left hands her one. “Take it, take it!” I sort of whisper loudly to her. Alas, the bartender spies us and demands the glass. Bar fights happen so they ban glasses but beer bottles are okay. Whatever. While waiting even longer for my water, another girl comes up behind me and puts her hand on my back. I tell her that she might not want to do that, as I am covered in sweat, mostly mine, but not all. Hah! She’s covered in sweat too! We strike up a conversation. Her name is Liz and I invite myself to sleep on her couch. She is into it and wants to meet the guys if possible. We loose each other. Still, I don’t worry at all about where I’m going to stay, which is very unlike me.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Galen appears and we have some Jamesons and talk about David Bowie, Freddie Mercury and Ira Glass, not in that order. We have another Jamesons, other people come around and I do my own LUPEC networking. Liz returns, she has a feminist book club in Harrisburg (who knew?!) and she and her friends are digging the idea of LUPEC. Galen signs my “Live at” CD (under duress) and disappears. Tad notices me from half way down the bar and comes over to give me a hug. Yay! They really DO like me!! I forget to ask him to likewise sign my CD. Franz comes over and I ask him to tell us the Cindy Lauper story he had started in Pittsburgh. (He was asked to play with the Dresden Dolls in her new tour thing.) Again, the last thing I’m thinking about is asking someone to sign something, the next to last thing I’m thinking about is taking a picture.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Muddled memories (okay, some things that are bouncing around in my head but are embarrassing me at this point) and more Jamesons later, Galen is in my car and we’re following Liz to her place. We hang out on her giant couch and drink Smithwicks until about 4:30am when Liz drives Galen back to the hotel while I sleep on her couch. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />I wake up around 8:00, covered in cat hair (observation, not complaint), and Liz gives me directions to get to the highway. Before departing, I grab some Starbucks coffee in a can (it’s not too bad, will do the trick, and more importantly, was free) and some bottled water from my trunk. Yes, I keep both of these things in there all the time. I stop for gas at one of the sketchiest looking gas stations I’ve ever seen and opt for $10 and filling up at the next not-so-scary looking place I see. As I’m merging onto the highway, I see the Shearaton where the guys are staying and, knowing they are getting ready to leave for Cleveland, shoot Galen a text. He replies. My Ipod shuffles up Nina Simone singing “I Put a Spell on You.” Yes, THS, yes you did.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br />Winding home through mountains and hills and tunnels with Tom Waits, more Nina Simone, Lucinda Williams, Martina Topley Bird and the Magnetic Fields, I watch the break lights in front of me and the headlights coming toward me. </span><br /><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-30771943075279977172007-05-29T16:32:00.000-07:002007-05-29T16:53:20.271-07:00Tomorrow<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow morning. I absolutely love Los Angeles, this will be my third time there. I arrive tomorrow afternoon, we ("we" being me and TW who is putting me up for about a week) have tickets for The Hold Steady on Thursday at the El Ray. I'm excited but with a bit of trepidation, being aware that I'll be in a very different city and things might not be the same or what I'll expect. We're driving to Vegas to see them on Sunday too - that's a free show. Again, excited but cautious. I've emailed the guys and hopefully they'll be available before or after either show for a visit . . . and some whiskey.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Luckily, I found an incredible deal on the flights (SouthWest during the week) and a pretty great one on a rental car (enterprise is surprisingly cheap). Gah, I'm sooo worried that I'll forget something. Something important. Like my cell phone charger or my license.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />A few days ago, I contacted The Art of Bleeding (you might remember my valentine to you all made by them) who, unfortunately, aren't doing anything right now, but they recommended CIA as a venue for some interesting things. Maybe. I'm very specific about what kind of weirdness I dig.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">There should have been a giant blog post about my trip to Harrisburg to see THS. It got really, really, really long. I need to edit. Maybe I'll make it into some sort of poem. Hah! Probably not, but it does need to be much shorter. I know you all love me, but not enough to read 4 pages of my insanity regarding THS. </span><br /></span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-46089861474049230692007-05-11T17:25:00.000-07:002007-05-11T17:32:59.121-07:00Who says an ant can't . . . freak us both out?<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Today I figured out a relatively quick way to get from the West End to home during rush hour traffic. It may have just been a minimal traffic day, but even with some extra traffic, waiting through an extra light or two, it would be much quicker than the ways I’ve tried before now. I’ll never understand how 376E is still the fastest way in but not out. Never.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Upon arriving home, I see my neighbor’s mother leaving her place and after a few greetings, she tells me that there were ants in the house today. We discussed non-hazardous chemical ways to keep ants out of the house (cucumber peels, water on the other side of the porch – if you have any others, please let me know) and I went inside and didn’t really think about it.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">After checking my email, reading my myspace message from K,<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >Digression:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >This led me to stumble upon the page of an ex, which I wouldn’t have sought out, but it just happened. He commented on another page and said something about hi</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >s wife, and me being the kind of person I am, thought, “Great, I’m glad he’s happy” and promptly went to check things out. I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of racist pile of shit – from what I remember hearing about him after we had been broken up for years and the feel of his page and his wife’s page. Nothing comes right out and says it, but it’s the impression the pages give. Unfortunately, they have reproduced.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >Further Digression:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >Sometimes, I don’t want to be right. Not wanting to type unfounded horrible things about someone, I checked it out. There are no pictures of him on the site (pics of him are on her site and I wouldn’t recognize him if he were standing in front of me), but there are five images, one of which has words and . . . are those swastikas? . . . yes. So I searched for the quote and sure enough, it’s some white power bullshit. I found it on the website of some fuck wad. With a book and a law practice. He talks about the masses of unemployed white people being rightly angry at lesser-skilled non-whites taking “their” jobs and therefore being able to live better than them. “Most of them [whites who can be persuaded] already have had their trigger event [life-affecting incident] by virtue of being unemployed while those less deserving continue to earn an income - and, after all, they no longer need fear losing their jobs for expressing politically-incorrect points of view.” There are few people less deserving to be earning a paycheck than this fucker. Okay, so now I’m pissed off that this grossly ign</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >orant, sorry excuse for a man has a better job than I do and is making more money than I am. Can we please rise up against this shit? Thanks.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />and completing various other chores, I finally made it to the kitchen to give the kittens their daily tuna. There are a total of four bowls in the kitchen, two each of water and kibble one set near the door, the other on the other side of the kitchen door. There was a line of ants from the door to the nearest kibble bowl where they were SWARMING. The ants were also in the water bowl and had formed another line across the threshold and into the other two bowls. Luckily there were very few elsewhere. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Rm5pEgWx6NvikLGG2ZjjIfEjEpbEMeV7axcmStE288VT2Fm21PHHbB9x-082x4_JYEikmwUA3YuAaH9O0ck6BX9oDoGwjDOydZaA__uhMPM3sjI8-ckPUwaD6mmFEMRTdQI468AIAa_F/s1600-h/A+%26+As.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Rm5pEgWx6NvikLGG2ZjjIfEjEpbEMeV7axcmStE288VT2Fm21PHHbB9x-082x4_JYEikmwUA3YuAaH9O0ck6BX9oDoGwjDOydZaA__uhMPM3sjI8-ckPUwaD6mmFEMRTdQI468AIAa_F/s200/A+%26+As.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063464355012050370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Yes, shut up, I’m afraid of bugs. Yes, even ants. Shut up. I was completely freaked out, but luckily was able to think clearly enough</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> to distract the cats with their tuna first and then set about destroying our uninvited guests. As I’m getting the tuna together, Armando notices the ants (Mr. oblivious must not have seen them before) and is both fascinated and about as freaked out as I am, becoming very jumpy and agitated. </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">So much so that he could not enjoy his tuna. No, really. He kind of hung out in the dining room not eating until the ordeal was over. Meaning that I sprayed everything down with Lysol multi-purpose cleaner, took the rugs outside and shook them out and then put them in the washing machine, and completely cleaned and properly refilled all bowls. </span> </span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-12732199992625587732007-05-08T15:46:00.000-07:002007-05-08T15:52:33.545-07:00MooZoom<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">As you all know, I’ve been helping out an art gallery in the West End. You may have inferred that to get there I have to drive (or transfer busses downtown which I may figure out if I do this much longer). In traffic. I haven’t driven to work in traffic in YEARS and it’s all coming back to me now. Please, if you’re out there and you drive to work while having remotely convenient bus service, tell me for the love of god why!</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />Arrival time is 8:30/9:00am and for the first few days, traffic has been a breeze on the way in. About 10-15 minutes this side of the Squirrel Hill tunnel and about 15 more after. Although sometimes people are just mean and I don’t get it, because we’re all in this together and with just a little cooperation, it can be a bit better, no? This morning there was an accident at the 2nd Ave off-ramp. When I passed the two people out of their slightly dented vehicles I wanted to stop and tell them to look at the mess they caused. LOOK! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID! You have fucked up the morning of all of these people, possibly gotten someone fired for being late, probably a few were reprimanded (or “written up” which is apparently some sort of regionalism), someone may have been late for an exam that they can’t make up, or late to a meeting that will cost them . . . I don’t know, whatever being late to a meeting can cost, I’v</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">e never been in that kind of meeting. </span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrcdgVmATtA20lfzNo-UV60n4ch-pcFZqZcgI1p4-pkNlfC1nlf7uxBe2-FIqjtxBPApGbOlXve0qFwzHnaTOOXZ1WV2rMXRPO5LUVKJGQrtr5u1KowO24zAWVKWm3C6fng5ixiWoNV2W/s1600-h/Red1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrcdgVmATtA20lfzNo-UV60n4ch-pcFZqZcgI1p4-pkNlfC1nlf7uxBe2-FIqjtxBPApGbOlXve0qFwzHnaTOOXZ1WV2rMXRPO5LUVKJGQrtr5u1KowO24zAWVKWm3C6fng5ixiWoNV2W/s200/Red1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062325308210314674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">But that’s the easy part. Coming home is a nightmare. I’ll not belabor the point. Something good did come out of today’s drive home though. Red was extremely excited to be in traffic next to the MooZoom. Yes, that’s Red. Named Red because he’s tall . . . like a redwood. (Name the movie and win a prize, maybe.) And that's the MooZoom, as indicated by the license plate and the fact that it's a white care covered in cow spots.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />So, I get home and start the cat-tuna-feeding-process. They are circling, maowing, demanding. I’m mixing up tuna – because they don't like it in chunks – and the container in which I am mixing slips from my hands, landing sideways on the floor, scattering bits of tuna. Now, if these were normal cats, they’d be all over it. Oh, no. Ebi scrambles to the other room, terrified of the sudden tuna movement. Armando is oblivious and when the tuna is pointed out to him, he snubs it, waiting instead for his tuna on his special plate, like an autistic kid.<br /><br />Gah, I need a drink. And not a moment too soon - it's 63B girls night. They've not made me sit at a different table because I'm not on the bus any more. Which is nice. </span> </span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8039317828469400433.post-23383730706713960122007-05-07T20:10:00.000-07:002007-05-07T20:17:17.468-07:00Me and My Hat - blog from Sunday<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Migraines suck. Brunch at the Quiet Storm helped (aaahhh, Migas, how do I love thee?) but after digestion, the headache is back and this time it means business. The accompanying nausea is my favorite part. I may just take a half of a muscle relaxant (yep, I’m a light-weight) and sleep. Unfortunately, that won’t help with the possible dehydration aspect of the situation.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />This may be what I get for drinking non-top-shelf bourbon last night at the Kelly’s Kentucky Derby party. I got that hat from my friend DR. When he was moving to Denver he called and asked me if I wanted a bunch</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie1IHU5ILAaqiK391S0RCwPOsWNjqAaSO7msphq-GtODq4GURYjBoGwb9C2_zGZAAFkowrZuL5GA3RJFGXWyDMa6BpvDoQky5hoT_WTBksqSgxLxyNYmREzp_AlYpvPYWo0ZQkUlvqkhS4/s1600-h/Me+and+my+hat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie1IHU5ILAaqiK391S0RCwPOsWNjqAaSO7msphq-GtODq4GURYjBoGwb9C2_zGZAAFkowrZuL5GA3RJFGXWyDMa6BpvDoQky5hoT_WTBksqSgxLxyNYmREzp_AlYpvPYWo0ZQkUlvqkhS4/s200/Me+and+my+hat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062023225980517794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> of hats. They had belonged to his ex who never took them with her when they broke up. From what I gather, when that particular group of friends would go out and drink, sometimes they’d come back to DR’s place for “after-hours,” drink more and everyone would get a hat and they’d dance around like, well, like drunken fools. (I mean this in the best possible way, although I never participated.) After repeated attempts to contact the ex with no response, he felt that there was nothing else he could do but give them to me. Hooray! <br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Some of them are truly beautiful, most notably the one in the picture and the black velvet one that I’m wearing as I type. It’s sort of a modified pork-pie hat (which I looked up and was originally a woman’s hat) but the top reminds me of a rustic pie crust. The brim is about 1¼ inches in the front and tapers to nothing in the back. There is a very thin black satin hat band that shows in the back, is threaded inside for most of the hat and reappears to tie in a bow on the right side, with something that looks like a rhinestone pin but I think is sewn to the hat. The inside says, “Chanson” (which is some type of French folk song I think) and under that “body made in France.” If anyone out there knows what kind of hat this might be, let me know. Sure it’s difficult to tell without a photo, but I don’t think a photo would be much help, black velvet on black velvet. And it’s not that cheap black velvet that you get now-a-days, it’s thick and substantial.</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This afternoon, I filed my unemployment claim and then renewed my library books – on the internets! Those tubes are amazing. </span> </span>ItWasInevitablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11498879487304129807noreply@blogger.com0