I made the snacks, b@#%hes!!!

All this and I still can't land a husband!!! Um, what?

I haven’t felt much like dicking around with this blog thing lately, but I was purging some files and came across a blog I wrote, on another site, awhile back. It was about seeing a band (one of my favorites) from Denver that scheduled a show in San Francisco.  I love strange, live music in small clubs.  Here it is:

Leading With My Shoulder

The place is freaking crowded. I need to get to get to the bar but people are clustering all the way. The greasy-haired cool guys leaning against the cigarette machine with their big feet in the walkway, the pretty girls having a conversation but never looking at eachother. So I lead with my shoulder. I wave my 20 and ah, a drink is in my hand.



The band is about to start. Not THE band, but the band before the band before THE band. San Francisco.  At home it’s 25 degrees, but here - here I am in a tanktop. It’s a good night, even if it does smell like tires in here. 

The first band has me for a while. I like the idea of an accordion as part of the four, but they’re a bit mopey. I’m going to go make eye-contact back at the bar. Saw a few handsome fellas earlier. Lead with my shoulder.

Second band up. The guitarist is wild. He’s playing a red Epiphone with a bow. Alright, kudos to you then. Do something wacky, but he does have soul. I think about my violin lessons and note to myself to take them up again.



I’m not leaving the front. The band is setting up. I like that I don’t see a bunch of pretend roadies setting up their gear for them...Rock and Roll, man. Carry that f-ing amp! That’s what I’d do. Maybe.



The band, yes THE band. 

I’m glad I drove this far to see them. They’re going to haunt me like bearded phantoms for a while. I will talk about how great the show was to everyone. I will replay the 1st song of the 1st set through my head over and over. Show’s over. All I can do is lead with my shoulder and wonder why I am not a rock star.



(France and

 I at the Munly and the Lee Lewis Harlots show at the Hemlock 11/09/06)

Nadji and I...heading to the KISS concert in Lake Tahoe. Oh my god, I can't believe I have lived this full of a life without ever seeing KISS. I was never much a KISS Army kindof gal, but 'Strutter' happens to be on my life soundtrack. Oh, and Love Gun.

Nadji and I were having a very serious conversation. Not about McCain or Obama, Pakistan or Afghanistan, or the impacts of globalization on the LDCs. We were concerned, that day, with WHAT TO WEAR, as a couple 30-somethings should. When she dropped it on me: We're painting our faces for the concert.

What?!?!

It took very little nudging, actually. I think I heard myself say, "that's a great idea" before actually considering whether it was or not. We made a plan. I'd get Detroit Rock City as my next home-delivered DVD and go over to her house to practice painting stars or kitties.

Here it is. My girly-version of 'the Starchild.' And yes, the concert turned out to be one of the best productions, ever. Say what you want about the arrogant assholes...they're worth it.

Lessons

Wednesday mornings, I work for a farmer out of Northern California, selling fruit. Today was an especially fine day. I learned a couple extra things:

1. Blenheim apricots: The way to pick them is to go for the ugliest ones. This idea can have so many other applications, but it is interesting when trying to sell the damn things. We are so convinced that the best must be perfect-looking (I'll keep it to fruit before I start waxing philosphic on life!), but really, the ones that are pushed aside are the most satisfying.

2. The difference between the old folks, the children, and the rest of us in-between: First, when the children, the ones where their eyes can just barely be seen over the table while they are up on tippie-toes, are standing in front of these big bins of fresh fruit, they are amazing. Their eyes are big, nearly glazed, and they seem as though this is the first time they've ever seen anything like this. They are silent, but their expressions seem to be squealing. When a mommy gives them one of their very own peaches, or cherries, or apricots, they eat it like it was birthday cake.

Secondly, the old folks. I hear the stories about how the stuff in the store isn't nearly as good and how they were raised with apricot trees and would pick them right off the tree themselves. But today was different. Today an old man came to the table. The farmer, who runs the fruit stand, took a piece of fruit, tore it in half and gave a piece to the man. After one bite, he lowered his head and said "I feel like I'm back in the 50s."

In that moment I cherished him. The nostalgia he was experiencing was overwhelming and I wanted a piece of that. I told him we aren't just a fruit stand, we are a time machine. We talked for a few more minutes - about life, and getting through it by laughing.

A bit later an old woman came up. Didn't tell the usual story I've heard, instead she leaned in (didn't have to lean too far, she was hankered down from osteoporosis) and gave the peaches a big sniff. She kept her eyes close and a slight smile appeared on her face. I wish I knew what she was thinking exactly. She opened her eyes, looked at me for a quick second, still holding that smile and said, "I'll take a pound."

I could tell she was not going to rush through any of it. She was going to hold each piece in her hand, roll it around gently to see every color and dent, smell it, and savor each and every bite.

Lastly, the in-betweeners: overall, not much to say. I told my co-fruit-seller-guy that I noticed how the old and the very young are most affected by the farmer's markets and the in-betweens don't have the same reaction. The in-betweens hurry through it, with a few conversations going on with a few people. The co-seller-guy said "maybe they are too busy living too much life." Well-put. Maybe they have too many worries and distractions that they've lost the glazed-eyes of childhood and haven't quite reached the point where a little nostalgia gives a quiet grin.

I need to remember this. I'm one of those in-betweeners and I want to be glazed and I want a simple smile to easily appear and I DON'T want to get good at multi-tasking. But I wonder, 50 years from now, will there be something that makes me say "oh, that takes me to the 80s" and dear god, what will it be.

Just keep 'em comin'

So I was doing the usual, a little internet dirty talk with a friend while on a break at work. Then something funny happened:

First let me explain something. The office I work in had a huge water leak that caused a flood about 1.5 years ago. It got nicely patched up and everybody went back to work as usual. A couple months ago, there was a leak again. One of the 'Buildings and Grounds' fellas came to investigate, to see if the leak had caused mold. Now, on with the rest of my story.

So there I was, a little hot from the messages I was sending/receiving. I internetally implied that I was about to have my way with myself and was feeling a little rambunctious. (You should probably know that I had been moved into a different office since the walls in the back, by my usual office, were wet.) Suddenly, I heard a man's voice in the reception area and he was asking the lady at the desk if anyone was "in there" - meaning the office I was sitting in. Since she is not used to me being in there, she said "nah, go on in."

I'm sure there's no need to explain why he should NOT have just gone on in, but when he did, he was surprised to see me sitting there (evidence concealed, haha!) and could only utter:

"I'm just looking for dampness."

Are you kidding me?!?!?! If he only knew, there was good chance of him finding it!

Just might be a true story.

Father's Day

It's been a strange weekend. Lots of rain and my aunt died Friday, this makes the third relative since August to die. So yes, another funeral.

I was out and about, and the displays of 'Father's Day' gifts and cards got the best of me. I had a moment, in that bright box-store, right there in the aisle next to the cards. For the first time, I have no one to give a father's day card, or phone call, to. The last time I spoke to my father was 2 years ago, Father's day.

But we've got nothing, him and I.

Grandfathers? Lost both of them within 6 months. Dead. That was a real hard-hitter. Father's Day, what a crock! I'll be heading to Northern California tomorrow. I'll see my uncle, the one who just lost his wife to cancer and his father to a ranch accident, who may need to be carried out of the bar...

Oh so angry

You ever seen a crotch that was so crazy looking, it just seemed angry?

The semester ended, so I went with three friends to a 'clothing optional' hot springs for the weekend. It's a bit calm for my tastes, but what harm could a retreat weekend do? I mean, I have been rather on edge lately.

So the Saturday after finals week, the 4 of us gathered up our things for the weekend and headed out. The nudist of the group, I'll call her 'flowerhead,' was driving. Then there was the youngster, the little stoner -chick, she'll be 'burnblossom' and the only guy and he is, well, I'll call him 'Broadway gay.' And me.

The place is B-and-B style with a few small rooms, but it also has a campground. There is a communal kitchen, so you bring your own stuff and cook. I liked that plan. We take the hike, in the hot-ass heat to the springs and head inside the shower room. Apparently you are supposed to wash all oils off your body before getting in, but it was at this moment I forgot it was clothing optional. In the shower area were a bunch of naked men. I thought, for a moment, I was in the wrong place. Nope, right place - get in the shower.

Flowerhead immediately took all her clothes off. Burnblossom was in a bikini and kept it that way. Broadway headed to one side, obviously disturbed. I maintained my modesty - kept my dress on.

Out by the hot springs, which actually looked like an in-ground swimming pool you'd find in any backyard, Broadway and I struggled to share a belt-strap of shade. The others soaked in all that nasty heat. I nearly vomited. We all decided it was time to head back to the lodge. As we started hiking, we saw a bus drive by and we thought - we hoped - it was lost. This place accommodates 15 people comfortably; no way will this be good if a busload of folks is dropped off.

As luck would have it, it's a busload of hippies fresh from a hippie festival. Once each year, they have this festival and when it is over, the staff of the festival descends upon this little lodge and takes fucking over. Thank god Broadway brought some wine.

Next day: the hippies have given the lodge a fine (as in not fine) odor. And they have taken over the kitchen, which means we had a 4-hour wait to cook our breakfast. Oh well, we got it done, Flowerhead whipped out an awesome meal, and headed to the springs again.

It's the same story: Flowerhead is completely, birthday-suit-naked. Burnblossom is bikinied, lying in the sun. Broadway Gay and I are struggling for shade, fully-clothed. Then HE walks by:

He was with the group from the bus, rather attractive fellow, about 5'9" with pale skin and mosquito bites. He had a strong, somewhat stocky-like build and the reddest hair down there I've ever seen. The hair on his head is blonde, so the contrast was interesting in the least. He settled in about 10 feet from us. I looked over and he was lying on his back, eyes closed, fire-red flames of long hair standing straight up from his crotch. I swear, I was ready to crawl into the shade his cock-wig was making! It seemed so cooling, yet so hot at the same time. It seriously looked like he had caught his dingdong on fire.

Broadway Gay leaned over to me and whispered, "It looks so, so…angry."