Don't leave a voicemail, seriously.

You: So, K, what's up with the sitcom that is your life? I TIVOed you, but it did that thing where it randomly doesn't record something.

Me: I'm so glad you tuned in!

Last night we went to a party at our friend's restaurant. Ooh la la, you say, what a hard life! I never claimed to live in Rwanda.

Anyway [setting: INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR OF A MEXICAN RESTAURANT]: I'm sort of distracted because yesterday was one of those weird days where you think "I'm going to do X today!" and you're all serious about this plan to get X done, and you have a schedule and maybe you even write it DOWN somewhere so it's Official and yet you never do X. That was my day yesterday. I had plans to do this very important work stuff (and here please read that as a joke because NOTHING I do for work is important to anyone at all but my boss) and didn't.


Wait, back up. This is one of those time jumping episodes.

[INTERIOR CAR: I'm driving] California passed this law called "Hands Free California Because You Dickheads Can't Drive To Begin With So Get Off the Fucking Phone!" I paraphrase. So you're not supposed to drive and talk on your phone anymore. Can I use a Bluetooth? Are you fucking joking? I'm driving down Melrose looking for this piercing joint because my piercing fell out. Again. I thought I was going to work all day, but then lo and behold my damned piercing falls out and I'm like FUCK! and have to find a place open on Sunday that doesn't seem too shady. In case you're unfamiliar with the concept: tattoo parlors and piercing places are usually effin' shady. They didn't make that up on tv. I find a place that looks reasonable, call, and the piercer's female! Ok, now, listen, I'm going to lay some facts down on you: if you want to get pierced find a place with a female piercer--nine out of ten she's going to be damned good at her job and you won't feel revolted when you walk out of the place. Anyway, so here I am looking for this place and when I start getting the distinct impression I've missed it I realize I left my moleskin at home. Goddamn it! No map, can't make a call. Well might as well just crash my car for fun. That's not what I do. Instead I drive ALL THE WAY to Santa Monica Blvd and pull over to make my call like a law abiding citizen (which very much am not).

I get more specific directions and the piercer has a very amused vibe (I can be charming) and I think to myself "please let her be a hot lesbian."

Guess what? Yeah. That part of my story is the good part.

I drive back up Melrose and get lost AGAIN. This time, though, I have a plan! I just park. I park and get out of the car and WALK up Melrose figuring the span between La Brea and Fairfax isn't shit for me to walk--but I'm on a schedule. The piercer's going on lunch in less than twenty minutes. ARG. Yesterday was one of those days that LA pulls on you where you're sitting in the house thinking "hm, it's a pleasant California day!" and you get outside and the sun punches you in the face. I wear black all that time (you're shocked, please try to recover), and yesterday was no exception. I was so sweaty when I got into the piercing place that the hot lesbian piercer said "wow you're sweaty!" Yes, yes I was!

I had irritated my piercing so badly with my botched attempts to get my jewelry back in that I had to have the long post reinserted. However, this was not so horrible (even though it looks dumb).

Hot lesbian: Can I have your number?
Me: I don't know it.
Hot lesbian: [laughs] I'm not surprised, and that makes me want it more.
Me: Oh, I'll be back when I need the other jewelry inserted.

Inserted! I'm a comedy genius!

I also procured the Joss run of "Runaways" and several one inch pins on the way home (including one for The Descendants one of my all time fave bands. Yay!). Not a bad afternoon, even if I should have been surgically attached to my computer NOT writing fucking vampire fic.

[INTERIOR AND EXTERIOR OF MEXICAN RESTAURANT]: I'm sort of worn out from writing so much. Writing sometimes makes me not very chatty or interested in much because I get to a place where I just have nothing. However, there's an open bar. Yes, like I said: not Rwanda. My friends and I are drinking tequila gimlets and kicking it. I'm kind of bored. That's the level of asshole I am. This has nothing to do with my amazing awesome friends and has everything to do with walking around Melrose in all black at the height of the heat and that motherfucking vampire fic. Lo, I go out to smoke.

I'm outside smoking talking to a friend when something odd happens--I end up no longer talking to this friend and end up talking to HIS FRIENDS who all seem pretty alright. One of them even seems very gay. I'm down. I'm quite happy to talk to a gay dude in a band (they were all band dudes). We're chit chatting for a while and we have like EVERYTHING in common. I am not exaggerating. He's an intellectual (college prof!), funny, we like the same music (my real bands, not MCR, but now I regret not saying I love Gerard Way and want to marry him...oh wait, no), and so on and on. He wants to send me his cds. Awesome! We make plans to hang out later in the week. I give him my phone number which Jenn told me and I wrote down in my moleskin.

HE'S NOT GAY. Oh god! What? How can he not be gay, he did his dissertation on Virginia Woolf!

You cannot be a straight man and write your dissertation on Virginia Woolf! That's like not even mildly gay, that's fucking never touched a vag even in sexual confusion gay.

Maybe I accidentally made a date with a MAN? I need a nanny. Do you want to be my nanny /creepy Dr. Who gas mask kid voice.

What I want you to realize is that everything in this post is completely factual AND not even the most bullshit thing I did last week.

*

Rachel just told me someone on bandflesh is hating one me. Hi, bandflesh hater! Do you see what my real life if like? I'm sorry you're so bored, get out of the house, emo kid.

Listen, listen.

You know re: my previous post--

Nate: What's shakin', you workin'?
Me: No totally fucking off, you?
Nate: Working on this...blah blah documentary [he's a documentary filmmaker] blah blah...why are you ignoring me?
Me: You're boring me! [seriously, he's an environmentalist who makes documentaries, you can see how tedious this is, right?]
Nate: Tell me about The Hold Steady some more, and what did you do this weekend? Something stupid and related to those shitty bands you like?
Me: THE HOLD STEADY ARE SO AWESOME I WANT TO VOMIT. Read my lj regarding yesterday.
Nate: You're joking. Just summarize. I'm not interested in your editorializing of your life.
Me: Blah blah men creep me out.
Nate: *in depth psychoanalysis of why this is true that is actually 90% accurate* So of course men freak you out!
Me: Yeah, this is why it's utterly pointless for me to consider ever being less gay than I am.

Nate = my exhusband. SERIOUSLY. Now, I will tell you this: he is way awesomer than just about ANYONE you ever met. Truly and deeply. Some day I'll actually explain my marriage on here, but it's all so utterly UNBELIEVABLE even for me that it gives me pause. I'm also writing a book about it and perhaps should make you go to Borders to get the full recounting. (The book is much like this post and the previous one but with Nate's commentary which is even funnier than mine. He's funnier than me. This is actually true. Don't choke.)

Nate has exactly two flaws: he likes the worst music ever made in the history of the universe (here Phillip Glass and atonal orchestral music is just the TIP of the planet-sized iceberg, I use him as a bellwether--if Nate likes a band I don't even bother to listen to them. I wonder what his opinion of MGMT is, I bet he loves them) and he knows me so well I get away with NOTHING. This sucks. If you've never had the experience, it's rather stunning to have someone actually really say to you the thought in your head before you vocalize it. Sometimes our conversations go like this...

Me:[having very very random, fucked up thought]
Nate: I know you're about to say very very random, fucked up thing. It's stupid. Stop being so stupid, but also I agree. hahahah We're assholes, YAY!
Me: Why do you exist?

I would like you to pause and consider a person who can anticipate MY every thought and action. Keep in mind that the level of bullshit I am capable of doesn't even translate to this. What I get up to in my daily life is often so unbelievable I can see people thinking I'm lying right in front of me when I simply describe an incident I encountered (seriously, the Driver's License Saga I EDITED to remove more details that made it even more insane than I told you about).


And if you're new: yes, I was married AND FOR A LONG TIME TOO and my exhusband is my beffie and we have adventures where we scare people with how zany we are. You can see the influence on my writing, I'm sure.

NATE! You always want me to talk about you on my lj and you're not even reading this, are you, asshole? Please don't troll people, though, ok? (He trolls people on my political posts sometimes and I have to delete his comments.)

For those of you sitting there crying thinking why is she not writing vampires? why is she IMing with her beffie about her neuroses? salt mine, salt mine! I am off to it right now! Christ.

Oh god, I see today is going to be utterly wasted on FOB youtube footage and talking to Nate on the phone.

Your daily dose of megacrack.

Dear Gabe,

I really appreciate you actually bringing me the very first instance of thinking to myself "what the fuck, is this a coincidence? If so, whaaaaaaaaaaat?" I've ever had regarding my lj and people I talk about in it. If you're reading this right now, I'd just like you to know I really love Midtown and I want you to do one goodbye show so I can fly out to Jersey and worship you properly. I'm an acolyte.

With fond regards,
Your Biggest Fan (aside from Jenn who really might be your biggest non-crazy stalker, 15 yr old fan)


Now on to the show!

( Werewolves and Vampires: After the last Midtown show...(<---gayest song ever) )