275: i don’t love anyone

1. guess who wrote the following stanza of poetry (for a book proposal being shopped around, as reported by PopBitch) and get a naughty prize

I love my unicorn, he knows I am true,
My troubles go poof, my unicorn named Boo
My lambs are all here, all smiling and gay,
Boo and I dance, we sing and we play…

E-mail me your guesses by 10pm CDT on Monday, October 20. First correct guess gets a “Made for 2” Lifestyle condom and a packet of strawberry-flavored lube (no seeds, natch).

2. ugh

My life could be better right now. So much so that I feel very boring and tired and slightly dirty from the weak water pressure in my shower that all I want to do is sit at a typewriter and type over and over again:

All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.
All work and no play makes Jasmine a dull girl.

Good lord.

Anyway, I saw Junior Senior last night. They opened for The Electric Six, who were fine, but Junior Senior was better. Their songs were very easy to sing along to: “GO JUNIOR! GO SENIOR! GO JUNIOR! JUNIOR! SENIOR!” Or “EVERYBODY! MOVE YOUR FEET AND FEEL UNITED! OH OH OH!” And they had this crazy energy. Or maybe that was just the vodka I was drinking.

Anyway, Sarah was my hipster concert buddy for the evening. We found spots way in back but with good sight lines. From where we stood we saw the sprawling masses of hipsters, trixies (who cut in line like nobody’s business), and flat-assed suburbanites in the Double Door. Clearly, I had consumed more than the surgeon general’s recommended daily intake of irony (not to mention vitamin c – all that lime in my drinks) so I felt free to make snippy comments about:

  1. the girls who all, unwittingly or no, dressed like early 80s Pat Benatar
  2. their friend who sported a Members Only jacket, a mohawk sprayed white on one side and razed on the other, and brand new Adidas wrestling boots
  3. the aging frat boy types who wore those light rinse jeans with their sweatshirts tucked into their waistbands
  4. girls sporting Maxim tank tops giving out copies of Maxim and free condoms (because we all know that Maxim readers can always be found at hipster-rich, irony-laden pop shows headlined by European boys of uncertain sexual orientation – hello, George Michael?)

We danced near a lovely couple of two older gay men, of which one spent the entire evening smoking and wrinkling his nose at the music while his partner frugged to the beat and sang along with every single Junior Senior song. They were cute. Junior Senior ended their set with a cover of “Twist and Shout” mashed into “Push It”. So of course I had to be obnoxious and sing along because I knew all the songs myself.

After the Junior Senior set, after the lovely couple left and was replaced by a girl and guy who looked kinda bored, the house DJ played an extended mix of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin'” which got me all worked up, me and the guy standing near us who leaned into us and sang “Yeah yeah!” during the song. He blew up one of the myriad of condoms lying around, swinging the blown-up condom around his head, leading me to believe he was not going to get laid. Hmm.

And so the Electric Six was fun, though my heart belonged to Junior Senior. CPD officers at the back of the bar took in the show with some interest, though they didn’t dance along like I had hoped. After they performed, a set including such hits as “Danger! High Voltage”, “Dance Commander”, and “Gay Bar” (with Sarah singing along happily in my ear), Sarah and I went off for tacos at Flash Taco across the street, where we ran into . . .

Carly: Bitch, what the fuck are you doing here?
Me: Bitch, what are you doing here?
Carly: I said bitch, get outta my face!
Me: Get out of my taco place! Sarah, hold my jewelry! We’re going outside!

Or something like that. Carly and I did in fact have an exchange, as it were, then we all settled down (me, Sarah, Carly, Carly’s friend Meghan) and talked about why Meghan could not go back to the Lava Lounge after she had said goodbye to all her friends.

My take is that you can’t return to a party or bar after elaborate goodbyes, as it reduces whatever cool and/or buzz you might have previously cultivated. Always leave them wanting more, so leave a bit earlier than people want. Don’t make people kick your ass out. Carly and Sarah seemed to agree, so Meghan stayed put while we talked smack about apartment searches, shows, boys, and the annoying swaying girl who stood right smack in front of Carly at the Death Cab for Cutie show two years in a freaking row. Freaky, n’est-ce pas? Yeah, I thought so, too.

Cheers,
Jasmine

*songs*
SWV – I’m So Into You; Destiny’s Child – Say My Name; Electric Six – Gay Bar

*belated birthday greetings*
Sebastian
Stef

*congratulations*
N(2) – you know who you are, and what for. So can I tell everybody now?
J-Mo – you’re a braver person than I, that’s for damn sure.

*greetings & salutations*
Robin! Welcome to the flip front!

*soliciations*
Lauren B. – When are your office hours? E-mail me.

“To think about being a writer was to think that I had the whole world,
and I really didn’t, and I knew I didn’t.”
(Edward P. Jones)

*links*
http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/cubfan1.html
http://www.moderndrunkardmagazine.com/issues/06_03/06-03-cads-rakes.htm

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