Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


The weekend report.


So, the weekend. It was a study in extremes. I know, how refreshing.

Let's go back, let's go on back, let's go way back, way back when...to Thursday, wherein the band had promo photos snapped at a pub. It was actually kinda fun, hanging out, having drinks, chilling with the boys, so to speak...but one comment, made by one of the guys, stood out in my mind: "Hey, could we maybe get a picture where it looks like we actually like each other?" (that's an approximate quote, of course) Makes me wonder if bitterness lingers for more than one of us.

Post-photo-session, at home, I began the process of assembling cheapie little CDs to give away at the Big Gig while waiting for Mr. Hookup to give me a call for a little middle-of-the-night booty. It's amazing how ego-boosting it is to see a stack of CDs with my face on them, all ready to be handed out to complete strangers. Not to mention to then have a big, strapping dude show up at your door for the express purpose of making your toes curl...well, shucks, other than free booze and a personal yacht, what more could a girl ask for?
A lot, obviously, but that wasn't a bad start.

Friday night's Big Gig, however, ventured to the opposite extreme. It both sucked balls and blew goats. The event was perhaps the most poorly organized event I've ever seen, and trust me - being the organizational fuckwit that *I* am - I have seen some disorganized events. My problems with this one: no sound engineer, and so was left to figure out PA on my own in manner of total bumbling moron; no clear outline of what the fuck was going on in the first place....people basically just wandered around twiddling their thumbs until someone was pushed to get the ball rolling; the venue sucked ass; once the open mike bit was through, the musicians (another singer-songwriter and a full rock band) were left to introduce themselves; the organizer chick had clearly not bothered to tell anyone there would be music and so pretty much everyone left the second the open mic bit was over; I was flustered and annoyed and felt I'd been misled and angry, and so my performance was not top notch, in addition to the fact that I was all cold-ridden and stuff; I felt guilty for dragging people out to such a vicious waste-of-time clusterfuck....and I'm sure many other things pissed me off at the time that I have since forgotten since regaining my temper over the course of the past two days. The point is, though, that it was not anything like I expected, and I am not so happy because of it.

I got home early Saturday morning and had to immediately shower the disgusting kitchen/ashtray smell off myself, which may be the biggest reason I didn't like the venue....anytime you go in smelling like shampoo and perfume and leave smelling like the bottom of a garbage can, that's a place you don't need to go again anytime soon. After that, I hit the bed and slept for ten hours. It was bliss.

Saturday, I met up with K and son, we did some shopping, I got pierced (on my ear, the left tragus, to be specific; I know, such the wild woman I am), we wandered back north to K's place and had dinner, I came home, went to bed early, and slept another twelve hours. The sleep this weekend was crazy. I haven't slept like that in aaaaaaaages.

Sunday morning, however, my lovely, lovely sleep was rudely interrupted by a nightmare. Now, to clarify, I have freaky dreams all the time - I die a lot in my dreams, there are often monsters or ghosts or that kind of thing, but they never scare me. This dream, however, really scared me. Scared me badly enough that i didn't want to reach outside the cover to turn the light on and find a book to distract myself from the evil dream. I woke up during the dream about four times, figuring that would be enough to break it...but every time I went back to sleep, I picked right up where I'd left off in the dream. Horriffic.

The sad part is that when I try to explain what was so scary, it sounds silly. There was a mother and son, there was a patch (kinda like a Girl Scout badge) that said "Rock" in red letters, and was apparently possessing the mother and son, or making them evil or something. They were, in fact, quite evil under its influence. And then, they invited me to dinner, only I wasn't me, I was Ashley Judd, and they took me up to their apartment in this freight elevator, and then somehow managed to put me in a cage and taunt me with their evil-ness, and smack me across the face a few times with a dinner plate, and other nonsense that seems very blurry to me, but it was bad. I was petrified when I woke up. I finally managed to wake up enough to summon the courage and turn the light on and get my mind off evil psycho plate-slinging mommies...but it was an uphill battle.

After I managed to get the nghtmare out of my head, I stumbled out of bed and into my day. Wrote some music. Attempted to go see "Kill Bill," but wound up sipping a coffee in Starbucks and flipping thorugh a newspaper and then just going home and crashing.

And now I'm just tired. Despite all the sleep I got. You think it would be wrong to go home early and sleep?

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