As you may be aware (no, not "may", "fucking should") my birthday is now less than a month away. September 21st, mark your calendars. What do I want for my birthday, you ask?
In the best of all possible worlds I would be standing in the front row at a Sunset Rubdown show just soaking it all in, like this person did.
In a perfect world, they would let me shake a tambourine and sing back up. Sadly, Mr. Krug seems to have forgotten my birthday. What the fuck dude? I'm pretty sure you glanced at me at least three times like a month ago and yet you choose to go on some kind of hell-tour during with my birthday month that takes you down the savage east coast, through the bleak midwest and into the perverse, corrupt heart of the drrty south but not to Paradise, California? It's enough to make me want to leave town.
Well, that and the fact that I already want to leave town. I'm having a rough week. I'm not even doing my ponygirl homework this week. On my free time I'm mostly just dicking around on my guitar and yelling or reading some Charlotte Bronte and trying not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got the first world blues. My hair don't look right.
Also fucking up my birthday: Flight of the Conchords. My other best of all possible worlds scenario involves them in my backyard, cupcakes and a trampoline, but get this: Jemaine just got fucking married. To a redhead, true, but that aint gonna fill the hole in my heart and I'm not that into Brett. Also, they will be performing in New York the two days before my birthday. Sigh. Sunset Rubdown is in NY on the 16th. Maybe I should start hitch-hiking now?
Naw, I will probably just go to work on my birthday. Do you have any idea what kind of unspeakable sex acts I have to perform to get a damn weekend night off?
Speaking of unspeakable sex acts: Saturday, 5:00, Casa Del Prado, Balboa Park, Celebrate Dance Festival, FOR FREE. Y'all don't wanna know what I went through to get that night free to dance for you.