Song: “Heal Over”
Bob borrows my iPod every day to listen to music while he writes monologue jokes. While he’s very patient as I try to sway him toward six thousand songs he’s never heard before (he’s admittedly not that into music), I know that as soon as I leave the room, he’s scrolling right to the Martika and Wham!. That’s okay. I respect someone who knows what he wants.
Song: “Would You Come With Me”
If Jenny Lewis is the object of my raging girl crush, Blake Sennett is the boy I would have actually dated in high school.
Song: “Melt Your Heart”
Some sad songs for your saddest Valentine.
Song: “I Never Talk To Strangers”
I was writing a very long entry here and I just accidentally deleted it. I will try to recreate what I wrote, but it feels like I just woke up from a dream and I’m trying to remember everything that happened.
Friday morning. No sleep. Have to get to the airport. My bones ache and I’m sure I haven’t packed everything I need. I don’t have the strength to think. I make it to the shuttle. I turn on the iPod, loud. Shuffle plays cruel tricks. Continue reading
There is never a good time for you to wear your own t-shirt.
I said this to stee last night as we got ready for the Rilo Kiley concert. I had just finished posting this, and realized I hadn’t worn mine yet.
“Your Wonder Killer shirt?” stee asked. “You should wear it. It’s not like it says ‘pamie.com’ on it, or anything.”
I wore the shirt, under a hoodie. stee was right. It’s not like anybody at the Wiltern would have any idea I was wearing my own t-shirt. I’d been feeling ill all day, so I pulled my hair into pigtails, wore my comfiest jeans and said, “Fuck it; we’re going to be in the dark all night.”
So, of course, the first people we run into when we hit the theater are these girls.
When seeing the girls who judge fashion as a serious hobby for the first time in probably over a year, do you:
A) Meet them with a hoodie zipped up to your neck, making you look like you might be hiding a pregnant belly.
B) Meet them wearing your own t-shirt, when they are not wearing the shirts they sold the exact same month.
C) Worry about what you look like because they’re both so cute and why didn’t you at least put on some lip gloss before you went out in public because you’re at the Wiltern. Jesus.
Answer: all of the above.
We had seats for the concert, between a row of parents watching their kids down in general admission and a row of kids who were pissed off that the show was so late they’re were going to miss it because of their curfew. Just when I thought I was done being dorky, the band brought out Debbie Gibson, and I lost all cool singing “Lost In Your Eyes” at full volume. Haven’t heard that song in — what, fifteen years at least? Sure knew every word.
(I wish she had done “Foolish Beat.”)
I’ve been having some email problems, so if you’ve emailed me recently and I’ve taken way too long to get back to you, know that I’m either going to email you back or I just lost the damn thing entirely. That appears to be the one growing pain in the site move, and the guys hosting me are working on it as fast as they can.
The company I went with is called Myrmid, and so far they’ve been more than excellent at answering all of my questions, taking time to talk to me immediately, and made me feel right at home. They were recommended by the guy who runs 8-bit Theater, and he couldn’t say enough good things about them, so there you go. If you’re looking for hosting with real people who treat you as a human being and not a stack of fifties, then tell ’em I sent you.