We went downtown last night to see/listen to bands. World on Fyre, Soft Tags, and The Prids. Local and Portland indie folky moody guy guitar bands. Polite clapping and mellow swaying night. I kept looking down at my black and blue feet remembering GBH and sighing because I am melodramatic and annoying like that. No pics though and (this is probably somewhat related) no hangover. I had two drinks (Orange Blossom Cream Ale and Woodchuck Amber) and stopped myself.
This is from Thursday evening at Gecko's talking about pierced dicks (again).
At the show, I smelled cocaine on this very handsome guy who looked like that male assistant on the Rachel Zoe reality show (Brad?) and every time he'd turn around I could smell the coke even more and it reminded me of that time last New Year's we took Ritalin and I couldn't stop talking and laughing and I could see the whole world through a fish eye camera lens.
Do you feel safer walking alone on a lighted sidewalk so everyone can see you or on a dark sidewalk so you can hide from people? I think I'm a dark sidewalk girl.
There were girls at the show who I really wanted to talk to and be friends with. Like girls who you want to do crafts with and steal magazines from hastings with (because hastings is awful and it is a place where a man tried taking pictures up my shorts one time but that's not hastings fault, I know, but it's still a gross place that I can pin my disappointments on) and take small roadtrips with and smoke cigarettes with on the top of a middle school building and who introduce you to Fiery Furnaces and wear wacky thrift store junk that inspires you and who act cooler and better than everyone, even you. Like a cool older sister who knows exactly what the fuck they are talking about all the time when you are still stumbling on the words to describe diy punk culture.
Marc's observation bout this cover made me laugh out loud. Fireworks seem dad-ish in that particular way Dads act like they are doing something for their children when they are just really taking over and playing with it themselves. Liquor is dad-ish obviously. But a switchblade? Like can you see a Dad holding his little girl's hand on the way to the merry-go-round and then some thugs walk their way so he pulls out a switchblade and stabs em all in the chest? Can you see that? I can because we live in Albuquerque. Long photo comment over. See you in the next oneeeeeee! My photo comments are like a completely different night/story/mood/personality than the un-italicized blog post. Weird.
Claire wore her purple flower target tube empire dress (not sure if those adjectives are the correct way to describe it) and black patent belt. I wore my blue space flower dress that makes me look 4 months pregnant and flip flops. There was a lady there (olan's girlfriend) who was wearing 5 inch platform stilettos, see through orange tie-dye top with striped bikini underneath and a skin tight black skirt. She looked like a very pretty twig. And there were many other girls wearing that trendy see through grandma blouse with very short black shorts and long chain necklaces, fake granny glasses, and keds.
Tecates always fall on the pull tab side down. It's like the buttered bread face down pessimistic analogy but for poor post college drop outs.
I counted so many tattoos at the show but can only remember a couple. Ian from the build had a blackish maze design on his inner wrist. The lady with granny glasses standing next to coke guy had two sleeves full of spiderwebs, music notes, words and stars. A BBW with red hair had a colorful lotus flower on her shoulder.
If it makes you feel better, we used the remains of it to smuggle a nice bar glass out of the bar (and if that makes you feel worse, remember that we always give 100% tips on drinks less than 4 bucks and at that dive all drinks are less than 4 bucks.)
Between Soft Tags and The Prid we all went outside to smoke. Little cockroaches raced across the sidewalk from the bar to the gutter. The mustard and sauerkraut hot dog smells made my stomach grumble. We went inside to find a booth and people watch.
This makes it look like we don't like the alibi. We do like the alibi. We just don't like the alibi blog (or do you Marc and J? Sometimes I crack myself up by addressing Jay who clearly does not read this blog. I know he doesn't read it otherwise he'd know it's not cool to say the word "hipster" anymore and he's been flinging that around rather excessively lately.)
So on my way to the bathrooms I spotted an empty booth and jumped into it. We left early and ate tortilla soup and a breakfast burrito at Frontier before it closed. The booth next to us was a cowboy family with Texan (maybe New Mexican country?) accents. I thought it was strange to see a family with two kids under 18 eating scummy Frontier at 12:45 at night. And there were two asshole cops there eyeballing us because we probably had really red eyes. While Marc was eating I kept trying to remember what this girl at Burt's was wearing. I noticed him eyeballing her constantly (possibly unconsciously undressing her with his eyes) and wanted to tease him about it. And he'd deny it but I can always tell when he's lying because we've know each other for 7 and 1/2 years and stuff like that becomes instinctual (not the right word but you know what I mean). Before I passed out on the bed after Frontier Marc was listening to Ween like really loudly I was surprised no one filed a noise complaint and then I had a dream our cats were playing funky psychedelic guitars inside Thrift Town.
