It wasn't a rocking Marah concert like last year but...
My neck is killing me.
I have bruises on the back of my knees.
My whole body smells like chlorine.
It was a fucking PARTY!
I didn't sob.
I choked up over hoot love, lilacs, lullabyes and my radical/tubular/ridiculous/awesomeawesomeawesomeawesome friends.
I do believe I screamed "I just feel so fucking blessed" about twenty six times last night. At one point, I very drunkenly stood from my seat on the ground in the middle of a circle of my people chatting outside The Front and proclaimed, "I am LUCKY!"
As I was wandering from the thai dinner, as I was wandering from the hoot, as I was wandering from Whitey's, as I was stumbling from The Front, as I was sitting on the curb at 2:30am with the remaing party folks, as I was rambling and dancing and drinking...
Seriously, I must have done something really right to have these people in my life. Cause you know, I'm blessed and lucky.
I am surrounded by people who get it. And get me. And that makes me really happy.
And there were messages. So many messages from all my other friends that couldn't celebrate my birthday with me. And that means so much, too.
I was a responsible drinker who rode that fine line successfully. I was on the perfect edge of insanity and woke up, extremely sore from Jonesie's mad dancing SKILLZ (mad = erratic), with just a mild hangover and a bit of anxiety over the arrival of The Jones Family. Anxiety that was cooled as soon as I realized that my mom and sister and I were laughing hysterically in the hotel pool tonight. My sister and I were floating in my mom's arms, pretending to get baptized. As friends dangled their feet in the water, occasionally jumping in...the cold, the hot, the steam. My friend Genna, who had a shitty cold, baked me a cake from scratch that was decorated like a record. Which compliments the record player and records SO WELL! And I have more wiener dog paraphernalia...which takes the number of wiener items I own up to approximately 65! My father watched bad tv on the hotel bed until we all came up, continuing the small party by chatting about politics and butchering lambs. A few of my people met The Jones Family tonight. And now they REALLY understand why I am the way I am.
My Family
Missouri...Minnesota...everywhere.
Thank you!
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
Christ has "Risen." Holla.
Friday, I did the math and realized that, during the week, I had spent as much time shooting and editing pictures as I do at my full time job (37 hours.) This both intrigued, excited and scared the shit out of me (good thing because I ate Taco Bell at 3am on Friday...my intestines, like Jesus when he saw those nails coming his way, were not pleased.) I love this. I don't want to get burnt out on it. And I needed to just be present in a world I constantly try to capture through obsessive thoughts, words or pictures. So I challenged myself to not take photos. I made it most of the night, soaking in the magic of the never ending Hoot, and only cheating a bit at the end.
Because I couldn't stop wondering how the fuck did I get here? I sat in the middle of Jim's floor, against Anna's leg, staring up at the giant newspaper article he did about Bruce, SIGNED by Bruce, trying to stop Zero the dog from eating my face/making out with me.
I listened to the musicians play round robin with their voices and instruments.
They poured their heart into a living room full of fifteen or so people.
Jim actuall sang "Alexa smiles like the sun." Which was true.
I left, sober cabbing it to Big V's and standing in the midst of rock 'n' roll devil horns and screaming guitar licks. It was culture shock after the six hour soulful singer/songwriter fest.
So I grabbed the lack of poop-licious Taco Bell with Jessica, drove her home to Uptown, and sat on her couch to watch an episode of Top Design. Got I love Chalupas. God I love reality television. God I love looking across a room to realize I am not alone as the Stook! song he dedicated to (almost Chicago bound) Andrea breaks my heart.
Saturday, I worked late, dreamt about that burly biker dude with the leather jacket and big moustache who walks down Lyndale with a wiener dog wearing a skirt (two of my friends have called with sightings of my dream man...I have yet to witness him in the flesh...though my hand has), and watched six episodes of Weeds (my new favorite show.)
I got drunk in the afternoon off of three very delicious, very fruity and very strong mimosas from brunch at Genna's house. Praise Jesus. I proceeded to nap on my couch for three hours and woke up with my Easter dress up around my waste and a monster headache. God bless the 6:30pm hangover. Three tylenol and a handful of almonds later, I am cured.
My heart is a little broken right now. Jason Isbell is leaving my beloved Drive-By Truckers. Not only did he write two of my favorite DBT songs/favorite songs of all time, Outfit & Decoration Day, he is some serious Southern eye candy. Poo. His solo work, while I am absolutely thrilled about, has some very big shoes to fill.
I've decided that the horrifically insipid acronym W.W.J.D ACTUALLY stands for "What Would Jonesie Do?" Balls out, Jonesie likes to rock n roll with potato sacks under her eyes and a caffeine headache the size of your daddy's wang.
Monday: work then Son Volt at First Ave
Tuesday: work then American Idol
Wednesday: work then Voltage: Fashion Amplified at First Ave
Thursday: sleep/laundry/haircut then Leslie & the LY's at First Ave's 7th St Entry
Friday: work then Hoot
Saturday: work then Low at First Ave (maybe...if I can switch my schedule so I don't close)
Sunday: work then rehearsal
I need to know the Bionic Man's secret. Luckily, I don't feel like Uncle Floyd's burning asshole like the last time my schedule was this insane. My (almost always) healthy diet allows me to push myself to the limits...much like marathon man...except without the toned muscles and ability to move my legs back and forth in what some might call "a run."
I will leave you with this glorious, awe inspired, party caught on film:
This is from the April 5th Bruce Springsteen Tribute at Carnegie Hall. Bruce invites Craig Finn of Hold Steady to sing first. I'd like to think this is one of the top five experiences of Craig's life. I love the shit eating grin and his spastic dancing. One cannot deny the fact that he absolutely loves sharing that stage with Bruce Springsteen. Look at his wacky gestures! Look at that face! It reminds me so much of when Bruce was jamming with Bob Dylan at Shea Stadium. Craig Finn's joy is palpable (my new favorite word.) We all have our idols.
Plus I love seeing my Marah boys (especially Kirk...who is a dwarf apparently...and Adam...who still manages to look really cool though he is moving like a Suburban mom in complete elation) up there clapping and dancing.
Though I'm coming to terms with the fact that I cannot please everyone and be everywhere all at once, I should have been there. I should have been at Carnegie Hall.
Life According to Bruce: Yay for the loud, crowded party!
Because I couldn't stop wondering how the fuck did I get here? I sat in the middle of Jim's floor, against Anna's leg, staring up at the giant newspaper article he did about Bruce, SIGNED by Bruce, trying to stop Zero the dog from eating my face/making out with me.
I listened to the musicians play round robin with their voices and instruments.
They poured their heart into a living room full of fifteen or so people.
Jim actuall sang "Alexa smiles like the sun." Which was true.
I left, sober cabbing it to Big V's and standing in the midst of rock 'n' roll devil horns and screaming guitar licks. It was culture shock after the six hour soulful singer/songwriter fest.
So I grabbed the lack of poop-licious Taco Bell with Jessica, drove her home to Uptown, and sat on her couch to watch an episode of Top Design. Got I love Chalupas. God I love reality television. God I love looking across a room to realize I am not alone as the Stook! song he dedicated to (almost Chicago bound) Andrea breaks my heart.
Saturday, I worked late, dreamt about that burly biker dude with the leather jacket and big moustache who walks down Lyndale with a wiener dog wearing a skirt (two of my friends have called with sightings of my dream man...I have yet to witness him in the flesh...though my hand has), and watched six episodes of Weeds (my new favorite show.)
I got drunk in the afternoon off of three very delicious, very fruity and very strong mimosas from brunch at Genna's house. Praise Jesus. I proceeded to nap on my couch for three hours and woke up with my Easter dress up around my waste and a monster headache. God bless the 6:30pm hangover. Three tylenol and a handful of almonds later, I am cured.
My heart is a little broken right now. Jason Isbell is leaving my beloved Drive-By Truckers. Not only did he write two of my favorite DBT songs/favorite songs of all time, Outfit & Decoration Day, he is some serious Southern eye candy. Poo. His solo work, while I am absolutely thrilled about, has some very big shoes to fill.
I've decided that the horrifically insipid acronym W.W.J.D ACTUALLY stands for "What Would Jonesie Do?" Balls out, Jonesie likes to rock n roll with potato sacks under her eyes and a caffeine headache the size of your daddy's wang.
Monday: work then Son Volt at First Ave
Tuesday: work then American Idol
Wednesday: work then Voltage: Fashion Amplified at First Ave
Thursday: sleep/laundry/haircut then Leslie & the LY's at First Ave's 7th St Entry
Friday: work then Hoot
Saturday: work then Low at First Ave (maybe...if I can switch my schedule so I don't close)
Sunday: work then rehearsal
I need to know the Bionic Man's secret. Luckily, I don't feel like Uncle Floyd's burning asshole like the last time my schedule was this insane. My (almost always) healthy diet allows me to push myself to the limits...much like marathon man...except without the toned muscles and ability to move my legs back and forth in what some might call "a run."
I will leave you with this glorious, awe inspired, party caught on film:
This is from the April 5th Bruce Springsteen Tribute at Carnegie Hall. Bruce invites Craig Finn of Hold Steady to sing first. I'd like to think this is one of the top five experiences of Craig's life. I love the shit eating grin and his spastic dancing. One cannot deny the fact that he absolutely loves sharing that stage with Bruce Springsteen. Look at his wacky gestures! Look at that face! It reminds me so much of when Bruce was jamming with Bob Dylan at Shea Stadium. Craig Finn's joy is palpable (my new favorite word.) We all have our idols.
Plus I love seeing my Marah boys (especially Kirk...who is a dwarf apparently...and Adam...who still manages to look really cool though he is moving like a Suburban mom in complete elation) up there clapping and dancing.
Though I'm coming to terms with the fact that I cannot please everyone and be everywhere all at once, I should have been there. I should have been at Carnegie Hall.
Life According to Bruce: Yay for the loud, crowded party!
Monday, February 19, 2007
Two Days Ago, Two Weeks Ago
It was the perfect Friday night.
Anna and I parked in the lot of Java Jack's at 46th and Bryant. It was freezing cold outside and I was a little bit nervous. Excitement and anxiousness for my first Hootenanny experience.
We walked down the stairs into the basement. Right away I was overcome with feelings of happiness, peace and major deja-vu. We sat in old movie theatre chairs and Anna immediately went for the whiskey that Jim Walsh was offering freely. Already slightly soused, he held up the bottle and Anna poured it into the plastic cup. It was snowing a little bit outside. I was driving and there would be no alcohol for me. Besides, I don't like whiskey.
I took it all in with my mouth open and eyes a bit glazed over. The Terri Schiavo face, as Brian once called it.
I wanted the basement to be my basement. Anna said it would be someday. Except instead of a bird room, like my house back in Missouri where birds fly around freely, there would be a wiener dog room, which would actually be a giant field of poppies where wiener dogs leap out like dolphins. It is a very happy idea.
Recliners, couches, folding chairs and random movie theatre seats surrounded a small stage. The ceiling was sort of low and there were no windows to the outside. Album covers and flags and posters covered the walls. I immediately recognized Bruce's "Greetings from Asbury Park" and pointed it out to Anna. This was all too awesome.
Then I figured out what the deja-vu was from. This room reminded me of The Underground in Philly, another basement of another coffee shop with another little stage. Another sordid memory last May. I was pretty sure this Friday night wouldn't have me huddled in the alleyway behind the coffee shop with a major case of snot runs and beer tears. I was right, too.
I knew a good dozen people in the room. As a lurker/sometimes poster on howwastheshow.com, I knew these dozen or so as obsessive local music fans and cyber contributors. I follow what they write, their articles and reviews and pictures and websites. Occasionally I follow. Sometimes more than occasionally. I was a little bit intimidated. Sometimes more than a little bit. I caught myself staring, thinking if I would ever get up the nerve to have a conversation with these people. How much of an asshole would I make out of myself when I tried to talk? Would they ever be my concert friends? Would I ever stand in their circle or sit next to them at a Hootenanny?
I don't know.
But I do know that having Anna next to me made me really happy. I didn't have to worry about how much of an asshole I would be because it's understood. We would both be assholes together. We both kept our coats on because this perfect basement room was also bitingly cold. My feet were frozen and I wished I had about ten more pair of socks.
There were fifty or so people lightly packed into the basement. Jim Walsh poured more whiskey and the four musicians tuned their guitars. Jim Walsh had taken a night off of hosting and Stook stepped up. I kept thinking that, had we gone to high school together, Stook and I would have been friends. I don't know why specifically high school. It just seemed right.
The music started. Four local musicians (Jim Walsh as The Mad Ripple, Stook!, Brianna Lane, Bill Dankert) who played acoustic guitars and sang lyrics we could all understand. Some broke your heart and some made you really happy. There were a lot of songs, a lot of jokes, a lot of stories and still a lot of whiskey. Anna and I just sat against the wall in our movie theatre seats and laughed a lot. They all got drunker as my feet got colder, though I really stopped caring too much about that a long while ago. I was so comfortable and my mind was able stop racing for two hours. Anna said it was like I had found my people. I felt like I was on the outskirts of this club that wasn’t really exclusive at all. It was just nice.
Two hours later it was over. I spit my gum out; we bundled up and ran back into the cold. Back to the slippery streets and into Seward. We picked up Laura at her house. I drove into downtown. My nightmare, these one-way streets with drunken girls and frat boys waltzing awkwardly through lights. We parked and trekked into First Ave for Trampled by Turtles.
The club was packed with hippies, rockers, mid-lifers, beards, beads, weed and even a little treat who kept hitting on Laura. By the time we made our way around front, Pert Near Sandstone had ended, the one opener we had come to see, which was a bummer. A bummer soon forgotten once the girls got beers and we all started jumping up and down to the second opener, The Kissers (from Madison.)
I would have an orgy with every single member of The Kissers. I’m just saying.
Trampled by Turtles started and the club sort of exploded. Anna finished her whiskey and we were far enough back that Laura’s little treat was a distant memory. It was the three of us in the middle of a sausage fest sprinkled with ladies. We jumped higher and danced crazier to this blue-grass madness. We jigged and twirled and hugged a lot, linking arms, leaning our heads on each other’s shoulders and keeping rhythm on each other’s backs. I decided then that this audience would best be described as rowdy but respectful. They rocked around us, giving us a little space but not really afraid to sometimes jig right into us, as an audience should. I ran into a few people I knew. Danced especially hard with them. Friends from college and friends of friends. Close friends for just that night. It was like my earlier hootenanny had blown up in exactly the right way.
Trampled by Turtles rocked. Pros who fiddled and strummed so quickly that, at times, you couldn’t see their hands. They sang these songs that had us waving our arms in the air and dancing around and around. They created this audience.
Anna, Laura and I left. Sweaty and soaked in spilled whiskey. We ran out into the cold and I saw my First Ave bouncer who still remembers me from the one night I worker there over a year ago. He asked for a hug and I ran up to him. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him and told him I was glad he hadn’t forgotten about me. He told me he couldn’t. That made me happy, too.
We ran into the parking garage, into my car and drove to the Seward Luce, a spot that is quickly becoming our spot. The waiter remembered us and even remembered that we were sitting in the same seats as last week. We chugged our waters. I got the same salad as last week and we continued on with our night, talking about music and boys and art and all that lovely nothing that three girls talk about at 2am.
We drove home and I crawled into my bed, under my covers, so worn out and happy I was almost sick.
Like I said, it was the perfect Friday night.
At one point during the Hootenanny, when Stook sang a song about his Valentine, he mistakenly referred to the holiday as two weeks ago. The audience laughed. If every day were as great as Friday, my two-week eternity would be heaven.
I took no pictures of my Friday night, even though my camera was at my side the entire time. I had to soak it in at the Hoot and cameras weren’t allowed at First Ave. I kept thinking I had to write it down to remember this night. And my words will help me remember it.
But then there’s the other side. Sometimes, for me, words don’t do an experience justice when photographs will.
My Valentine’s Celebration: SCARFTASTIC!
Anna and I parked in the lot of Java Jack's at 46th and Bryant. It was freezing cold outside and I was a little bit nervous. Excitement and anxiousness for my first Hootenanny experience.
We walked down the stairs into the basement. Right away I was overcome with feelings of happiness, peace and major deja-vu. We sat in old movie theatre chairs and Anna immediately went for the whiskey that Jim Walsh was offering freely. Already slightly soused, he held up the bottle and Anna poured it into the plastic cup. It was snowing a little bit outside. I was driving and there would be no alcohol for me. Besides, I don't like whiskey.
I took it all in with my mouth open and eyes a bit glazed over. The Terri Schiavo face, as Brian once called it.
I wanted the basement to be my basement. Anna said it would be someday. Except instead of a bird room, like my house back in Missouri where birds fly around freely, there would be a wiener dog room, which would actually be a giant field of poppies where wiener dogs leap out like dolphins. It is a very happy idea.
Recliners, couches, folding chairs and random movie theatre seats surrounded a small stage. The ceiling was sort of low and there were no windows to the outside. Album covers and flags and posters covered the walls. I immediately recognized Bruce's "Greetings from Asbury Park" and pointed it out to Anna. This was all too awesome.
Then I figured out what the deja-vu was from. This room reminded me of The Underground in Philly, another basement of another coffee shop with another little stage. Another sordid memory last May. I was pretty sure this Friday night wouldn't have me huddled in the alleyway behind the coffee shop with a major case of snot runs and beer tears. I was right, too.
I knew a good dozen people in the room. As a lurker/sometimes poster on howwastheshow.com, I knew these dozen or so as obsessive local music fans and cyber contributors. I follow what they write, their articles and reviews and pictures and websites. Occasionally I follow. Sometimes more than occasionally. I was a little bit intimidated. Sometimes more than a little bit. I caught myself staring, thinking if I would ever get up the nerve to have a conversation with these people. How much of an asshole would I make out of myself when I tried to talk? Would they ever be my concert friends? Would I ever stand in their circle or sit next to them at a Hootenanny?
I don't know.
But I do know that having Anna next to me made me really happy. I didn't have to worry about how much of an asshole I would be because it's understood. We would both be assholes together. We both kept our coats on because this perfect basement room was also bitingly cold. My feet were frozen and I wished I had about ten more pair of socks.
There were fifty or so people lightly packed into the basement. Jim Walsh poured more whiskey and the four musicians tuned their guitars. Jim Walsh had taken a night off of hosting and Stook stepped up. I kept thinking that, had we gone to high school together, Stook and I would have been friends. I don't know why specifically high school. It just seemed right.
The music started. Four local musicians (Jim Walsh as The Mad Ripple, Stook!, Brianna Lane, Bill Dankert) who played acoustic guitars and sang lyrics we could all understand. Some broke your heart and some made you really happy. There were a lot of songs, a lot of jokes, a lot of stories and still a lot of whiskey. Anna and I just sat against the wall in our movie theatre seats and laughed a lot. They all got drunker as my feet got colder, though I really stopped caring too much about that a long while ago. I was so comfortable and my mind was able stop racing for two hours. Anna said it was like I had found my people. I felt like I was on the outskirts of this club that wasn’t really exclusive at all. It was just nice.
Two hours later it was over. I spit my gum out; we bundled up and ran back into the cold. Back to the slippery streets and into Seward. We picked up Laura at her house. I drove into downtown. My nightmare, these one-way streets with drunken girls and frat boys waltzing awkwardly through lights. We parked and trekked into First Ave for Trampled by Turtles.
The club was packed with hippies, rockers, mid-lifers, beards, beads, weed and even a little treat who kept hitting on Laura. By the time we made our way around front, Pert Near Sandstone had ended, the one opener we had come to see, which was a bummer. A bummer soon forgotten once the girls got beers and we all started jumping up and down to the second opener, The Kissers (from Madison.)
I would have an orgy with every single member of The Kissers. I’m just saying.
Trampled by Turtles started and the club sort of exploded. Anna finished her whiskey and we were far enough back that Laura’s little treat was a distant memory. It was the three of us in the middle of a sausage fest sprinkled with ladies. We jumped higher and danced crazier to this blue-grass madness. We jigged and twirled and hugged a lot, linking arms, leaning our heads on each other’s shoulders and keeping rhythm on each other’s backs. I decided then that this audience would best be described as rowdy but respectful. They rocked around us, giving us a little space but not really afraid to sometimes jig right into us, as an audience should. I ran into a few people I knew. Danced especially hard with them. Friends from college and friends of friends. Close friends for just that night. It was like my earlier hootenanny had blown up in exactly the right way.
Trampled by Turtles rocked. Pros who fiddled and strummed so quickly that, at times, you couldn’t see their hands. They sang these songs that had us waving our arms in the air and dancing around and around. They created this audience.
Anna, Laura and I left. Sweaty and soaked in spilled whiskey. We ran out into the cold and I saw my First Ave bouncer who still remembers me from the one night I worker there over a year ago. He asked for a hug and I ran up to him. I jumped up and wrapped my arms around him and told him I was glad he hadn’t forgotten about me. He told me he couldn’t. That made me happy, too.
We ran into the parking garage, into my car and drove to the Seward Luce, a spot that is quickly becoming our spot. The waiter remembered us and even remembered that we were sitting in the same seats as last week. We chugged our waters. I got the same salad as last week and we continued on with our night, talking about music and boys and art and all that lovely nothing that three girls talk about at 2am.
We drove home and I crawled into my bed, under my covers, so worn out and happy I was almost sick.
Like I said, it was the perfect Friday night.
At one point during the Hootenanny, when Stook sang a song about his Valentine, he mistakenly referred to the holiday as two weeks ago. The audience laughed. If every day were as great as Friday, my two-week eternity would be heaven.
I took no pictures of my Friday night, even though my camera was at my side the entire time. I had to soak it in at the Hoot and cameras weren’t allowed at First Ave. I kept thinking I had to write it down to remember this night. And my words will help me remember it.
But then there’s the other side. Sometimes, for me, words don’t do an experience justice when photographs will.
My Valentine’s Celebration: SCARFTASTIC!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Hearts n' Farts n' Crafts
I am single and ready to mingle.
Short of a couple blips, I have been single for a long time. A long long time. A long long long time.
Anna says she just can't think of anyone cool enough.
Uhhh...I'm not really cool...at all...but it's a nice thought.
I almost made out with my hand the other day.
But here's the deal...
I may have an extraordinarily cynical outer shell. I may hate PDAs. I may scoff and poke fun. I may mean it.
In real internal reality...
I am actually one giant vagina of romantic hope and excitement.
Seriously...slap some music on it and I'll probably cry...list my fantasies out and my grandparents will definitely cry.
I'm only twenty fucking five. I'm not worried about dying alone. Yet.
Soon to be twenty six...well not until May but for Jonesie that's soon enough to start planning my usual week of birthday extravaganza...did you know that it ONLY costs $250 to rent a hotel room next to the water park??!??!?!
Plus Momma Jones sent me some totally badass hotpink heart jewelry to wear tomorrow.
I surround myself with love. It only takes a real moment around me to see that.
Just like Davey and Holway on Friday were surronded by tits and ass from the Playboy Memory Computer Game at the bar in Northfield...
Yeah, even though I hardly played at all, they were definitely entering my name into the winners section. Sweet Playboy juices will be mine for all of eternity.
Jonesie is surrounded by love.
In honor of VD Day...
TOP TEN LOVES FOR FEBRUARY 14th, 2007
In no particular order...
10) The kickass Bday present I got my Madzie: a mini hookah, apple flavored tobacco, two chocolate bars & a box of evening tea...Our Thursday night Grey's Anatomy gathering is going to be quite an adventure this time round.
9) From www.showusyourwiener.com...
8) Seriously...watch all of this...
Uhhh...you can bet your nads I cried buckets during this. Also, forced to decide (you know, during wartime or a good game of Would You Rather?), I would totally do beast over man. Mostly because Skidboot rules and that cowboy is a tool.
7) Local Musicians & Their (somewhat) Recent Albums that KICKASS! Obsessions of the week...
http://www.myspace.com/markmallman
fav song of week: Death Wish
http://www.myspace.com/stookmusic
fav song of week: One Blue Teardrop
6) The lyrics to Bruce's "Incident on 57th Street" (One of) My favorite, tragic love song(s)...it's all about the siren at the end.
Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick
But dressed just like dynamite
He tried sellin' his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street
But they sighed "Johnny it falls apart so easy and you know hearts these days are cheap"
And the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a cheater."
Well the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a liar"
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice said: "Johnny don't cry"
Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name.
That final line of that section...one of my top five Bruce lyrics of all time.
5) WE GOT A FRINGE FEST SHOW! There will be dancing! There will be video (there has to be...we are in visual fringe!) There will be stories! There will be Jonesie making an amazing a-hole out of herself onstage. YAY!
4) Coffee beans...be it covered in dark chocolate or pressed all cold like or all french like...I love you.
What's up lady biznasty looking coffee bean?
I'd drink even if the wiener dog whizzed in the mug.
3) My sister, who I don't talk to very often, has been calling me every evening for the past few days. She's having a lot of trouble with an undeserving friend of hers. Natalie left a distressed message today and ended with "I just need some good Alexa time. I love you. Call me." Oh...how I love her back.
2) Man I love pooping at work. Seriously...I sit there an extra long time and think...I'm getting paid right now to poop...oh you damn Department Store...this one's for you.
1) Pappy (my college mentor/second father) once told me "Alexa, I know that when you find the person you are meant to be with, you will be really happy." Though my mother soon followed that lovely memory with "Alexa, are you screwed up in relationships because of what you've seen your father and me go through?", I still believe in the good.
Just imagine what naughty lingerie she picked out for her special someone...grrrrr....
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
Short of a couple blips, I have been single for a long time. A long long time. A long long long time.
Anna says she just can't think of anyone cool enough.
Uhhh...I'm not really cool...at all...but it's a nice thought.
I almost made out with my hand the other day.
But here's the deal...
I may have an extraordinarily cynical outer shell. I may hate PDAs. I may scoff and poke fun. I may mean it.
In real internal reality...
I am actually one giant vagina of romantic hope and excitement.
Seriously...slap some music on it and I'll probably cry...list my fantasies out and my grandparents will definitely cry.
I'm only twenty fucking five. I'm not worried about dying alone. Yet.
Soon to be twenty six...well not until May but for Jonesie that's soon enough to start planning my usual week of birthday extravaganza...did you know that it ONLY costs $250 to rent a hotel room next to the water park??!??!?!
Plus Momma Jones sent me some totally badass hotpink heart jewelry to wear tomorrow.
I surround myself with love. It only takes a real moment around me to see that.
Just like Davey and Holway on Friday were surronded by tits and ass from the Playboy Memory Computer Game at the bar in Northfield...
Yeah, even though I hardly played at all, they were definitely entering my name into the winners section. Sweet Playboy juices will be mine for all of eternity.
Jonesie is surrounded by love.
In honor of VD Day...
TOP TEN LOVES FOR FEBRUARY 14th, 2007
In no particular order...
10) The kickass Bday present I got my Madzie: a mini hookah, apple flavored tobacco, two chocolate bars & a box of evening tea...Our Thursday night Grey's Anatomy gathering is going to be quite an adventure this time round.
9) From www.showusyourwiener.com...
8) Seriously...watch all of this...
Uhhh...you can bet your nads I cried buckets during this. Also, forced to decide (you know, during wartime or a good game of Would You Rather?), I would totally do beast over man. Mostly because Skidboot rules and that cowboy is a tool.
7) Local Musicians & Their (somewhat) Recent Albums that KICKASS! Obsessions of the week...
http://www.myspace.com/markmallman
fav song of week: Death Wish
http://www.myspace.com/stookmusic
fav song of week: One Blue Teardrop
6) The lyrics to Bruce's "Incident on 57th Street" (One of) My favorite, tragic love song(s)...it's all about the siren at the end.
Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night
With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick
But dressed just like dynamite
He tried sellin' his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street
But they sighed "Johnny it falls apart so easy and you know hearts these days are cheap"
And the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a cheater."
Well the pimps swung their axes and said "Johnny you're a liar"
And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice said: "Johnny don't cry"
Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name.
That final line of that section...one of my top five Bruce lyrics of all time.
5) WE GOT A FRINGE FEST SHOW! There will be dancing! There will be video (there has to be...we are in visual fringe!) There will be stories! There will be Jonesie making an amazing a-hole out of herself onstage. YAY!
4) Coffee beans...be it covered in dark chocolate or pressed all cold like or all french like...I love you.
What's up lady biznasty looking coffee bean?
I'd drink even if the wiener dog whizzed in the mug.
3) My sister, who I don't talk to very often, has been calling me every evening for the past few days. She's having a lot of trouble with an undeserving friend of hers. Natalie left a distressed message today and ended with "I just need some good Alexa time. I love you. Call me." Oh...how I love her back.
2) Man I love pooping at work. Seriously...I sit there an extra long time and think...I'm getting paid right now to poop...oh you damn Department Store...this one's for you.
1) Pappy (my college mentor/second father) once told me "Alexa, I know that when you find the person you are meant to be with, you will be really happy." Though my mother soon followed that lovely memory with "Alexa, are you screwed up in relationships because of what you've seen your father and me go through?", I still believe in the good.
Just imagine what naughty lingerie she picked out for her special someone...grrrrr....
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
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