By Beauty Damned

Most Slackingest Blogger

I am one truant son-of-a-gun lately. Don't have an excuse. Just haven't felt that pull to sit down at the computer when I come home. Work has been hectic and I haven't found any moments to steal from my busy days. I'm a hard worker, and a slackass blogger. I'm having this mercifully low-key day at work today though, so I'm snapping up the opportunity to check back in to blogging.

Last night we went to the Hook. Frannie's brother Nick's band, "Donkey Claw" performed. Nick is the drummer. I thought they were a lot of fun. You may recall that the last time I went to the Hook was for the "No Fun 'Noise' Fest." While Donkey Claw was nowhere near as excruciating on the ears, for me at least, they struck a good balance between hard rock and total noise. Rob and I both thought they were great. Could use a dab of polish on the vocals, but the love and conviction was there in the sound.

…And then we proceeded to get tore up. Our visit to the Hook ground to a halt when everyone started lamenting about how tired they were and we realized that the guy on stage playing his acoustic guitar and "singing" was so godawful that it was suddenly imperative that we get as far away from him as possible. Kimberly and I were so consumed with our belligerent conversation at the bar that we didn't even realize we were shouting over a musical catastrophe. I regret having to say this about anyone who has mustered the courage to get on stage and attempt to entertain an audience, but sadly, tis true: That guy has a long way to go before I'd recommend him stepping onto a stage again. Don't know his name and it's probably better that way.

Kathleen sent a hilarious email this morning to announce the extent of her and Kimberly's collective hangovers and the hijinks which have ensued since our parting last night. While at the bar, the bartender was "kind" enough to give us many free drinks. If I had a nickel for every time I, or someone else, said "the bartender is so nice! He's our friend." Kathleen quoted Kimberly's first words this morning as: "That bartender is NOT our friend!" Hahaha. I guess it was pretty bad.

I woke up a bit parched and with a slight pounding in my skull, but a big glass of water and a partially awake roll in the sack with my darling cured me enough to drag myself into the shower and out of the house and into work reasonably within my scheduled arrival time. And can I tell you? For someone who is rapidly approaching yet another round of PMS, I am in a fabulously good mood. And to make the day even better, Robert is going to come and have lunch with me by my work, Kathleen and Charles are coming over for dinner (if they've sufficiently recovered) and the fucking PHARCYDE is playing at the Hook tonight. I must see them.

See ya later mastabatas.