Flirting Failure

I'll admit, sometimes it's nice to be hit on, even though I'm married. It's a little ego boost (as it should also be for Mitch). But typically, if someone does decide to throw some cheesy pickup lines my way, it's after I get off stage, so at least we have something to talk about (e. g. how awesome I am). Last week, though, I was caught off-guard, and realized I'm lucky to already be married.

I was standing at the bakery counter at Whole Foods, two bottles of wine in my basket and ordering pieces of cake. To paint a better picture, I hadn't showered in two days, and I had a crusty leftover herp sore on my lip (don't judge me). My situation should have screamed, "I'M GOING HOME TO SIT ON MY FAT ASS AND WATCH THE L WORD!" Nonetheless, this guy growled over my shoulder "so what are you buying me?" "Psssshhhh, NOTHing," I scoffed. He started making redemptive small talk. I pretended to dig through my purse, too embarrassed to look at him. I dropped a receipt but unfortunately I stomped my foot on top of it too late to stop him from being gentlemanly, and of course he picked it up for me. I mumbled a thanks, and then he kind of ran away Napoleon Dynamite style. The entire exchange was so awkward, even the bakery employee looked a little ashamed to be present for the whole thing.

But really, let's be honest here, it was all my fault. Sure, this guy was a goober. Who hits on scrubby looking girls at a grocery store on Friday night? But I'm so tactless that I couldn't even throw him a bone. Of course, I relayed the whole thing to Mitch, and he shoots out witty, gentle responses right away.

"So what are you buying me?"

*coy laughter* "Love handles."

*gesturing to the bottles of wine* "A hangover."

"A consolation prize."

Then it occurred to me that perhaps I was not the one casting the line when Mitch and I met.

I get it now.

I'm at Kalahari for the weekend with my mom, aunt, and two younger cousins. I absolutely love spending time with my family, but I loathe places like this; they're a caricature of everything that other nationalities ridicule us for.

This venture has also made me realize, yet again, that I am far from ready for children. I used every ounce of restraint I had to stop from strangling every tween in the hot tub. I shoved several children out of my way in the lazy river. And I required a very large amount of pinot grigio to help me tolerate the arcade after 9:00 pm on a Saturday. Therein lies my revelation. As I scanned the arcade tonight, buzzed after dinner and several rounds of DDR, I started to notice the great equalizer: comically-large margarita glasses filled with neon liquors.

Because this is an indoor waterpark, you can drink anywhere. ANYWHERE. Making this place seemingly tolerable for parents who feel stifled by open-container laws at public beaches. Parents exuded only complacence as they toted around shrieking six-year-olds with fistfuls of crumpled tickets waiting to be exchanged for shitty dollar-store, petro-chemical laden, lead-painted toys. And suddenly I get Brave New World.

Motorcycle Drive By

I rode bitch on Mitch's bike for the first time tonight, and I finally get why he likes it so much. There's something transcendental about riding a motorcycle. No GPS; no radios; no talking; no AC; no cell phones. Just a present moment. However, I had no idea Cincinnati was such an aromatic city. Words cannot do justice to KFC with undertones of sewer and the DeKuyper factory. Next time I will be riding with my visor down.

backhanded compliments

The show last night went well. Hard to screw up too much in a 20-min set. Anyway, I was the first act, and the only solo artist of the night. As I'm walking offstage, one of the musicians for the next band says to me, "good job. It takes a lot of courage to do that, to get up there." 'Scuse me? That can only mean two things. One, you think I'm 12 and this is my first time on stage. Two, you think I made an ass of myself. I'm sticking with option #2 since I don't know too many 12-year-olds with a C cup and a mortgage. Here's how I felt about your set:

• You guys have a really consistent sound.
• I love how you're bringing back the best looks from Clueless.
• You almost had that last note down. Keep it up.
• It's so generous of your bandmates to let you play keys on some of the songs.
• It's awesome that you guys are still playing out after all these years.
• That haircut is so bold. I wouldn't have the guts for it.
• That was very entertaining.

I'm gunna barf

Tomorrow is my first show since April, and I'm opening for this band called The Civil Wars (well, not immediately, there are two bands between me and them). I hadn't the slightest notion (hear in your imagination a British accent) who they were, but apparently people know them, and like them. I'm not accustomed to playing with other popular musicians, so the thought that I may be judged by them and their fans kind of makes me sick to my stomach. However, the good news is that most people won't show up until after I'm off stage and passed out at the bar.

dreams

Last night I had this dream where Mitch was tickling me and poking me at a fancy work function in front of all my coworkers and bosses and he wouldn't stop and I got really pissed at him. Then in my dream I woke up and Mitch and I were lying in bed and I woke him up and yelled at him and he was like, "but it was a dream." It was a dream within a dream. So here's a creamy (typo, it stays) picture of Joseph Gordon-Leavitt for your enjoyment.

Also, according to the Dream Moods Dictionary, being tickled means that I need more humor in my life, and dreaming about being at parties means I need to get out more. So apparently this no-fun budget we're on (while we save up for our trip to Portugal in February) is not working out for me.

being micromanaged

Today I painted my fingernails at work. So I'm going to blog instead just in case someone walks in my office. This way I'll at least look like I'm typing something really important.

I just booked my first show back since my surgery, and I'm pretty nervous about it. It's only a 30 minute set, but it's in the ballroom of the Southgate House, which for those of you who know nothing of the music scene in northern Kentucky (for shame!), is a pretty cool gig. It's a nice way to come back, but I don't want to blow it. I told my dad about it, and this is the e-mail he sent me:

"On the Southgate House:
1.) Pick songs you perform well, not necessarily your favorite ones.
2.) Start with something strong so people will notice your voice. Don't take this personally, but almost no one will have heard of you, the crowd will be thin and probably talking a lot. You don't have to shout over them, but do something to get them to pay attention at least for a little while.
3.) Be careful about how many slow/quiet songs you do in the middle, because they'll talk over you.
4.) End the set upbeat.
5.) Do the Tom Waits tune."

Okay I get it. People talk a lot at shows, and I should play covers. Regardless, although I've played a lot of shows (over 100), my dad has been to more. Perhaps he gets some credibility for being a competent concert attendee.