DATELINE: Kitchen, 1:35
Dude, your blog! Ugh. You hang out with me all day, having the time of your life, and all you can post about is reminiscensces of dudes you frenched in 1981.
You gotta give the people what they want. And it wasn't 1981.
My old 55405 ball and chain deluxe model, Britt, is down for the holiday (nee "holladay") week/end. Tonight, showing her a good time involved taking her to the Hideout, Chicago's finest small cap venue (Fire Code Capacity: 27) to see Miles' band and Red Eyed Legends. Hands were shook, introductions made, but natch none of it was as fun as Britt teasing me mercilessly about every one of my exes, the way that only someone who you have known your whole life can, the kind of teasing you can only accept from someone who used to read you bedtime stories out of trashy garage sale novels (with all the voices and dramatic emphasis) like The Happy Hooker and Jackie Collins' trashterpiece Rockstar, from the bunk below yours. 1994 is only a classic in our personal/friendship canon in retrospect, though the picture I have of her trying to split a coconut with a hatchet-sized knife in our kitchen might imply otherwise. Now, I am retiree cat lady qua music hobbyist at 29 and she is a burgeoning Annie Sprinkle/Gloria Allred amalgam, and we both live in houses with heat. We've really come up in the world. Salud!Posted by Jessica at December 31, 2005 02:25 AM | TrackBack