02.20.07

No camping this past weekend. Rats. I mean, camping, beer, and target practice with all sorts of rifles and pistols? What more could a girl want? Yet it was not to be. Oh well, another time. Perhaps in more clement weather, eh?

I am peeved that Spears woman has attempted to glom off of my fabulousness by shaving her head. As if she could be one-billionth part of as cool as I am.

Last night, D and I watched Heroes. What can I say? My comic book-fueled childhood has come to the little screen. Then we decided to go down to the Ash Street Saloon to see our friends, the Colonial Vipers. Made it in time for the last two songs--not enough, but they were great. It was a treat to hear them play with a decent sound system on a real stage. In the past, they've played in corners behind pinball machines mostly. They're getting really tight, and sounding much more confident. I'm happy that's happening.

We'd almost decided to leave, when the Imperial March from Star Wars blared up on the speakers. Four portly men came walking on-stage, and all I could see were dildos, jockstraps, and Depends. It was Shat. They were hilarious. The lead singer squirted something from his proudly rampant chin dildo during the first, one minute long, song.

They were loud. They were rude. They were funny as fuck. It was pretty obvious that they didn't take themselves seriously at all.

Then we went to another bar, and somehow I got handed a tequila and...

...well, it got silly. At one point I had on J's teddy bear hat and was swiping at him across the table, making growling noises. J played dead, which diffused the situation.

D and I ended up at his house, bonking like crazed teens. That was lovely. Then I had to go to work today--all tequila hungover and Pabst-bellied. Ugh.

Oh well. It was fun.

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