This photo of our cat, Sophie, has nothing to do with my weekend, but I love the way that it came out, so I figured that I would share. I guess it’s true… if you take approximately a half a googolplex worth of kitten photos, you’re bound to end up with a few that are halfway decent.
This weekend was pretty ok. Nothing hugely exciting happened, but I would much rather blog than watch the travesty of a Red Sox game that is unfolding right now (6-1 to the Angels? Ouch!), so please excuse me if this is somewhat in-cohesive. Please do not read blog entry while operating heavy machinery as it may induce drowsiness. Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear. Yadda yadda yadda.
I had a show on Saturday night at the Lizard Lounge. Karma bit me pretty hard on the ass for this one. I had sent out an announcement email to my mailing list for this show, but I put the wrong date and a lot of people showed up a week early. I felt like the world’s biggest asshole for that one. So, I shouldn’t have felt surprised that on the date of the actual show, only seven people showed up for the express purpose of seeing me strum my guitar and hearing me sing songs about love, heartbreak and how much I love my cat.
All was not lost, however, because there were plenty of other people at the club who, while not there to see me play, did not run screaming in terror at the sound of my voice. Some days that’s all you can ask for.
You know that a night is going to be interesting when it begins with your dad heckling you. The best part was, I shot him right now. I should hire someone to heckle me at all of my shows. It provides for much witty banter without the need to tell the same three stories about my songs over and over and over again.
I wish that I had been able to stay the whole night to see the rest of the bands. It promised to be an evening of great music. I just get so fucking wiped after my shows. All I wanted to do was go home and lie down.
Kristian made me a peanut butter brownie with ice cream when we got home. It just might be the most delicious thing that I’ve ever tasted.
Oh, the Red Sox game is now 6-3 with Ortiz on second and Manny coming up to bat. Big Papi, please allow me to have your babies. My boyfriend might not like it too much, but I think that the world should not be denied my good looks and your ability to hit in the clutch. Although, knowing my luck, I would just produce Shrek-like offspring who fanned like A-Rod when the going got tough.
Aaaand…. this blog entry is officially boring me. I’m going to pull the plug before I fall asleep and drop my laptop.
