I hurt myself with oatmeal
I actually kinda did, but I don't really wanna talk about that.
Anyway, it's been brought to my attention that I've sorely neglected my blogospheric duties in the last week, so here I am to babble about the inane and pointless for the amusement of friends and strangers. Ready, go:
The last BFZ show was a good time, in spite of being ridiculously (and flatteringly) crowded, smoky, and overpriced. All the favorites were played, boobs were flashed (no, not mine), tears were shed (by drunk people but whatever), and I'm sure some groupies were shagged. Hoo-wah. I'll miss them. Afterwards, my scotch-soaked ass got the Rock-n-Roll Prize Patrol lost in a cab on the way to Trash, and then proceeded to crap out before the Sex Slaves even hit the stage. Not one of my finer moments, but hey, bitch got a job, and Irish or not, I hadda work the next day.
Couple of other tidbits, some fun, some not so much...y'all have J-Dawg to thank for this...if CNN says it don't count if it comes in the back door, who am I to argue? (And just to reconfirm...I am never, ever having kids. Ever.)
Please take note that Matt's Promise now has a site, the link to which is now conveniently located in my sidebar. The site's pretty bare bones right now, but I'm told that it'll be updated with lots of fun stuff in the next couple of weeks. Donate! Do it!
I'd be remiss if I didn't mark the passage of three people I admired: Chris LeDoux (how did I not hear about this?), Danny Joe Brown, and, most importantly Tom Brockish. Tom was a friend of my family's since I was...ten, maybe. Maybe longer. When my mom needed a lung transplant, Tom offered her one of his without hesitation. There's no way to thank someone for something like that, and nearly no way to appreciate him enough. All I can say is thank you, and we will miss you.
Whew...okay. So as not to go out on a downer, there's this. Please know that I had the good sense to hate the film, and the even better sense to start using the word at every opportunity. (My friend Johanna can vouch for this. Can't you, missy? Bwah ha ha...)
Aiight, time to make the donuts.
Anyway, it's been brought to my attention that I've sorely neglected my blogospheric duties in the last week, so here I am to babble about the inane and pointless for the amusement of friends and strangers. Ready, go:
The last BFZ show was a good time, in spite of being ridiculously (and flatteringly) crowded, smoky, and overpriced. All the favorites were played, boobs were flashed (no, not mine), tears were shed (by drunk people but whatever), and I'm sure some groupies were shagged. Hoo-wah. I'll miss them. Afterwards, my scotch-soaked ass got the Rock-n-Roll Prize Patrol lost in a cab on the way to Trash, and then proceeded to crap out before the Sex Slaves even hit the stage. Not one of my finer moments, but hey, bitch got a job, and Irish or not, I hadda work the next day.
Couple of other tidbits, some fun, some not so much...y'all have J-Dawg to thank for this...if CNN says it don't count if it comes in the back door, who am I to argue? (And just to reconfirm...I am never, ever having kids. Ever.)
Please take note that Matt's Promise now has a site, the link to which is now conveniently located in my sidebar. The site's pretty bare bones right now, but I'm told that it'll be updated with lots of fun stuff in the next couple of weeks. Donate! Do it!
I'd be remiss if I didn't mark the passage of three people I admired: Chris LeDoux (how did I not hear about this?), Danny Joe Brown, and, most importantly Tom Brockish. Tom was a friend of my family's since I was...ten, maybe. Maybe longer. When my mom needed a lung transplant, Tom offered her one of his without hesitation. There's no way to thank someone for something like that, and nearly no way to appreciate him enough. All I can say is thank you, and we will miss you.
Whew...okay. So as not to go out on a downer, there's this. Please know that I had the good sense to hate the film, and the even better sense to start using the word at every opportunity. (My friend Johanna can vouch for this. Can't you, missy? Bwah ha ha...)
Aiight, time to make the donuts.
posted by Helen the Felon at 3:39 PM
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