babyhead

I officially have the worst case of vocal cord nodules known to man. I sound like Kathleen Turner after she got attacked by a gang of throat-eating monkeys. Hopefully it might actually work for my upcoming project; I'll be singing and playing violin for my friend Ryan's newly-forming band (nameless at the moment), which will be in an indie-country kind of vein. Beautiful songs this guy writes, and I'm very excited to be a part of bringing them to life. With a very raspy sex voice.

Saturday night I attended the 40th birthday party of my ex-boyfriend's current girlfriend. (We were together for 4 years, he is 17 years older than me, and now living with a woman closer to his age). She invited me, so along with my close friend Patsy we went to their big old house, drank a copious amount of wine, sang along to the band playing in the living room, danced our lives away. It was a whirlwind of people I hadn't seen in ages, tweed jackets, porkpie hats, twinkling lights, mushroom-eating, clove cigarettes, piano-playing. I ran into my old neighbor Andy from when my ex and I lived together in a warehouse space....I hadn't seen him in 3 years, and had always had a crush on him when we lived next-door to each other. Dancer, yoga-teaching actor guy, quirky, tee-totalling and devastatingly good-looking. We ballroom danced and reminisced and talked about health food and Mother Teresa and composting toilets and at 6 in the morning he threw me into his little pickup truck and I took him home with me to my teacup apartment where we engaged in 18 hours of...reading each other passages from War and Peace, of course...and, um, playing Scrabble whilst..um....playing Irish jig duets on our pennywhistles!

Ah, but it is monday, and beautifully sunny out. My little french bicycle is calling my name.