charmer

my friday nights out seem to always follow the same evolutionary path. they begin with a lively make-up application overture. eyeliner is smudged to perfection, risks are taken with new lipstick colors, and if you end up looking a touch too trashy, that's okay as long as its the sexy kind of trashy. and as long as it looks intentional. then you pile into whatever gasoline beast is begging to be your sweet ride, and arrive at a rather dull destination.

things begin to change up a bit, as they always do. last night, all the licensed shit shooters congregated outside to shoot the relevant shit, i guess. then the band played their now standard solid show. ben and jim each made a few fuckups, but nothing that would go noticed by most. erin bopped a lot and screamed funny things. i bopped some and screamed slightly less funny things. i basically held onto my newcastle and tried not to have flashbacks of handsome boys in historic pubs.

then we morphed into less annoying, more tolerable animals and enthusiastically drew gabe and tony #3 into silly discussions. (in case any one wonders, tony #1 is the drummer, aka banana tony. tony #2 is, well, the greasy, aka greasy tony. tony #3 has no know alias.) gabe and tony #3 are my favorites. tony #3 showed me a video of this tiny dog humping a pound puppy. actually, those pound puppy toys must be collectors items now, so that was really one lucky little dog.

the final stage of friday night evolution results in a conspicuous kind of weirdness that settles in between people and gently pushes them apart. i dared to mention recording and suggested they make a wholeassed effort for once, instead of a halfassed one. then it became a blame game of sorts, naming who was lagging, who wasn't committed. then it became a lame game of sorts as ben and others hopped in the van to smoke a freaking cauldron. and then i went home.

the end.