I was
sitting on the toilet plucking my eyebrows this morning as I usually do, and I
got to thinking about how grateful I am for the life I have today. I’m no
longer hunched over the porcelain bowl emptying the contents of my stomach or
hovering over a stick waiting and praying for only one pink line instead of two.
I don’t share my shit well even if the spawn is mine. There are only so many
bagel bites in the freezer and I’m not above hiding them so that I can eat like
a King; and for real, when I find out who drank all but drops of the fucking
egg-nog and put it back, there will be hell to pay! I buy this gluttonous shit
one time a year assholes - save me some! I’m sorry, where were we? Gratitude…right.
Most days my
life is bland and predictable; I like it that way. I’ve lived enough chaos and
have come to appreciate a 9 pm bedtime. It saves me the discomfort of having to
turn you down for basically anything you invite me to. You: “Hey Christina, a few of us are going to (fill in the blank)
wanna…” Me: [before you even finish your sentence] “Nope, so sorry, that’s
past my bedtime. You understand though, right?” I’m selective about this shit
though. I can easily go to a concert or show either by self [usually the case]
or with a select few and stay out until both my eyes and ears bleed. I pay for
this the next day however, and try to make sure that everyone else around me
does as well; I like to share the wealth. My bitch cup runneth over. *notices
correlation for first time between number of friends being proportional to how
much “sharing” takes place. moves on any how*
I was at
another of these shows last Friday, November 3rd. A friend and I
went to see The Greyboy Allstars at a local venue here in San Diego. It was an
amazing show which I can say in all honesty [because I lie all the time] is in
my top ten shows of all time. We stood right in front, so close even that we
got the opportunity to tell the front man that his fly was down. It’s the
little things. If you’ve never heard of the Allstars, do yourself a favor and
check them out; if you still don’t like them – you’re an asshole. Fuck off.
We felt the
bass in our feet and I closed my eyes to feel the saxophone through my pores.
That’s what it’s like when I go to shows; it’s magic. Music is oxygen for my
soul. Jeff [used-to-be friend I went with - since disowned out of jealousy] is
a son-of-a-bitch though and dances better than I do, so I have one more concert
experience where I’ve formed resentment. Maybe I ought to start looking at this
as a chance at personal growth; or maybe Jeff can fuck off and let me win. You
hear me Jeff? Next show I get to be the prettier one! Don’t outshine me anymore
or I’ll the cut the brake lines on your new car. Don’t underestimate me! Much
love! Digression… Music, dancing [damn you Jeff!] completely being in that
moment and Skeksis. Wait, what?
Holy fuck
you guys! I have tried since that evening to put my finger on exactly who or
what it was that we were standing next to on the dance floor. It came to me at
2:12 am the following night/morning; as all good ideas do. Every good life
experience has that one individual that seems uniquely out of place but
perfectly placed at the same time. Skeksi was it. In a narrow but three-tiered
high room, this dude stuck out like a sore thumb – a very sore and throbbing
thumb; a cartoon thumb if you will. He appeared to be in attendance with a Fraggle,
but I can’t really be sure; it could have just been one of the other Dark Crystal
characters. Don’t worry; there will be reference material for those of you who’ve
never seen The Dark Crystal. Also, if you’ve never seen The Dark Crystal – fuck
off.
Skeksi
looked like a poor bastard who just never came back from a Jerry Garcia trip;
bless his Deadhead heart. I seriously can’t keep helping you out if you don’t
know what a Deadhead is. There’s this thing called Google, you should check it out. “Oh
Tina, you’re such a bitch” I know. Ain’t it great? Whatever, it’s my story and
frankly I’m surprised you’re still following. As it turns out, Skeksi is a real
nice dude. I went to make a pee and when I came back, he had reserved my spot
for me, ejecting some 4’11” man dressed in all white; apparently this guy never
got the memo. My mom always told me that you look like a tampon [maybe “Lola,”
the organic ones because he looked hipster] when you dress in all white. Thanks
Skeksi! I would’ve bought him a beer as a means of thanks, but I’d already seen
him drink 4. He seemed like he was doing fine.
The show came
to an end and Jeff and I left. I would have left twinkle-toes there but he
drove. Lesson learned. Music is oxygen for my soul. I’m grateful for all these
experiences today. I learn something new every day, sometimes it’s just acceptance.
I accept that Jeff dances better than I do. I accept that I have two options:
1) get better or 2) cut the brake lines. When’s the next show Jeff??
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