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rock stars
Oct. 12th, 2013 05:42 pmI'm glad I went to ACL last week. It was actually cooler, less humid and all that jazz. Even if I did have to pop a couple xanax to deal with my unreasonable terror about being in a crowd of some 70,000 people. (Aside: thank all the gods for xanax. I so rarely have to use it, but when I need it, the stuff works and keeps me from losing my mind.)
This weekend, I'm watching the livestreams of shows I missed like Kaskade and Silversun Pickups. It's excellent, and I'm home in my air conditioned living room. Last night I watched Depeche Mode again, doing pretty much exactly the same set. It was worth it for all Dave Gahan's hip shaking and slinking around the stage. That man punches all my rock star buttons. I can't decide if I want to be Gahan or fuck Gahan.
Definitely need more tattoos. It's a physical longing right now.
Tonight is Jurgen's birthday, so I'm super excited to dance to new stuff from Die Krupps. (No big deal, just going to a rock star's birthday party.) Mike and I are having a quiet day of hanging out, music stuff, Korean food, cupcakes and general happiness. I re-dyed my hair and later I'll make myself presentable to sweat all night on the dance floor. My hips are still aching from Wednesday night's Depeche Mode tribute and all of recreating the Gahan slink on the dance floor. I danced more than I have in weeks and had a great night. Heard all my favorites, like "In Your Room" and the Rammstein cover of "Stripped." Shervin wore a bright orange shirt and marched around the dance floor with his arms flung wide, exhorting us to scream. Every time Angela and I looked at him we cracked up laughing with delight. That's what tequila does to you and why I don't drink it.
I've been very strict with myself in the past month and a half about my own drinking. I don't very much in general, but I'm hyper aware now because I'm quite certain alcohol played a role in my father's death. Either through the general carelessness that final night, or the years of alcoholism taking a toll on his body, it certainly brought him to that point. Aside from one night where I had Mike drive and gave myself permission to do shots and get fucked up beyond belief, I'm sticking to my only twice a week, only outside the house, never enough to be drunk routine.
For the majority of my adult life, I've worried about becoming an alcoholic. I believe that during a portion of my first marriage I was probably walking the line of becoming one. I don't think it very likely now, but I want to be sure I'm not treating my sadness or my fucked up feelings by drinking.
On a lighter note, my favorite bakery makes a pumpkin spice latte that is far superior to a Starbucks version. It's delicious.
This weekend, I'm watching the livestreams of shows I missed like Kaskade and Silversun Pickups. It's excellent, and I'm home in my air conditioned living room. Last night I watched Depeche Mode again, doing pretty much exactly the same set. It was worth it for all Dave Gahan's hip shaking and slinking around the stage. That man punches all my rock star buttons. I can't decide if I want to be Gahan or fuck Gahan.
Definitely need more tattoos. It's a physical longing right now.
Tonight is Jurgen's birthday, so I'm super excited to dance to new stuff from Die Krupps. (No big deal, just going to a rock star's birthday party.) Mike and I are having a quiet day of hanging out, music stuff, Korean food, cupcakes and general happiness. I re-dyed my hair and later I'll make myself presentable to sweat all night on the dance floor. My hips are still aching from Wednesday night's Depeche Mode tribute and all of recreating the Gahan slink on the dance floor. I danced more than I have in weeks and had a great night. Heard all my favorites, like "In Your Room" and the Rammstein cover of "Stripped." Shervin wore a bright orange shirt and marched around the dance floor with his arms flung wide, exhorting us to scream. Every time Angela and I looked at him we cracked up laughing with delight. That's what tequila does to you and why I don't drink it.
I've been very strict with myself in the past month and a half about my own drinking. I don't very much in general, but I'm hyper aware now because I'm quite certain alcohol played a role in my father's death. Either through the general carelessness that final night, or the years of alcoholism taking a toll on his body, it certainly brought him to that point. Aside from one night where I had Mike drive and gave myself permission to do shots and get fucked up beyond belief, I'm sticking to my only twice a week, only outside the house, never enough to be drunk routine.
For the majority of my adult life, I've worried about becoming an alcoholic. I believe that during a portion of my first marriage I was probably walking the line of becoming one. I don't think it very likely now, but I want to be sure I'm not treating my sadness or my fucked up feelings by drinking.
On a lighter note, my favorite bakery makes a pumpkin spice latte that is far superior to a Starbucks version. It's delicious.