Monday, April 23

big girls don't cry...

but they damn sure lie, look you in the eye saying you're their only.

This weekend was a good test of "How To Act In Public" vs. "How Not To Act In Public." Went out to a few random locations, old haunts and new regular hang-outs. At every single location, I saw someone that I didn't want to deal with.

Monday, April 9

Ladies and gentlemen...Special Elvis

Saturday morning started with big plans and lots of good intentions. Jen and I had promised each other that we would be going to yoga every Saturday at 11:30am. Unfortunately this morning I had mis-calculated my budget and couldn't afford to splurge on an hour of brutal body stretches and bruising up my "sitting bones." I sent Jen a quick text to update her on my financial woes, watched a bit of Playhouse Disney (one of my weekend guilty pleasures), and headed back to bed, where I slept until 3:30pm.

When my body finally let me know that it was well-rested enough for the day, I did some household tidying (read: washed 4 dishes and took a bath). Jen let me know that she was on her way over to start an evening of random adventure...only to inform me 5 minutes later that she was on the wrong bus and heading towards Kenmore Square. She corrected her mistake and arrived with plenty of time to spare. Our game plan was to head to the Roxy, enjoy a night with Lily Allen, hopefully scam our way into backstage, and head towards my apartment afterwards. We succeeded in some of these missions - the closest that we came to backstage at the show was Jen having conversation with one of her horn players about The Specials and swooning for his accent (Scottish I think?). I threw $6 away on a 16oz. Bud Light, after spending $1.80 for 24oz of the same at the liquor store down my block. For a little while on the train, I was one of those not-so-classy kids drinking out of a paper bag. Thank goodness nobody took a photo.

After our adventure at the Roxy, it was only 10pm and Jen and I were VERY sure that it was time for karaoke. Lucky for us, the bar down my block was pretty empty, so Jen was able to get a few good songs in - Jukebox Hero and London Calling. We also found love for her in the form of a pretty boy in his early 20s, only to find out that he was actually 33 and preferred the company of men. He was good conversation, constantly pointing out that I did not need to rely on others to buy me a drink, since I already had one in my hand.

The karaoke DJ was not our regular, who opens the night by singing "Brown Eyed Girl" to get the crowd excited. Instead we were greeted with a sub-par cover of an Oasis song, and soon Jen and I were worried that our favorite karaoke celerity, Special Elvis, would not be making an appearance. Special Elvis is, for lack of a better word, special. He sings not only Elvis songs, but throws in the Dave Clark Five, Roy Orbison, and anything else that he struggles to hit the high notes on. He isn't the most on-pitch singer, but he is a crowd pleaser. Luckily, Special Elvis was running late, and greeted us with a tear-worthy rendition of Lionel Ritchie's "Hello". He later informed us of his performance schedules and where we can catch his act during the week.

As we made our way home in the cold at 2:30am, we were both glad that we hadn't put our bodies through a morning of yoga. Catching up on our sleep and preparing for an evening of dancing and karaoke was a much more worthwhile way to spend a Saturday.