I Stand Corrected

And I do - I was totally wrong about Vampire Weekend, and after seeing them live, I admit my erroneous judgment. But I'll get to that in a minute. When it rains, it pours, and this couch-loving hermit had a really jam-packed weekend. So let's get to it.

Thanks to good ol' Jesus Christ, our office closed early on Friday! I'm still fuzzy on the details of Good Friday, but I know it involves crucifixion and death and rebirth and all those fun things. So to celebrate, I headed over to my sister's house (because some lucky bastards had the WHOLE day off) and watched a terrible episode of the new Top Model. Seriously, can anyone under 90 pounds be a model? Cuz I'm hard pressed to think of another time when I've seen so much fug in one place. But I digress. Julia and I then headed to our favorite comfort spot of all time (besides the relocated Academy of Sciences and Mechanical Museum) - The Balboa Theater. No, this is not the lame Balboa Cafe of drunken Marina grossness. This is the most valuable gem the Richmond has to offer - the best, comfiest, oldest, mustiest movie theater around. We saw "Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day" and it brought the warm and fuzzies like a good viewing of "Anne of Green Gables." Don't think I can't hear you all snickering. Jerks. Anyway, the movie was fantastic, amazing, beautiful, and Amy Adams is the greatest thing to happen to Young Hollywood since...uh...okay, it's been a long time since anything good has happened there. Love her.

Friday night was a festive celebration of my friend Tiffiny's b-day. Lots of drinks, lots of dancing, and lots of good times. It is here that I would like to bestow the prestigious Cab Driver of the Week award to my unnamed Russian chauffeur. I picked up on his Soviet Dad vibe right away, and we proceeded to chat in my native (sorta) tongue for the whole drive. He even told me my accent wasn't that bad! He hails from Tashkent, Uzbekistan and has been here in the US for 10 years. He definitely said a whole bunch of shit in Russian that was far too advanced for my limited understanding, but I smiled and nodded, and hopefully didn't unknowingly consent to marry his son or something.

Saturday was a slightly hungover day of cleaning and chores. I spent some quality time with my guiltiest pleasure of all time, "Stori Telling" by Tori Spelling. Amazing - don't judge!! Around 7, my dear Shana and I headed to Japan Town to get sushi. Imagine my fascination, excitement and general stupified reaction to discover there is now an entire room dedicated only to Japanese sticker machines. There were at least 10 different photo booths that convert your picture into a Hello Kitty-fied, technicolor sticky pic to adorn...um, your Trapper Keeper or locker? I definitely plan on making a return trip with my sister so I can customize my personal checks and resume with my face. Just kidding. Kinda.

Anyway, after a fantastic sushi experience, Shana and I headed to the Independent to check out Vampire Weekend. My boss and I had both accidentally scored tickets for a client, so being the amazing boss he is, he told me to take advantage of the perks my job offers and just snag a pair of tickets for myself. And who am I to argue with authority? So my grateful date and I got some pretty cool VIP access to the balcony and checked out the unfortunate disaster that was Yacht - the opening act. Their entire show seemed to be generated out of a Mac Book positioned at the corner of the stage, and when it crashed, they sorta lost momentum. They had to stop and awkwardly pander for a good 10 minutes while the computer re-booted. Ouch. I don't handle public humiliation of others well. But after all that, Vampire Weekend took the stage at around 10:30 and totally proved me wrong. I had been really hesitant to jump on their bandwagon for some reason, even though they were on SNL and appeared on the cover of my magazine last month. But they were adorable, energetic, charming, and sounded amazing live. I'm currently obsessing over the album, and am bitter to discover the lead singer has a girlfriend (gossip courtesy of my boss). But I admit my mistake, and now agree that I should've probably been on the V.W. bandwagon long ago. Happy?

Since we called it an early-ish night on Saturday (definitely the second weekend in a row I made it home before my parents. Wow.), I was energized and motivated to get off my ass on Sunday. I reunited with Shanana and we headed to Ocean Beach for a long, awesome, tiring walk at Land's End. It was an uncharacteristically gorgeous day, and I have photographic evidence to prove it (see below). The rest of the day was spent getting a much needed pedicure from mom, reading my beloved Tori book, and watching a terrible episode of "Dirt." Good weekend!!

Below is the proof that I didn't hermit myself for three days.

This is the hazy madness of Friday:




Here is my mom looking like a friggin' supermodel on her way to a birthday dinner:



And here is my dad, also looking very model-esque:


And finally, proof that my side of the city does see sun:

Tired

I know that title looks like I put no effort into it, but it's actually a really good song by Adele, who is sorta like Amy Winehouse but with less crack residue. And because it's a new week and because I'm me, it's of course relevant. My energy level has dipped back below the 90-year old lady line after a brief, manic phase earlier this month. After a few hours of pre-St. Paddy's Day celebratory antics at Angela's on Saturday, all I wanted was a hot bath and US Weekly. I wound up asleep in the tub for a good 20 minutes (do NOT tell my mother - she is convinced I'll drown in there). After that, I lay on the couch with my brand new hot water bottle (the prized possession of the geriatriac crowd), reading my tabloids and watching my stories. I did somehow motivate to go back out that night, but I was a defeated partier at that point, and I was back on the couch early enough to catch part of SNL. Jeez, typing that paragraph wore me out...

I do now know, however, that my lack of energy is no match for my newfound obsession with Guitar Hero. Friday night, my exhausted body was sprawled out on my sister's couch, but my eyes were glued open and my hands were clutching desperately to a plastic guitar. I couldn't have stopped playing if the living room had caught fire. I was supposed to be "babysitting" my sleeping nephews while my brother-in-law made an airport run to fetch my sister. My babysitting skills were put into question when 4-year-old Josh stumbled in at midnight. Trying to find the bathroom and in a sleepy daze, he found his aunt in a cracked out, video game stupor and squeaked, "Guuuitaaar?" I quickly and guiltily hid the evidence behind the couch and said "No, Josh! Go to the bathroom!" I tucked him back into bed and felt like an addict trying to conceal my obsessive hunger for another go at "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." My sister finally got home around 12:30, and I made the mature decision to put the guitar down for the night. The entire drive home, I could see multicolored dots coming at me. I swear I heard the crowd booing me off the stage in my sleep that night too. Not since Tetris have I been so affected.

And that's the excitement that is my life right now. No cab drivers of the week because both were absolutely silent. I'm starting to think it's me.

I Miss You

I sincerely miss Blink 182. I don't care who makes fun of me for proudly proclaiming it. They were awesome, and most of their songs make me ridiculously happy (though "I Miss You" and "Adam's Song" make me want to sob like the pathetic girl I am).

On that random-ass note, HI! There's a good chance only two people will look at this blog considering my lame ass (second ass reference in as many paragraphs) hasn't posted since the end of last month. Work got super intense, and basically, sitting on the couch staring blankly at American Idol always sounds more tempting than using my brain to write stuff once I get home. In case the two of you were wondering, not much has happened in the past two weeks. Although I DID talk to Stryker on the phone and managed to turn a disturbing shade of magenta in front of my coworkers. Trust me, I was high for days off the experience, and am only now able to document it so matter-of-factly. I should've kicked myself out of the joyful stupor long enough to blog about it cuz now the giddiness is hard to recapture. If any more phone interactions take place, I'll be sure to write about them. Stryker, if you happen to be one of my two remaining readers, it was nice talking to you. And I didn't turn THAT magenta. Just sorta fuschia.

In television news, I'm disgusted with myself for my overzealous devotion to American Idol this season. It's horrifying. It even caused me to do something so out of character, so unlike me, that I'm beginning to doubt my sense of self. The time conflict has forced me to favor AI over...TOP MODEL. I know, I know - it's sick is what it is. My ancient Tivo can't record two things at once, and because Idol sucked me in, I've been choosing to record it on Wednesday nights instead of this season's Top Model. I feel like Tyra somehow knows and she's sitting somewhere with her crazy weave just plotting her revenge. If there is any good in the world, MTV or VH1 will run a marathon of the new episodes soon. Tyra, I know you can read my thoughts - please make it happen.

Okay, I'm starting to feel a little flu-like again, and I have to go figure out a way to hide my symptoms from my overreactive parents. Time to move out?