16 September 2006
I can't apologize for my late photobooth friday postings anymore, I just can't. I am what I am (and that's the trouble, man). mucho thanks to the luminous leSophie for taking over again last friday. lovelovelove to miss leSophie.
the week we moved, I was in major procrastination mode. not unlike my senior year when I needed to complete a huge research paper and waited until the last minute to finish it. and because I never took typing, my dad stayed up with me all night, grumbling under his breath (and rightly so). I can still see him hunched over the typewriter, white-out at the ready. I had the audacity to stand behind him and make corrections. can you believe that? so wrong. I can see that now. so steeped in 17 year-oldness. poor paper never had a chance-- doomed for mediocrity from the very beginning. the teacher wrote something on the back like, 'so disappointed in your work, andrea! I expected more.' whatever.
procrastinating when something major is on the pike is so vintage andrea. I do believe I have taken the art of procrastination to new, exciting levels and intend to use this blog as a platform to school anyone who wants to be schooled. first lesson: ignore all pressing obligations and go dancing. in my case, I chose to blow off packing and painting for a tuesday night run to star bar with my pal amy. so easily justified-- amy really needed me to help celebrate her new job. really, she did. I hadn't been since before ezra was born and that ain't right, people. also, a photobooth was to be involved and we all know I have no willpower where photobooths are concerned.
highlights of the evening include:
1. the playing of a fantastic song-- get it together (beastie boys with q-tip). all the twenty-something hipsters around me were like 'oh wow, who's this? do you know who this is?' and I was all 'yes, yes I do, silly young people'. thus reaping the one benefit of my status as a thirty-something hip hop head.
2. groove-induced euphoria. yeah, that's right-- I used it, I just used the word groove. I can't help it if there was a groove. you can't deny the groove. in fact, I think they even played groove is in the heart that night. anyway, where was I? oh yeah, there was a groove and the euphoric state I experienced was the direct result of it.
3. the playing of a block of old school pre-wacko michael jackson classics. nothing brings a room together like PYT.
4. the top two frames of this sweaty star bar photobooth session.
low points of the evening include:
1. right before I left to meet up with amy, I realized I had no cash. not wanting to risk a late night trip to the atm, I did what any self-respecting groove-craving mother would do-- I raided my child's piggy bank. I can't believe I'm publicly admitting to this, but I did it and I'll own it. I shook that plastic pig so hard we both saw stars. are you reading this in horror? is that disgust in your eyes? well, I can assure you it's absolutely nothing compared to the look the bouncer gave me when I proceeded to pay the seven dollar cover charge in nickels, dimes and quarters. OH YES I DID. how you like me now? a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. not to worry, every last cent was discreetly returned to the pig.
2. and then there was the moment some girl opened the bathroom stall door on me. I swear to you, she swung that rickety thing wide open and paused for like, an hour before slurring 'sorry' and slamming the door shut. leaving me sitting there like that, totally exposed. I'm telling you, time stood still. every last hint or suggestion of dignity or coolness, seriously-- completely gone. gone with the flush of the toilet. dude, do you know how hard it is to recover from a moment like that? I rallied, though. I had to. standing at the bathroom mirror, I tried to put it out of my mind. contrary to popular belief, there are some things that lip gloss just can't fix. and then of course, the horror of it all came rushing back to me when bathroom girl and I exchanged awkward glances out on the dance floor. just when I thought I was over it.
3. the tragic absence of double dutch bus from the evening's playlist. what gives, dj romeo cologne? we waited all night for it. when the lights came up at two in the morning and we still hadn't heard it, I wanted to cry. okay, not really. but I was genuinely disappointed.
4. the bottom two frames of said photobooth strip. completely blackened by processing chemicals. so tragic. yo, star bar-- you need to get someone skilled up in that booth to MAKE THINGS RIGHT.
5. yes, and what about the lights coming up at star bar at two in the morning? joint used to rock it til four am and now we're shutting down at two? nothing more depressing than looking at a dive club (and your own sweaty self, your own dirty nasty sneaks) under fluorescent lights at two in the morning. oh wait, no-- I think there might be something worse-- the realization that you have to go home and face reality. ears ringing and smelling like smoke.
amy, thanks for the diversion. totally and completely worth it, my friend. next time, the photobooth strips are on me. I promise.
photobooth friday peoples, I have missed you something awful:
the whole self