Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
On Friday the Boyfriend returned from 8 long, boring, quiet days in Las Vegas.
(Ahem.)
After I almost got killed 14 times trying to pick him up from the train (HINT: pulling a U-turn on Irving Park under the Kennedy Expressway in rush hour traffic will NOT make you any friends), we decided to blow off a pal's record release party in favor of a boozy dinner at the Lennox Lounge. Once my life stopped flashing before my eyes, I drank Stella like it was my job and caught him up on every tiny detail from the past week. He tactfully refrained from mentioning all the blow he was doing off hooker's fake titties while I was busy attending children's birthday parties. He's a peach like that.
Saturday he had an extra ticket to see the much-lauded Tapes 'N Tapes open for the Wrens at Schubas, so I tagged along. Let me tell you, the Wrens rocked TNT right off the damn stage. I mean, you KNOW it's gonna be a good show when the bass is being passed to the back of the room on top of the crowd before the second song is over. I'm getting pretty tired of Rock's Next Great Band (changing weekly!), which inevitably turns out to be a bunch of 19 year old kids who picked up guitars like ten minutes ago and play every song off their as-of-yet-unreleased debut album without a drop of imagination to sold out rooms full of nerds who think they know everything because they read it on Gorilla Vs. Bear. Sometimes you just want a bunch of 30something year old dudes who have been playing together since you were in high school and still have more energy than a suburban soccer mom on meth. Holy, were they good.
QUOTE OF THE NIGHT: During a break between bands, one of the girls with us decided that it would be a super idea if all six of us piled into the photobooth together. "But nobody look at my thong!" she ordered. Her boyfriend rolled his eyes. "Like you're wearing a thong. It's not VALENTINE'S DAY."
Post-show we pretended it wasn't actually 2 AM and we aren't actually over 30 and drove up to The Condo to hang with the Sugar Gang for a bit. Miss Elle was in town and she'd brought along her bottle of Absinthe. Dun dun DUN! Surprisingly, no one took off their clothes, threatened to jump off the balcony, or confessed to a crush on the Mayor. Instead we brainstormed ideas for my first book, devised a plot to keep my sister on American soil, and admired Elle's drunken manicure, which covered much of her fingers and some of her nails. I have really missed those girls.
Sunday? Recovery. Vegetarian brunch, naps and the newspaper. All in all, a pretty sweet weekend. I'm glad he's home.
(Ahem.)
After I almost got killed 14 times trying to pick him up from the train (HINT: pulling a U-turn on Irving Park under the Kennedy Expressway in rush hour traffic will NOT make you any friends), we decided to blow off a pal's record release party in favor of a boozy dinner at the Lennox Lounge. Once my life stopped flashing before my eyes, I drank Stella like it was my job and caught him up on every tiny detail from the past week. He tactfully refrained from mentioning all the blow he was doing off hooker's fake titties while I was busy attending children's birthday parties. He's a peach like that.
Saturday he had an extra ticket to see the much-lauded Tapes 'N Tapes open for the Wrens at Schubas, so I tagged along. Let me tell you, the Wrens rocked TNT right off the damn stage. I mean, you KNOW it's gonna be a good show when the bass is being passed to the back of the room on top of the crowd before the second song is over. I'm getting pretty tired of Rock's Next Great Band (changing weekly!), which inevitably turns out to be a bunch of 19 year old kids who picked up guitars like ten minutes ago and play every song off their as-of-yet-unreleased debut album without a drop of imagination to sold out rooms full of nerds who think they know everything because they read it on Gorilla Vs. Bear. Sometimes you just want a bunch of 30something year old dudes who have been playing together since you were in high school and still have more energy than a suburban soccer mom on meth. Holy, were they good.
QUOTE OF THE NIGHT: During a break between bands, one of the girls with us decided that it would be a super idea if all six of us piled into the photobooth together. "But nobody look at my thong!" she ordered. Her boyfriend rolled his eyes. "Like you're wearing a thong. It's not VALENTINE'S DAY."
Post-show we pretended it wasn't actually 2 AM and we aren't actually over 30 and drove up to The Condo to hang with the Sugar Gang for a bit. Miss Elle was in town and she'd brought along her bottle of Absinthe. Dun dun DUN! Surprisingly, no one took off their clothes, threatened to jump off the balcony, or confessed to a crush on the Mayor. Instead we brainstormed ideas for my first book, devised a plot to keep my sister on American soil, and admired Elle's drunken manicure, which covered much of her fingers and some of her nails. I have really missed those girls.
Sunday? Recovery. Vegetarian brunch, naps and the newspaper. All in all, a pretty sweet weekend. I'm glad he's home.
Tequila Red called it a day @ 4:12 PM
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