|September 05, 1999|
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|Boy it sure isn't fun to "not
be grounded" when you mess up with your parents. Ahem.
Equation for really shooting yourself in the foot:
1. Make plans to go out to dinner while your parents are out of town. Take your father's truck (which is REALLY nice) downtown where you aren't supposed to go. And assume that since they say they will return on Friday, that they will.
2. Meet friend up on Wednesday night for a dinner at Sol's Taco Lounge. Eat cheese tacos and margaritas. Before you realize that tequila packs a mighty punch with your low alcohol tolerance. Walk to Trees and see a friend of your friend play, and run into your sister who is leaving the club at 11 pm (yes! run into little siblings! what a way to fuck yourself up!) and hear her exclaim to your friend, "YOU LOOK LIKE PAUL WELLER!!" and get really embarassed.
3. Listen to group, realize they're just like a sped-up Swervedriver from the Midwest -- not a good combination -- and then leave as you comment on the singer's really nice Neiman-Marcus silver trousers. God those were really nice.
4. Go back to Mod Pad and listen to rare Kinks on vinyl and then Lenny Bruce routines until the wee hours of the morning. Decide to crash there, because it's not worth driving when you're drunk. And there's no point in driving all the way home when you're going to drive all that way back again the next day.
5. Wake up to friend saying "Your mom is on the phone". But mom doesn't have the number here, you think to yourself. Uh-oh...And why is mom calling? Isn't she in Colorado? No. Mom is home, and has been since 6 pm on Wednesday. And really really pissed off because you've been out all night.
So yeah, I kind of screwed up. Luckily, I talked my way out of it seeming that the situation was more of a situation than it was, I guess. Mom and Dad are no longer mad, but they "preferred" that I stayed in all weekend as penance for making them worry like that. Understandable, I suppose. Still, I had things I wanted to do on Saturday, like see Fury III at Trees, but that was kind of ixnayed when I decided to stick around Steve's house a bit longer to hear a hard-to-find copy of "Celluloid Heroes". Chrissy, you are *such* a brainiac sometimes.
Regardless, I actually did have a lot of fun. It was nice to sit there and talk to someone about Ray/Dave Davies that wouldn't get bored or think I was stupid for gushing so much about a crazy old man/men. And someone appreciates the fact that for being 21, I actually do have a lot of valid opinions and I'm easier to get along with than most people his age. Which is really really close to my parents'. Eep. He mentioned taking me to see Elvis Costello (who is coming to Dallas soon!!!) and told me that back in the day, the Attractions were one of the best bands he had ever seen. When the Attractions were in their height, I was wearing Osh Kosh and learning my ABCs. This is just so odd to me.
Oh, I also quit my job. Never work at a place where the HR director starts to let his hand linger on your lower back or corner you in back rooms. Or where your immediate manager is a drill sergeant in the marines. It just doesn't work out. It was really stressing me out to work there, and I got fed up. So I'm looking for another job. At least this time I've got money in savings. For once I used the old noodle.
So tomorrow is Labor Day, which means fuck all, aside from the fact that my whole family will be under one roof for another day, and that's going to kind of suck. I really need to get out of the house by myself for a couple of hours. I really need to get my own set of wheels or something. I'm ready to have my freedom back again.
I went with Angie and Matt to see the Blair Witch Project tonight. Can we say, "overhyped"? I was bored until Josh got gutted, and even then all I could do was laugh. If I hear anyone bickering in the woods in the future, I'm going to hit them. That banter really got to me. As soon as the credits came on, all I could do was laugh. Same with Matt. I was glad I didn't waste my own money on it. Angie was scared. Figures.