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Monday, July 17th, 2006
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11:41p
Yay:
Played at the Colorado Irish Festival last weekend. Absolutely pissing mud the whole time, but ![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif) harpie84 and I killed at our show and pleased People Who Are Important To Please.
Nay:
Snide remarks by musicians who do not like me for some reason I have yet to divine: 2.
Musicians who have time to snark on me because it's not like they're busy with, you know, gigs and learning what a fucking tempo is for: 2. Heh.
Yay:
Played at the Elizabeth Celtic Festival this weekend. I wasn't even intending to play, but these things happen, you know. Played a couple hours Saturday afternoon and then wound up being the drummer at the ceilidh (out of solidarity with the bodhran, I feel icky every time I drop the silent -dh).
Nay:
Was asked to spend the night at Elizabeth on someone's tent floor until I relented. The floor was comfy and all, and warm, but I woke up seizing and had the whole disoriented thing. Had to crawl to the car and spend the rest of the night in the backseat, because at such times I need, well, space that's mine. Slept a couple of hours before opening the door, leaning my head out, and tossing out what little food I'd been able to eat that day. Which is another good reason for my sleeping in more comfortable environs - I had enough to explain about why I slept in my car without having to explain about the epilepsy and throwing up in someone's tent and all. I let most people just think it was fear of coyotes. Also: Screw tents, that car is so comfortable I'd rather sleep there while camping. Though I kept having seizures in the car, and now I have tons of bruises everywhere, and I think I somehow injured my face in the process, like I got hit just below the nose. Oh, and I got bit by exactly one mosquito, but he died. It bummed me out a little because not that many people were around and we wanted it to happen as a sort of party trick, but the little bugs are wise to it, I think. It bit me, started sucking my blood, and emitted this frantic, loud buzzing. Then it just fell over. Happens when I'm having a bad clotting day, and it is a great, vengeful amusement and probably just one of the reasons I'd make a horrible Buddhist. (And if you flex your muscles while the mosquito's biting you, he can't stop sucking, and then he gets so full he explodes. And the bite won't be as bad, either.)
Yay:
I actually directed an age-appropriate activity for two five-year-olds without getting either one of them lost, injured, or killed via sword. Kids intimidate the hell out of me because you can't reason with them, especially at that age, but one of the girls' mothers was at her tether and could have used some relief so I actually volunteered to take them for a little bit. It is my fervent belief that every time I encounter children something will go horribly wrong and I will wind up on the news with my trial lawyer covering my face with a manila folder and the media circus selling souvenirs and holding a vigil outside my apartment will give me an insulting, alliterative nickname. It hasn't happened yet, but it might someday and I'd like to just skip it because I'm very busy with the Internet and I haven't worked out if I'd get a portion of the t-shirt sales or what. Anyway, they got their faces painted and drank juice and ran around and nothing bad happened, though it's possible a mosquito infested with West Nile bit them and it won't show up for two weeks, and if I'd had Deet on my person this wouldn't have happened, Let That Be A Lesson To You All.
Nay:
So having been immersed in a web of condensed, anxiety-ridden socialization, I'm just socially exhausted. Which is prone to happen during the summer months.
Oh, and Thursday's my wedding anniversary. Four years since the day we said, "Okay, sure, whatever" and my arm got burned and I almost got stung by a bee and the dog got out and we almost destroyed the cake and that was before the vodka. On that day during our horsedrawn carriage ride, with the summer lights of the city twinkling and the cicadas singing, we were blessed by a dude with a mullet wearing naught but cutoff jeans who, seeing our finery, shouted "Congratulations! Ya poor bastards." Which beats those bitches at Hallmark any day.
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