groggy, groggy!

Monday, feb. 24, 2003   |   0 comments

I haven’t done this in a really long time, but tonight I actually fell asleep in front of the television and woke up three hours later, totally groggy and disoriented (it probably doesn’t help that a week ago I rearranged the furniture — but not the crazy single girl stereotype!). The TV was blaring this cute, young boy rock band that was doing a cover of a popular song that I couldn’t immediately place (groggy, groggy). It wasn’t until I’d staggered to the bathroom to take a few lurching stabs at my mouth with my toothbrush that I figured out, hey, that’s a Foo Fighters song! Wait, that kind of sucks! For a cute, young boy rock band to be covering an outfit that’s still in business! What is this world coming too, terrible, terrible (groggy, groggy blahblah).

And then I heard David Letterman say, “ladies and gentlemen, the Foo Fighters!” I switched off the television (good bye, special friend!), turned off the lights, and ratnested myself into my comforter, and thought to myself, man. That’s true genius. No wonder the Foo Fighters rule so hard: They’re like perpetually reinventing themselves as an up-and-coming band that does covers … of itself! That opened the floodgates to a torrent of even more profound thoughts, mostly about cute pants. And now it’s 3:14am and I’m wide awake! Bright-tailed and bushy-eyed! Good morning, good morning!

Oh so it turns out that the makeout party I went to with Jill on Valentine’s Day wasn’t the key party I worried (hoped?) it would be. It was more of a regular party-party, only the room with all the people who bring acoustic guitars to certain SF parties — usually a warm, darkened spot toward the back, where all the hummus can be found — was playing spin the bottle instead of the usual sitars, kettledrums, and rhythm eggs. So I just steered clear of that room.

There was also a small-yet-spirited game of Twister going on in the drinks room, but I limited my eye contact to the bottom of my drink whenever the next set began, which kept me out of trouble there as well. So, sorry. No swinger stories! But you’ll be the first to know if I ever manage to drum up any tryptic, quadric, or septic action. Hey, wouldn’t it be awesome if someone threw a “swinger party” that was actually just a bunch of people swinging, on swings? Actually, that sounds horrible, like a burning Ren Faire nightmare. 3:35am!

Warming up on deck tonight: Har Mar Superstar at the Parkside. Holy shit. [MY SAD: Turns out Har Mar is the kickoff show for the Noise Pop festival, and only badge holders get to see him. And since badges cost 145 BUCKS, I don’t think we’ll be going. Sucks! Cubed!]