I finally woke up from my all day nap just to do a blog post. I don't know if that's dedication or a sickness.
After this weekend, I've made the decision that there will be no more live shows for me for a while. I'm completely music'd out (in a good way, of course). We'll see how long that lasts.
RockStar came back into town on Friday after almost a yearlong absence. We used to hang out when I worked in LA last year, and I gave her this illustrious nickname because of her ridiculous musical talent (she plays something like 900 instruments), as well as her ability to consume copious amounts of those disgusting energy drinks. Anyway, Unwritten Law was performing on Friday night, so I invited her to come to the show with me and get some catch-up dinner beforehand. And guess what we ate? Yup- milkshakes. She's lived here half her life and has never even heard of Millions of Milkshakes, the best place to grow cellulite on the planet. This was almost offensive, so I had to buy her one. Mine was coffee flavored and loaded with massive chunks of cookie dough and brownies. Yup, I'm a health nut.
Unwritten Law was killer live. They only played a few bars of "Rest Of My Life," but I was so psyched to see them that I barely noticed. Everything else was included in their set list anyway, and I got a cool-ass t-shirt, so it was totally worth it.
I love going to shows with RockStar because she grew up around music, like I did. She doesn't embarrass easily and therefore doesn't give a shit when I freak out and start jumping up and down like a loon and screaming the lyrics out to all the songs. I actually think she finds it kind of awesome, and even if she doesn't, she never says anything.
On Saturday, LA closed down one of their most famous areas (ha... "areas") for their 2nd Annual Sunset Strip Music Festival. I spent most of the day chilling with RockStar again, eating bad pizza and checking out local unsigned bands.
First up was Saint Motel, who I was psyched to see again after discovering them last weekend at Sunset Junction. They were just as awesome this time around.
After watching Saint Motel and downing what was probably her fifth energy drink, RockStar had to pee and there was no way in hell we were using those disgusting Port-A-Potties, so we went into the Hustler store. They didn't have a bathroom, but they did have a really funny porn section and also a hilarious collection of shoes that would only be appropriate on Halloween or in a Lady GaGa video. After consistent urging from Rockstar and three salesgirls, I walked out with a pair of clear, ten-inch platform stilettos. I will probably never wear them again (at least not standing up) and I looked like a hot mess, so it was definitely the stupidest investment of my life, but it might make a good story to tell the grandkids someday.
Lady Sinatra, play at the Cat Club. We decided that I should definitely wear the shoes, so I ducked into the disgusting "ladies'" room and changed into the band's t-shirt and my new footwear. The look on Joe's face was absolutely priceless as I nonchalantly walked up to him all, "hey, what's up?" He was just like, "are you serious with this right now?" No one even noticed that my t-shirt was a clever marketing strategy because I was taller than everyone else in the room. Strangers were taking pictures of my feet and RockStar was laughing her ass off.
During all this, RockStar had met this incredibly annoying guy who was obsessed with touching us, not to mention he was a Close Talker, like the guy on Seinfeld:
He kept trying to hold my feet, which I can't stand. I HATE feet- I think they're gross. Mine, other people's, whatever. Foot fetishes are totally beyond me. During Joe's set, this annoying little elf kept putting his hand on the small of my back just above my ass, which was doubly irritating because it was really throwing off my balance in my new tranny heels. He mentioned that he was there to watch his friend's band, and that we should come, and I told him that we wanted to stay, but he should go, and he STILL stayed there! Note to all potential stalkers: if a girl tells you to leave, you fucking disappear. He followed us out the door and tried to guide us out of there again, and I let him know in no uncertain terms that I knew where the door was and that I didn't need his help. Finally, he left.
As soon as we got rid of that assclown we got pulled over by two other alcoholics who won our affections by ordering us to "come here." Unfortunately for me, RockStar actually liked one of them so I had to take one for the team while she flirted with the cute one until my dad sent me a text to meet him at a local restaurant. The plan was to get dinner with him and then go see Slash, followed by the evening's main event, Smashing Pumpkins.
I'm not THAT into Slash, but I do appreciate that the man is a guitar legend. I blocked out the part where he played with Fergie and just enjoyed the music.
The best part of the entire day, besides putting that annoying little troll in his place, was seeing Smashing Pumpkins. I grew up in the grunge era and will automatically give you cool points if you list Gish in your rotation. What's even cooler is that my dad loves them even more than I do, and RockStar is obsessed with them to the point where I was a little afraid of her, so the concert was a "fun for the whole family" type-deal.
The band didn't do "Disarm," which disappointed me a little, but they did do every other song you could possibly think of. "Cherub Rock," which is my favorite, was fucking fantastic. Their encore was "Zero," and it kicked a serious amount of ass until someone, and I have no idea who, let out the nastiest fucking blast of ass air that I actually choked on. I felt really horrible for my dad because he told me that it actually went down his throat, like that time with Mort Goldman and the dog in Family Guy. It was so awful that we were still reliving the moment the morning after the show.
Also, and completely off topic, I have to get in a quick EAT ME to the Emmys for completely pissing on Lost and letting it sign off with absolutely nothing. We get that you love Mad Men, but does it have to win EVERY year? Lost is over and will never have another chance to win anything. EMMY FAIL.
I'm trying not to let that bring me down, though. I'm stoked about Modern Family wiping the floor with the Comedy categories, and even though I don't really watch Big Bang Theory, I have seen it a few times and have to say that Jim Parsons' win is well deserved, especially because this probably means that nerds are one step closer to our eventual world domination. Also, A is actually friends with Jim Parsons, so I kind of look at this as a win for her too.
So even though it came an entire era of music later, I still got to see SMASHING FUCKING PUMPKINS live and have an awesome weekend with my friend who I hadn't seen in over a year. My concert list is almost complete now- I still haven't gotten to Radiohead or a few of the others on my list, which I might post soon, but for now, I think I'm taking a break and a couple of long-ass naps.