Sunday, July 27, 2003
This is the best I can do, seriously.I wrote a long email to a friend this morning, to recap the weekend, and now I'm going to be superlame and post the email to inform the rest of the world about the weekend. There are reasons that I'm not writing real posts, and I'm sure I'll get to them eventually. But most of the appropriate people have been informed of the problems, so if you're not in the know, don't worry your pretty little head because all will be revealed in time.
Unnamed Friend,
Hmm, the weekend. Thus far it's been pretty eventful, and with any luck, tonight will be fun as well, since it will be our next-to-last Sunday night of freedom, before school starts back.
Thursday night was a complicated mess. I went to a party with my friends, didn't know anyone there, and thirty minutes into it the guy that I'm currently dating called to say that he was in fact NOT leaving for St. Louis (at least not until the morning) and that I should come to Cleveland. (The party was in Lake Village.) I decided to go, but as soon as I walked out of the house, my friend's dog was hit by a car and killed. A bit of a downer, to say the least. But I went to Cleveland anyway, after an interlude of grief counseling, and proceeded to keep aformentioned boy up until 3:15, precisely fifteen minutes before he had to leave to drive to St. Louis, because I'm just that sort of girl.
Friday night we decided to go out and were on our way to check out a new bar on Poplar when we realized that Afroman was performing at One Block and made a beeline there (because Afroman in Greenville is not to be missed, under any circumstance.) I managed to get us in for free, employing the ever-useful "we're poor teachers" excuse, and we enjoyed afroman with a not entirely enthusiastic crowd of about thirty people. It was more like having Afroman play in your living room than a real club show, but my friend Jenny managed to get Afroman's kids (who were backing up the band on keyboards) to have a dance off and then win the undying love and affection of Afroman himself, leading us all to speculate about who would be sleeping where if Jenny did in fact decide to bring Afroman home. But apparently Jenny was more interested in charming the kids than in charming the one and only Afroman so the fun ended there, except for the fact that John did manage to get Afroman's autograph which was recorded in my very own journal.
Last night was by far the most eventful, mainly because we were the centers of attention for an extended period of time. To introduce my two newest friends to Greenville night life, we took them to the Sandbar so that we could all proceed to sing our asses off. We made the ill-advised decision to start the night off with a Dixie Chicks song, which got cries of "we don't like that shit in here" from the old foogies at the bar, who in fact had no right to say anything because not once did they sing. But thanks to the mesmerizing capabilities of my tubetop and hair flinging, the bar guys were won over by the end of the song and after a couple more numbers we were actually getting requests from random people in the bar. (Not that we can actually sing, I think it was much more of a stage presence issue; that, and they probably just wanted to watch semi-pretty girls get up on stage and dance around.) I sang at least six times that I can remember (the bar was pretty empty) and probably a couple more times that I've forgotten. The night's premiere performance came when our all-girl quartet decided to sing Bootylicious (and dance of course). We were dazzling. And then a guy was supposed to sing "strokin" immediately after and refused to get on stage. To which, Sarah grabbed the mic from the host guy, walked over to the chicken-guy's table and said, "So what you're trying to tell us is that you're not ready for this jelly?" It was absolutely so much fun that it should have been illegal.
I suppose that's all the news that's fit to print. I'm rather thankful that I've had an interesting weekend. It wouldn't be good if you had to live vicariously through my typical "sit on the couch and watch Trading Spaces" weekend.
Carole
Heather at 11:06 AM
