I'm not a groupie
I was looking forward to Friday (last night) for a while. I was meeting up with JupiterGirl, P and A at the Vancouver Art Gallery (would that be abbreviated as ‘VAG’?) for FUSE, a sort of singles mixer replete with art and yuppies. I caught the bus down there and was almost late because of a gaggle of cyclists taking back the streets which was awesome, except they were directly in front of my bus. I wish they had been faster cyclists. Kidding! I think they were the sanest thing that I experienced that evening.
P was waiting for me at the gallery and I was happy to be touring the exhibit with her, given that she is an artist as well. JupiterGirl and A arrived a little later, looking very stellar. I felt a strange sense of vindication when, gazing upon a piece of art comprised of what appeared to be ropes, hooks, Rubbermaid containers, a dilapidated couch and a ratty blanket dangling from the ceiling, I expressed consternation and a general lack of understanding what the hell I was looking at. P echoed my sentiment and we then had a conversation as to what the piece might be interpreted as. Okay, so art makes you think. I prefer not to do that on a Friday night.
At any rate I really enjoyed FUSE, but not for the reason I thought I would. It was a “stop and smell the roses” kind of moment. Here I was, planning on meeting my intellectual equal at an art gallery where we would express our mutual admiration of the BBC, talk about Obama’s chances at being the next president and pass around a petition to implement a Shit Head tax on Hummers and I ended up being mesmerized and entranced by the performance art there, and discovering some really fantastic photos by Fred Herzog and cool sketches by B.C. Binning.
After finding the painting in the medium of urine, being body checked by a woman trying to bring back ‘80s New York chic, and listening to a guy eke sounds from his saxophone that were akin to what one would think would be the result of an attempt to breed a goose and an elephant, we decided we were brimming with cultural goodness and needed to dumb it down a little with loud music and cheap beer. Off to the King’s Head we went. Yes, that is where it all went horribly, horribly awry. I think A had left by this point, so that’s one less person that woke up this morning and thought “what a frickin’ idiot that girl is”.
The four of us grabbed a table upstairs where I had a relatively unobstructed view of the band – namely the drummer. Now you may choose not to believe me when I say that I’m not a groupie, but the drummer of which I speak was NOT the drummer that I had met the last time I was at the Head. Nope, this was a different drummer. Not a groupie. So we order a pitcher of beer and we’re all kind of mellowing out after a hard week. Okay, maybe my week wasn’t as hard as everyone else’s (my contribution to the “I hate my boss” bitch fest was that my boss made me turn off my computer at 3:45 so we could go have a couple of glasses at wine at a nearby lounge – so rough). But back to my relatively unobstructed view of the drummer. Yeah, he was pretty hot and we were making eye contact. So I thought. The music was good, the beer was going down easy and I was pretty sure I had some visual flirtation going on with this guy. I passed him on my way to the terrifying washrooms and he smiled at me and I smiled back. I never do that! After my sixteenth beer I decide that I want to give him my phone number. Yep, I make the best decisions on my sixteenth beer. JupiterGirl says that I should totally do it and then I realize that she thinks that I am going to actually walk up to him and give him my number. Oh god no, that’s something that a confident 30 year old woman would do! Come on, I’ve got the self confidence level of an acne ridden fourteen year old. Yeah, so I made JupiterGirl do it. Yep. She went and told the cute boy that I had a crush on him and then we left. Big D almost fell out of his chair laughing when I divulged just how much of an idiotic asshole I am to him this afternoon. This is like my penance, to confess the level of my idiocy on my blog. People need to read about how much of a dummy I am and make their kids read it to scare them straight. Jesus. But it gets better.
JupiterGirl headed home and I walked up to P’s street with her. I then decided that nothing would clear the old noggin out like walking home to Kerrisdale. Awesome. At 12:38am my cell phone rang. Perplexed as to who it might be I answered and lo and behold it was my drummer from the King’s Head! We chatted amicably for a while, but that’s probably the revisionist history speaking. Long story short he wanted me to email him, but I didn’t have a pen or paper so he told me to go to the band’s website and send an email through the address there. He gave me the URL and, as I had clearly impressed him with my cognitive abilities, he said “are you going to be able to remember that?”. Hells yeah.
I arrive home at 1am and, because the drunken cell phone conversation wasn’t enough, I decide that there is no time like the present to compose a witty an email. Good god, I want to kick my own ass as I’m writing this. I did save a copy of the email and, re-reading it today, I actually fared pretty well. And I did receive a reply to my email, but the reply came from the guitarist, not the drummer. It was kind of odd, because the email address to which I composed my brilliant e-come on was the name of the band: not an individual’s name. And I also clearly addressed the email to the drummer having cleverly learned his name in our earlier conversation. So the reply from the guitarist was along the lines of “you’ve got the wrong guy, did you want the drummer” and ended with “thanks for your support tonight” which I interpreted as “you dumb groupie”. I guess I can’t fault him, as he sent the email at 3am – two hours later than mine – and he didn’t make any spelling mistakes. He asked if I wanted him to forward it to the drummer and I responded this morning that yes, it would be most appreciated if he could forward it drummer (to whom I had originally addressed it!).
Yeah. So now I’m just waiting. This has rapidly degenerated into a big bowl full of wrong. This is the wrong way to deal with other humans. I need to get a backbone. I need to take cabs home. I need everyone to understand that I’m not a groupie. Sweet.
Then I spoke to my dad for an hour who was really cool. He obviously gets concerned when I drop lines like “I gave the drummer at the King’s Head my number”. He said that you’ll find someone when you’re not looking for them. I believe that. I know I am trying to fit square pegs into round holes right now, but I also think that it’s a healthy learning exercise. It’s fun to get out and blow off a little steam from time to time. He said that if you just do the things that you love to do and you have fun doing them, that’s where you will meet other like minded individuals. Yes, that’s 100% correct. He also thinks that everyone online is some closeted pervert. That’s only 70% correct.
Then I watched “The Last Kiss” which was the perfect movie to watch today. It’s about four guys and the relationships that they have with the women in their life. Irony of ironies, the lead character’s name was Michael and he is an architect. He’s into a three year relationship with the perfect woman and she gets pregnant, but he won’t marry her because he doesn’t believe in marriage. He wigs out about the pregnancy, feeling backed into a corner and has an affair and almost loses everything. Their relationship is razed to its very foundation and only then does he realize how much he loves her and how good for him she really is. I really couldn’t identify with any of it.
I wonder if it’s too late to head down to the King’s Head. Like oh my god, I totally know two of the drummers there!
P was waiting for me at the gallery and I was happy to be touring the exhibit with her, given that she is an artist as well. JupiterGirl and A arrived a little later, looking very stellar. I felt a strange sense of vindication when, gazing upon a piece of art comprised of what appeared to be ropes, hooks, Rubbermaid containers, a dilapidated couch and a ratty blanket dangling from the ceiling, I expressed consternation and a general lack of understanding what the hell I was looking at. P echoed my sentiment and we then had a conversation as to what the piece might be interpreted as. Okay, so art makes you think. I prefer not to do that on a Friday night.
At any rate I really enjoyed FUSE, but not for the reason I thought I would. It was a “stop and smell the roses” kind of moment. Here I was, planning on meeting my intellectual equal at an art gallery where we would express our mutual admiration of the BBC, talk about Obama’s chances at being the next president and pass around a petition to implement a Shit Head tax on Hummers and I ended up being mesmerized and entranced by the performance art there, and discovering some really fantastic photos by Fred Herzog and cool sketches by B.C. Binning.
After finding the painting in the medium of urine, being body checked by a woman trying to bring back ‘80s New York chic, and listening to a guy eke sounds from his saxophone that were akin to what one would think would be the result of an attempt to breed a goose and an elephant, we decided we were brimming with cultural goodness and needed to dumb it down a little with loud music and cheap beer. Off to the King’s Head we went. Yes, that is where it all went horribly, horribly awry. I think A had left by this point, so that’s one less person that woke up this morning and thought “what a frickin’ idiot that girl is”.
The four of us grabbed a table upstairs where I had a relatively unobstructed view of the band – namely the drummer. Now you may choose not to believe me when I say that I’m not a groupie, but the drummer of which I speak was NOT the drummer that I had met the last time I was at the Head. Nope, this was a different drummer. Not a groupie. So we order a pitcher of beer and we’re all kind of mellowing out after a hard week. Okay, maybe my week wasn’t as hard as everyone else’s (my contribution to the “I hate my boss” bitch fest was that my boss made me turn off my computer at 3:45 so we could go have a couple of glasses at wine at a nearby lounge – so rough). But back to my relatively unobstructed view of the drummer. Yeah, he was pretty hot and we were making eye contact. So I thought. The music was good, the beer was going down easy and I was pretty sure I had some visual flirtation going on with this guy. I passed him on my way to the terrifying washrooms and he smiled at me and I smiled back. I never do that! After my sixteenth beer I decide that I want to give him my phone number. Yep, I make the best decisions on my sixteenth beer. JupiterGirl says that I should totally do it and then I realize that she thinks that I am going to actually walk up to him and give him my number. Oh god no, that’s something that a confident 30 year old woman would do! Come on, I’ve got the self confidence level of an acne ridden fourteen year old. Yeah, so I made JupiterGirl do it. Yep. She went and told the cute boy that I had a crush on him and then we left. Big D almost fell out of his chair laughing when I divulged just how much of an idiotic asshole I am to him this afternoon. This is like my penance, to confess the level of my idiocy on my blog. People need to read about how much of a dummy I am and make their kids read it to scare them straight. Jesus. But it gets better.
JupiterGirl headed home and I walked up to P’s street with her. I then decided that nothing would clear the old noggin out like walking home to Kerrisdale. Awesome. At 12:38am my cell phone rang. Perplexed as to who it might be I answered and lo and behold it was my drummer from the King’s Head! We chatted amicably for a while, but that’s probably the revisionist history speaking. Long story short he wanted me to email him, but I didn’t have a pen or paper so he told me to go to the band’s website and send an email through the address there. He gave me the URL and, as I had clearly impressed him with my cognitive abilities, he said “are you going to be able to remember that?”. Hells yeah.
I arrive home at 1am and, because the drunken cell phone conversation wasn’t enough, I decide that there is no time like the present to compose a witty an email. Good god, I want to kick my own ass as I’m writing this. I did save a copy of the email and, re-reading it today, I actually fared pretty well. And I did receive a reply to my email, but the reply came from the guitarist, not the drummer. It was kind of odd, because the email address to which I composed my brilliant e-come on was the name of the band: not an individual’s name. And I also clearly addressed the email to the drummer having cleverly learned his name in our earlier conversation. So the reply from the guitarist was along the lines of “you’ve got the wrong guy, did you want the drummer” and ended with “thanks for your support tonight” which I interpreted as “you dumb groupie”. I guess I can’t fault him, as he sent the email at 3am – two hours later than mine – and he didn’t make any spelling mistakes. He asked if I wanted him to forward it to the drummer and I responded this morning that yes, it would be most appreciated if he could forward it drummer (to whom I had originally addressed it!).
Yeah. So now I’m just waiting. This has rapidly degenerated into a big bowl full of wrong. This is the wrong way to deal with other humans. I need to get a backbone. I need to take cabs home. I need everyone to understand that I’m not a groupie. Sweet.
Then I spoke to my dad for an hour who was really cool. He obviously gets concerned when I drop lines like “I gave the drummer at the King’s Head my number”. He said that you’ll find someone when you’re not looking for them. I believe that. I know I am trying to fit square pegs into round holes right now, but I also think that it’s a healthy learning exercise. It’s fun to get out and blow off a little steam from time to time. He said that if you just do the things that you love to do and you have fun doing them, that’s where you will meet other like minded individuals. Yes, that’s 100% correct. He also thinks that everyone online is some closeted pervert. That’s only 70% correct.
Then I watched “The Last Kiss” which was the perfect movie to watch today. It’s about four guys and the relationships that they have with the women in their life. Irony of ironies, the lead character’s name was Michael and he is an architect. He’s into a three year relationship with the perfect woman and she gets pregnant, but he won’t marry her because he doesn’t believe in marriage. He wigs out about the pregnancy, feeling backed into a corner and has an affair and almost loses everything. Their relationship is razed to its very foundation and only then does he realize how much he loves her and how good for him she really is. I really couldn’t identify with any of it.
I wonder if it’s too late to head down to the King’s Head. Like oh my god, I totally know two of the drummers there!
posted by Duder at 11:20 PM
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