fast and slowed
It seems I misread my instructions for my testing for Crohn's on Thursday. Rereading last night, it appears I have to go on a juice fast starting Wednesday morning. The instructions also mention that I will be having a super-revolting test that no one bothered to mention at the doctor's last week. Super-plus-pleased. I wish I had something amazing to distract my likely-to-be-delirious self that didn't include looking at pregnant women at work. Since meeting with the Ass Doc last week I've had daily pain in my guts, which might be psychological or real. Who knows. Tomorrow might tell me.
weeds © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
The weekend was a long winding trek through some of our old stomping grounds. Up to Trevorton to Mr. D's parents for a visit, back down to The Burg for some thrifting, practicing, sushi and a NTTT show at Small's.
the cramps © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
It was an excellent show. I was shooting the band for an online magazine called Unsung Hero. Wish I had a link. The Night Train was headlining that night and in top form. Miraculously there was a very low level of generalized show assholery. And little alcohol-related violence. One braless dancing girl fell over on a slippy beer puddle. No randomly thrown punches or overzealous gyrating. But no lack of dancing either.
duo © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
The band was obviously enjoying themselves and the audience, likewise, watching. It was probably one of their best performances I've ever seen.
cmybalic © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Also of note, I have apparently not lost my general desirability in my time of aging and infirmity... not to say I am peaking in the quality of men I am piquing the interest of.
don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like him? © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Ahem. Cough.
I was sitting in an armchair and this gentleman pulls up the sofa next to me. And an ottoman. And faces me. That is the side of my face that was not turning to acknowledge him. At all. And he starts going on to my ear's dismay, about the comfiness of his seat. Then my phone rings. Its Dustin, calling from the back of the bar. To confirm that he see Monsieur Referee making his move. Simultaneously and obliviously, Mr. Referee continues talking to me while I am on the phone with Dustin, talking about him. Loudly. He scarcely pauses for breath, speaking to my hand holding the phone. It was quite a brazen feat.
Later Mr. Referee nearly got into a brawl with the obsessive sound guy who was marching back and forth between different parts of the bar, pausing to listen and then going back to his sound board to adjust. Mr. Referee, who was agitated at not scoring with me, decided that his displeasure with Mr. Sound might need to come to fisticuffs. Somehow, the smooth Mr. Sound manages to assuage him after some tense wrist grappling and sits down. Intense conversation, with wide open mouths close to each other's such that they appear to be skirting actual making out by a hair's breadth, ensues.
armed robbery © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Phenomenal. The one that got away. My other pseudo-suitors included a married guy sitting next to his wife, one guy who knew who I was from flickr, and a total Bro with a nasty stogey. What did all these guys have in common? They were all mostly hitting on my camera.
Dustin was kind enough to dedicate a "to the four guys who hit on my girlfriend tonight, you guys are awesome!" Made my week, really.
weeds © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
The weekend was a long winding trek through some of our old stomping grounds. Up to Trevorton to Mr. D's parents for a visit, back down to The Burg for some thrifting, practicing, sushi and a NTTT show at Small's.
the cramps © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
It was an excellent show. I was shooting the band for an online magazine called Unsung Hero. Wish I had a link. The Night Train was headlining that night and in top form. Miraculously there was a very low level of generalized show assholery. And little alcohol-related violence. One braless dancing girl fell over on a slippy beer puddle. No randomly thrown punches or overzealous gyrating. But no lack of dancing either.
duo © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
The band was obviously enjoying themselves and the audience, likewise, watching. It was probably one of their best performances I've ever seen.
cmybalic © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Also of note, I have apparently not lost my general desirability in my time of aging and infirmity... not to say I am peaking in the quality of men I am piquing the interest of.
don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like him? © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Ahem. Cough.
I was sitting in an armchair and this gentleman pulls up the sofa next to me. And an ottoman. And faces me. That is the side of my face that was not turning to acknowledge him. At all. And he starts going on to my ear's dismay, about the comfiness of his seat. Then my phone rings. Its Dustin, calling from the back of the bar. To confirm that he see Monsieur Referee making his move. Simultaneously and obliviously, Mr. Referee continues talking to me while I am on the phone with Dustin, talking about him. Loudly. He scarcely pauses for breath, speaking to my hand holding the phone. It was quite a brazen feat.
Later Mr. Referee nearly got into a brawl with the obsessive sound guy who was marching back and forth between different parts of the bar, pausing to listen and then going back to his sound board to adjust. Mr. Referee, who was agitated at not scoring with me, decided that his displeasure with Mr. Sound might need to come to fisticuffs. Somehow, the smooth Mr. Sound manages to assuage him after some tense wrist grappling and sits down. Intense conversation, with wide open mouths close to each other's such that they appear to be skirting actual making out by a hair's breadth, ensues.
armed robbery © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.
Phenomenal. The one that got away. My other pseudo-suitors included a married guy sitting next to his wife, one guy who knew who I was from flickr, and a total Bro with a nasty stogey. What did all these guys have in common? They were all mostly hitting on my camera.
Dustin was kind enough to dedicate a "to the four guys who hit on my girlfriend tonight, you guys are awesome!" Made my week, really.
Labels: centralpa, dustin, equipment, health, music, photography, show, venting
posted by helveticaneue at 12:18 PM
Stumble It!
4 Comments:
That referee fellow is quite the beefcake. I am thankful to your sweetheart for taking good care of you in that context. And I'm sending lots of of good thoughts your way for tomorrow's Unpleasant Procedure®. A bit of yuckiness and then it will be over.
Thanks for the positive thoughts Ms. Lily, I am having a shortage these days. Right now the thoughts I am channeling include I WANT JELLO and WHY MUST I HAVE ANOTHER COLD... apparently I am collecting them. I'd prefer to collect men with mullets who pine for me. Much easier to shake.
I'll be thinking of you and wish you the best with your Crohn's test. I hope that it all works out. I have a friend with Crohn's and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Also, there is a possibility that I'm leaving the city and moving to central PA, but more on that another time perhaps.
I've been thinking about you too lady, lots. Worried after your last email, things have a way of piling up and you deserve a reply. I'm surprised to hear about you possibly leaving and hope it is for good reasons and not upsetting ones. Thanks for coming by.
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