Monday, August 30, 2010

They Tell Me I'm Crazy, You Told me I'm Golden

The Weepies have always had my back. Midnight drives freshman year thinking about soul emptying young love, background music to countless weeknights vibing on the couch, music that got me through some very homesick hours during my semester abroad in Spain, and moments that I just felt like listening to something beautiful and smiling. The list goes on.

Every lyric ever sang by the Weepies is inspiring, true, simple but also monumental. Below is a clutter collage of some of my favorites.

"You turned me into somebody loved"



"Standing in the sun smoking quiet cigarettes
Just before I let you down
Funny how a heart shatters all at once 
Seems like it should make a sound" 

"I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home"

"What can I compare you to, a favorite pair of shoes? 
Maybe my bright red boots if they had wings"

"No amount of coffee, no amount of crying, 
no amount of whiskey, no amount of wine
No, nothing else will do/I've gotta have you"

 "They tell me I'm crazy/But you told me I'm golden"


Saturday Night Fever

It is common knowledge that men and alcohol equal rambunctiousness and bar brawls, but I never knew that a group of twenty two year old girls could also experience the type of spike in testosterone that is usually associated with Bros on a Saturday night. About an hour into our night at a pretty fun bar which brilliantly serves free popcorn all night, I noticed Keslee chatting up a pretty cute guy. I stepped behind the guy so that only she could see me and gave her a look and hand motion that indicated that I approved. She caught my eye, blushed and continued to flirt her way towards a free drink.

Turns out this guy deserved no type of approval whatsoever. After being informed by an anonymous bar-stander that Keslee had no interest in him, his charming, nice act went down like the shots he had been taking all night with his equally douchebaggy friends. He began telling our group that “we weren’t that hot anyway” and shouting “shut ups” when we attempted any kind of rebuttal. Typically I would run in the opposite direction of a bar bastard like this guy, but something inside of me and my friends on this particular night inspired us to behave like the tatted up, territorial frat boys we usually roll our eyes at. After giving our pieces of mind, we decided it was time for a grand exit. We clattered towards the stairs and just as I was feeling particularly proud, my black bootied feet failed me, I slipped on something (or nothing) and tumbled down the stairs. The assholes, who had been watching this exit, found this to be the most delightful thing in the entire world. My temporary testosterone rage had subsided at this point and I didn’t even look back as Ginna gathered me off the ground and we booked it, laughing hysterically at the utter ridiculousness of the night.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Looking for Balloons in Odd Places

From my experience, birthdays usually go one of two ways- lots of laughs or lots of tears. Actually, scratch that. In many instances it has both. Tonight is the birthday of one my best friends and I have a good feeling about this one. My psychic skills tell me I have a night of good eats, birthday shots and daaaaaaaaaaancing ahead of me. I'm hoping to run into a balloon somewhere along the road, but I don't know what the odds of that are. I am completely aware of how easy it would be to go out a buy a balloon or two but doesn't the idea of one magically popping up sound so much better? Because really, what girl in her right mind doesn't enjoy a good balloon? I've always had this weird fantasy about my dream guy (who is currently faceless) showing up at my door with balloons. Nope, a bouquet of flowers won't do. Balloons are the golden ticket.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter if my wish comes true, technically I don't think I get one because it's not my birthday. I'm not exactly sure how these things work. Regardless, I feel lucky to be sharing this day with my beloved and I wish her the sweetest and dopest 22nd birthday a girl can have. I presume I'll have much to report back on come tomorrow.

Maybe, Noe