Dry mouth

Oh god.

How to explain this weekend. Let's go backwards, shall we? I came home about an hour ago, and have eaten cherries, and I've drank water, and juice, and right now I'm sucking on a freaking lifesaver, and still, I have the most horrid dry mouth I've ever had in my whole life. Nothing works. I think maybe I've been smoking too much.

Before I came home, I was at the Bottom Lounge, but I had a ridiculous panic attack and left. See, I didn't have a wristband with which to get in and out of the show- because the owner had walked me in through the back, which was awesome because I didn't have to pay... HOWEVER- crowded room with no windows? Not something I'm so into. I had planned to meet friends there, and I couldn't find them. So I was just standing there, thinking about how I was in a crowded, hot room, with no windows, and how technically I couldn't get out if I wanted to get back in... and I went over to the bouncer and asked if I could in fact get back in, because really, I just needed to prove to myself that the outside still existed, and he yelled at me for no good reason, so I just walked off in a huff. Seriously, a huff. I swear to god, I couldn't even see straight. I just wanted to leave.

Before that, I was at Pitchfork- I volunteered for half the day. My first job was standing in front of the ticket lines and saying "There's a shorter line over there!" 87,000 times over the course of three hours. It was thrilling. My second job was as the guardian of the sacred port-a-potty, which, oddly, was a much better time. For the most part, anyway.

INTERMISSION: A question. Why does Zach Braff have to narrate every commercial on earth? Inquiring minds want to know.

After my volunteer shift, I could not locate my people, but I ran into a friend, and this other dude he was with who just so happened to be the most terrible person ever. He told us that his girlfriend was one of the girls on stage with The Flaming Lips, dressed as a bunny, and that they had totally begged her to do it, because she was so "cute and tiny." He said the phrase cute and tiny like, 40 different times whilst telling this story, with a healthy dose of "well, you know, she's a Suicide Girl" spliced in.

"Neat." I said. I am really grateful that no one can use any of these words to describe me repeatedly to strangers. I don't know how people would describe me to strangers. I can't imagine that they would bother. I like to think I speak for myself.

He told me he was in a band, and that he worked for and was on this record label. I must have heard of this record label that he is on because Captain Fudgesicle Dinasaurpants! or whatever is also on that label, and of course I've heard of them, right?

"Nope," I said, "But thats a spicy meat-a-ball!"

"What?" says the guy with the Suicide Girlfriend.

"I thought we were talking in stereotypes. Sorry."

Fact. In all the time I have been around the hipsters and the especially pretentious such, no one has EVER actually said that to me. This was my first time. I was very excited. I decided later that the dude was so braggy due to the fact that he was rather short and trying to compensate. You know, for something.

ANYWAY.... let me tell you about something that happened last night. So, we were at the Flatiron, and I ran into this dude that I had gone out with a few times when I first moved here. It ended weirdly. Really weirdly. I won't say how weirdly, but trust me- I have a running list of the pricelessly bizarre things dudes have said to me, and the thing that he said ranks higher than both "Don't you want to give me a graduation present? It might be your last chance!" and "I just like, didn't call you, because you are SO AMAZING that if we hung out, I'd have to be in a relationship with you, and I'm just not in a place right now in my life where I can be in a relationship"- all of these things were said with a straight face, and all of them BROKE MY MIND. But this, this thing that this dude said that one time, it totally topped both of them.

So anyway, I'm talking to the dude and he's all "So, do you like, think there's like, a chance you and I could like, be something again?"

Be something? Again? We went on two horrid dates four years ago! That was not something, that was nothing, and that was awkward. He kept saying that I looked AWESOME (I did not, trust me. When I went to the bathroom later I realized that some of my red lipstick had actually smeared around my face causing me to look not entirely unlike Ronald McDonald.) and persisted in touching my face and telling me that my skin was really great or something. I do have good skin, however, these sort of comments freak me out because I have a secret fear that someone will cut my skin off and wear it around the house.

He then points out two rather homely looking girls to me, sitting over at a table and informs me of the fact that these ladies want to go home with him. But, you know, if I am interested, it could be me that goes home with him.

WOW. That happened.

Rewind further back, Thursday night, Roommate told me that she was going to move out on Sept. 1st because she feels like she needs to live on her own again, and now I have to find a roommate. Rewind further to that afternoon, and I got my hair cut and now have bangs again. Strange fact. I have lived with Roommate for three years, which is the same amount of time that I have been generally bang free.

Sigh. I am tired, and feel like death. I am going to sleep now.