Things I have wanted to write about and haven't... UNTIL NOW!
I often see things that pique my interest in wanting to start a blog devoted to my daily life as well as random happenings that I find funny, ironic, ridiculous, annoying, etc… When I witness these happenings they make me want to share these moments with others, quite like you, but alas I am a busy girl with limited time and I haven’t been able to start this said blog… And now without further delay, I give you things I have wanted to write about, but haven’t had the time to do so! The next few images you will see are just a little gift from me to you. I created two of the three in hopes to help you visualize the story a little better. I hope you enjoy!
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
1.) All you need…
This night was amazing in more ways than one. My sister bought me a ticket to see Minus the Bear in Cleveland Heights for my birthday, for I had a couple of terrible weeks prior to my birthday that brought my mood down. Is there anything better to cheer someone up than going to a concert at your favorite venue? I don’t think so! My sister and I depart from our home and arrive in Cleveland Heights with about an hour and a half before the doors opened at the Grog Shop, so we decided; rather, I decided that I wanted to enjoy a nice and juicy burrito from Chipotle. I stand in line, order my delectable burrito, and pay the lovely woman at the register only to turn around to find a full dining room. Luckily this Chipotle is bi-level so we made our way down the stairs to the basement dining room. Choosing a table was complicated, because we could chose from every table in the room, nevertheless I made my choice, sat, and proceeded to consume my little piece of heaven. My sister chose to stand for reasons known to her and unknown to you, this isn’t vital to the story. I just wanted you to know she stood next to me and watched me eat my dinner, to help you visualize the moment. We were the only people in the lower level dining room until maybe 5 minutes into my burrito, when we were joined by two gentlemen toting mops, buckets and wash rags. I made a mental note that they were in the room and nothing more as I continued to absorb my food. They started to move the chairs from the tables to mop the floor, they wiped all the tables with the same dirty rag, and they emptied the two garbage cans in the room conversing all the while. I wouldn’t have started eavesdropping had they been using their ‘inside voices.’ These late teens-early twenties guys were talking about what they were planning on blowing their paychecks on at the end of the week. The consensus was urban fashion. I believe I heard this phrase ten times in three minutes, “Aw you nee to do is fro on a hat and a white tee.” They couldn’t complete their appointed cleaning tasks, because I was still enjoying my food at my chosen table, so they decided to throw down their cleaning rag onto a chair-less table and head back upstairs where the action was. When I finished my wonderful burrito I walked over to the abandoned cleaning rag, snatched it up, took it back to my table and wiped away my nonexistent mess. Cheers fellas.
2.) Die like a…
This is a short but sweet part of this evening. Upon leaving the Chipotle you have to push, what seems to be, the wrong side of the door to get it to open. I pushed the sensible side of the door, making a fool of myself to all those standing on the sidewalk outside. This has nothing to do with this part of the story; I just felt I needed to warn you about the door to the Cleveland Heights Chipotle. You know, to spare you the embarrassment. We exited Chipotle only to find a huge line, leading right to the Grog Shop’s door, comprised mostly of eager scenesters. But don’t you fret, for each subculture had at least one representative present at this assemblage. My sister and I decided to just observe the line rather than stand in it until the doors were indeed opened. In all of my “people watching” that I did that night while observing the line only one person really caught my eye. This young man walked past my sister and I not once, or twice but three times while he was engaged in a “conversation” on his mobile phone. I will explain why I used quotation marks for conversation here in the next segment, so, please, bear with me. This character was built a lot like Johnny Rotten in his younger days, or if you have no idea who he is I’ll compare him to a pop culture “icon” of similar build: Jack Skellington (The Nightmare before Christmas). He was wearing acid-wash, though appearing somewhat gray, black denim jeans, black leather lace-less twin seam shoes, his hair was heavily teased into a pseudo flock of seagull’s style and he was wearing a vintage fitted white leather motorcycle jacket. Most averagely cool people in their 20-30’s would consider him the king of cool! Only, someone had painted “Die like a Unicorn” on the back of it, making him look like an idiot. It was almost like a cheap imitation of a street punk back patch. He probably couldn’t afford the safety pins. Recently out of sheer curiosity I decided to look “Die like a Unicorn” up on Google and, for your information, I found out that it is the name of a band from California. Their MySpace hasn’t been logged into for a couple of years.
3.) “Why’s all da hawt girls…”
My sister and I finally work our way into the Grog Shop tolerating the line for only a few minutes, unlike the fools we stood and watched from the comforts of a concrete stair. The first two bands weren’t very talented in my opinion; therefore I don’t remember their names. After paining through two equally terrible bands my chipper mood had started to deteriorate. I’m about to be very honest with you, the reader, and I hope you do not judge me for what I am about to say. I am not the biggest Minus the Bear fan. They are talented guys who just happened to make it big because they could recreate the same song over and over. No, with all kidding aside, they are a pretty okay band. I will listen to them if they play on my iTunes or iPod they just aren’t one of my favorites. As my sister and I are waiting patiently for the Minus the Bear set to start bros of all kinds start closing in on us. I would like to give a special thanks to the imbecile with the “Uncle Jesse” hair and the Corona t-shirt, thank you for being the catalyst in making my night, well, a nightmare. At last the band makes it onto the stage and starts their first song. At this point I am in no mood to deal with the people standing around me and I am in no mood to listen to a band like Minus the Bear. I turn to my sister who is standing just behind me and to my right and say, “I’m not having that great of a time, so I’m going to give my spot to someone who is.” I made my way out of the building craving fresh air and hoping to bring my anger down a few notches. About three minutes into my escape from the show it started to rain, forcing me back inside with the people I wanted to avoid. When I got back inside it seemed as if every person I left inside multiplied by two when I reentered leaving limited standing spot choices. Instead of weaseling myself back up to my sister, who was standing front and center, I decided to stay around the door in case I needed to make a quick escape again. Now don’t quote me on this, but I think it’s safe to say that at more than seventy-five percent of the shows that I’ve been to (and that’s a lot of shows) I am planted right next to the biggest douche bag in the room. Just a quick reminder, I was at a Minus the Bear show. If you aren’t sure who they are, I would lump them into the “Indie Rock” genre. Please keep this in mind. I was stuck right next to a heavier white male who was wearing the urban fashion mentioned in part one of this blog. His white shirt was too small, his trendy hat was cocked to the left, he had giant diamond studs in his ears, and his pants were sagging to just below his butt cheeks leaving his boxer briefs exposed. This charming fellow had obviously consumed large amounts of alcohol, for he couldn’t stand unless he was leaning over onto someone else. Not only was he annoying for the things just mentioned he was also annoying because he thought he knew the words to the songs and he was overly confident about it. This man was yelling out very incorrect lyrics as well as improvising on the air drum kit he had sitting in front of him. I was having a good time making fun of him to myself until he decided that it was time for him to hold a “conversation” with me. He nudged me on the arm and pointed to this cute blonde chick kissing on this uber trendy indie boy, you know the guy who wears the stocking cap and scarf in the middle of the summer. Then he asks, “Why’s all da hawt girls wit dees fuckin’ fags?” I would have been offended by this question, being a woman and all, but I decided to pardon him for his stupidity. I asked myself, “Why do you think ghetto white trash boy doesn’t have hot girls hanging all over him?” I decided that it was better for me to simply ignore his question instead of answering it, because I knew he was going to find his next victim in a matter of seconds. I didn’t want to open a new can of worms with this guy. It wouldn’t have been worth it.
I hope this entry was entertaining to at least one person. Thank you for reading. Until next time…