Strange
Day

Juuuuuust when I thought I was out… They draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag me back in. After finally having ripped all my cassette tapes to MP3, Autumn goes and gives me a new stack of tapes. These however, I may be able to finish in 1 or 2 nights.
Note to anyone coming to the District: Do not lean through a window and talk to cab drivers. Get in the fucking car. If it turns out you don’t have enough money, you can always get out again. But once you’re in the vehicle, they’re required by law to take you wherever you wish to go, within the Metro area. There is no need to question them from the curb as to wether they will take you somewhere. And if they do simply roll down the window and ask you where you wish to go, you’re better off telling them to piss off. Besides coming damn close to being illegal, it means they’re looking for a passenger going one specific route. The likelihood that you’re going that route is pretty bad. So shut up get in the fucking cab. I’ll thank you, and they 15 cars backed up behind the taxi will thank you.
We now return you to you’re regularly scheduled Sunday night stupor.
So I went out with friends to various places Friday night. (Pictures now available from your local gift shop or in the snapshots section of this very website.) When we started out at The Black Cat, I was depressed to find out that Rainer Maria will be playing there this coming Friday. Depressed, because I will be in East Bumpafuck at the time, watching the utility truck bucket rides. But if you’re luckier than me, go see them. The few songs I have of theirs are great. Sort of a female-fronted, intelligent, hard rock band.
You know… as Kier would say, any night not spent in front of the TV alone is a good night. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t wish to cause serious bodily injury to one of my friends before the night is through. It would be all fine and well, but for … well… a complete lack of knowing what we were doing. I’m all for spontaneity. But to me, that’s the ability to make quick decisions with little or no supporting facts or information. What we had was a complete lack of decision making. We had 45-minute committee discussions followed inevitably by the least successful of all possible outcomes. The cutest moment of the night did come, though, from Autumn’s boyfriend, (a seemingly nice guy), somehow deciding he had enough testosterone–despite his metallic, zebra-pattern, club shirt–to order 7 people–3 of whom are over 6 ft. tall–into a sports car, so we could go to Adams Morgan. (A place you really must experience at 3 in the morning on a Saturday to appreciate sobriety and good footware).
It’s been a while since I got home at 4 AM.
Did I mention the call-girls have been evicted? Right. The day after they had one man in their bed, another waiting in the hallway, another downstairs trying to remember their apartment number, and one more show up just in time to see them all locked out of the apartment when she forgot her keys. This is the point where we find out her pimp had the doorlock changed without telling the rental office. After a brief interlude with the last contestant on The Price is Always Right in the laundry room, everyone was seen leaving the scene in a yellow taxi cab.
And I bet they didn’t ask the driver if he was going their way.