InsaneJournal

Current location:	The 21st Century
Current mood:	annoyed
Current music:	Phoenix

Drunk Jerks, Phony Flirts, and Crazy Ladies... and Ribs

After the show last night...

CHRIS:  I liked it, I had fun.
ME:  You didn't have a freakin fan club of drunk dudes yelling at you from the bar.
KARL:  Ha-ha you're attractive!
CHRIS:  I'd rather be the hot chick than that gay guy who sings.

I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the show at the rib house last night when right before we started playing I overheard some drunk jackass say, "Hey, look at the girl with the guitar! Isn't that cute?" He and his buddies then proceeded to yell things at me throughout our set, like "Go girl!" and "Girl power!" *sigh* Alright, already. I'm a girl, I play bass, and I have a nice butt. Get over it. It's not like I'm really all that special. News flash: lots of girls play instruments. Many of them are hot. I know it's hard to believe, seeing as women don't have the mental capacity to handle hitting a few strings and making sounds come out of them. We're like monkeys that you train to sing and dance around in low-cut tops, right? As I've said before, I'm not a feminist by any stretch of the imagination, but seriously, can we have some more respect for female musicians please?

What a night. When I got home from work yesterday I discovered, to my horror, that I'd somehow lost my L'Oreal Ideal Balance Quick Stick makeup. I was freaking out, tearing up the apartment looking for it. It must have fallen out of my purse somewhere in Center City. So I had Chris drive me to CVS and then Walgreens until I found some and shelled out fourteen bucks for it. I then held it up to my face, caressed it and whispered things to it, like, "I love you so much," and "I'll never lose you again." The other customers at Walgreens probably found it a little disturbing. I don't care, though, I love that stuff. If I wasn't married already, I'd marry that stuff.

So there were some real characters on the train this morning. First there was this chick that I see often sitting by the door, an obvious bottle blonde with caked-on makeup and a high-pitched, annoying voice. She sits there by the door and chats up any man who happens to be within five feet of her, just makes meaningless small talk (the kind I hate) the whole train ride. For this reason, the conductors always flock to her and neglect their ticket-checking duties. It makes me sick. She talks in her loud, piercing voice and laughs obnoxiously and flirts blatantly and indiscriminately, and she just seems so phony I want to slap her. She's like a Hooters waitress trying to sell everyone some hot wings, or something. Ugh.

Then there was the crazy lady sitting next to me. You know the type. She was scrunched up in the corner, with two purses full of trash and a Joyce Meyer book, eating things you should never eat at 7:30 in the morning. First, she took down half a chocolate-chip cookie the size of my purse. Now, honestly, that I can understand. I've had the odd cookie or two for breakfast myself, but then she took out a ball of tin foil and unwrapped some bratwurst with onions and mixed vegetables. At least, I think it was bratwurst, it smelled like the Austrian Village. The vegetables weren't even the kind you eat with breakfast, like tomatoes, or potatoes. They were the kind you buy in a can and cook with your TV dinners: corn, peas, and string beans. She sat there, scarfing that down, and every ten seconds she would jerk her arm out, like she was swatting away a spider only she could see. Then she suddenly looked up and smiled and yelled something, like she'd just seen someone she knew. Only, nobody had come on the train, and nobody sitting around us acknowledged her. So she went back to reading and eating and swatting, and I started to feel sick to my stomach from the smell of the bratwurst. I scrunched up in my own little corner of the three-person seat we were in, and tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone who came on, so they wouldn't think about making me move over so they could sit on the other side of me. I thought I was safe because there were still plenty of three-seaters with a free spot, but this guy came on and stood next to me and said something and I had to move over (bear in mind I had my headphones on the whole time so I couldn't hear what anyone was saying). So I spent my trip breathing in that smell and feeling like I was going to vomit, because it was 7:30 in the morning and my stomach is still upset from that bad leftover pasta I ate over a week ago, and this woman was eating food that should never grace one's palate until at least 4pm. Ugh again. People are just nuts, y'all.

I'm looking forward to playing a venue I recognize next week. Rex's had a pretty decent-sized audience for one of our shows in 2006, and that was with a really bad storm going on outside.

Speaking of venues, it's time for my Philly Dive Bathroom Competition...

To recap: Bathrooms are rated on a scale of 0 to 5 in each of the following categories:
Spaciousness
Cleanliness
Odor

They are then awarded one additional point for each of the following:
Dry floor
Functioning toilet
Functioning sink
Fully-stocked toilet paper
One or more available hand-drying tools
One or more adequate trash receptacles
One or more visible mirrors
Absence of obscene graffiti
Absence of any graffiti
Doors that both close AND lock
Available soap

..For a total of 26 possible points.

The official winner for 2007 is the Troc, with 21 points.

Bridgeport Rib House is a contender for 2008 with 20 points. I took away a point because they had a large mirror directly in front of the toilet. I hate it when people do that. That is one place I do not want to look at myself. Then I added the point back because they had a plunger, and I've NEVER seen a plunger in a dive bathroom before. I find it very convenient.

Stay tuned for Rex's updated rating.