A Girl...

Spirited Away

Oh, how I wish my mother weren't lurk-reading this secret blog, for then, dear readers, I would relate to you a tale of woe in which our heroine attended a Mountain Goats concert last night and ended up stumbling out halfway through to puke on the curb outside the club. And then twice more around the corner from the club. And then three times into a tiny tiny tiny Wendy's cup. Which overflowed a little onto her pants and Teddy's passenger seat. And then there was the rapid-fire vomiting once she got home--eight heaves in about sixty seconds. I think she made up for the era of blissfully hurl-free living (circa 1989 - last night); let's call them The Golden Years.

And if that weren't enough, she also dropped her camera several times, one of which resulted in a piece breaking off and being subsequently spirited away to the land of You'll Never See It Again, so now the camera--constant companion and one of the great joys in her life--no longer works. And she didn't get one shot of the Goats. And she was standing right near the front. Well, not standing, but slumped on a keg, her forehead resting on top of the subwoofer. But it was still a prime spot to have shot a video or some stills had her camera worked, and she missed it--she missed it!--because she was overzealous and overconfident and underfed and unstable and she poisoned her body and fouled her buddy's car and dropped her camera again and again and again and again--twice in that first mess of slimy curb detrius. Will someone please take the camera away next time? The camera and the whiskey.