Back in January, Joe and I had this conversation:
Joe: Did you know Vampire Weekend is coming to Ohio?
Me: NO, WHEN IS IT?!?
Joe: Oh, well, it's sold out.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOO!
Fast-forward to a few weeks ago:
Joe: Can I tell you what I got you for your birthday?
Me: No, I want to be surprised.
Joe: ...please?
Me: I guess. If you really want to.
Joe: Remember how Vampire Weekend was sold out?
Me: ...yes.
Joe: Well, I found tickets.
Me: AHHHHHHHH!!!!
So last night, Joe and I went to see Vampire Weekend because the responsible thing to do four days before moving is to go to a concert. But whatever, it was awesome. It made me want to bop around or run around in circles like a tiny, yappy dog. In fact, there is a certain part of Mansard Roof that makes me want to twirl around in circles with my arms stretched out and when I told Joe, he told me I should do it but I didn't want to smack anyone in the head because that would ruin their concert experience, which really wouldn't be fair because they probably paid good money for the concert unless they were like me and had someone awesome buy them the tickets for their birthday.
This brings me to my confession and that confession is: The only reason I listen to any good music is because either Kat or Joe told me to listen to it. Truth!
What do you want to confess today, Internets? Come on. Get it off your chest.
Know what else? I had a bison burger for the first time last night. It was so delicious. I'm not sure if it was more delicious than most hamburgers I've had because of the restaurant or because it was bison, but I don't really care. It was a bit weird to be eating bison, though. I don't know why. I sort of felt like I was on the Oregon Trail and I'd shot some bison during a hunting expedition and was enjoying the fruits (meats?) of my labor. Although, usually when I played Oregon Trail, all I ever shot were squirrels and then I died of cholera. Not cool. Anyway. I think what I'm saying is, last night was way better than shooting squirrels and dying of cholera.
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8 comments:
confession: i don't want to go to vegas on friday DON'T MAKE ME GO.
Skip Vegas and come to Ohio to help me move! We have movers, though, so of course by "help me move," I mean "stand around and drink beer with me while watching others carry heavy stuff."
Deep down, no one wants to go to Vegas. It's hope goes to die.
Oregon Trail is the most existentially unambiguous game ever. Life = Death + futility + squirrel meat. It's no wonder so many children of the 80s are now in therapy.
I always thought OT was good therapy. Like, sometimes I would name all the people in my wagon after kids I didn't like, and then not take enough food or clothes for the journey on purpose so everyone would die.
Is that not healthy?
I always enjoyed finding those little signposts marking other classmates' deaths and such.
Oh, I forgot about those! Awesome. I want to play OT now.
My school never played Oregon Trail-- cry for me!
Your yesterday sounds awesome. You can totally pretend that you killed that bison yourself.
I'd like to confess that I'm having murderous thoughts about my students who annoy me with stupid emails that take them seconds to fire off but me many minutes to answer.
No Oregon Trail?!? WTF? Although, I'm trying to figure out whether playing Oregon Trail really taught us about anything.
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