I cannot get enough of Owl City right now. Fireflies. Hello Seattle. The Airway. Designer Skyline. Dental Care. Fireflies. Fireflies. Fireflies.
On Friday I went to see Sister Hazel at the Classic Center. Never have I used the word "awkward" to describe a concert, but I can think of no word that better embodies the experience that was had on Friday night. Things seemed to be looking up when we first arrived: there was this HOT MESS of a girl who stumbled out of the bathroom, then proceeded to slide down the entirety of the staircase with a smile spread across her face as if it wasn't WILDLY inappropriate for her to be blackout drunk at a Children's Miracle Network benefit concert (at 7:00, no less). We entered the theater and made our way past every yellow-collared dope who wanted to triple-check our tickets, all the way to the Pi Phi section. As an honorary Pi Phi, I proudly sported my VIP wristband and trash talked the cretins who had invaded the Pi Phi territory without wristbands. Before they were removed, of course. Things took a turn for the worse as the yellow collars took the stage and gave a lackluster intro for the main event. Sister Hazel took the stage, and I stood amongst the throng of my fellow concert-goers. I was ready to jam, but as I looked around during the opening number I realized a jam session was not on the agenda for the evening. Everyone was SO uptight, stiffened and seemingly disconcerted to even be at a concert. I flailed my arms and sang (read: shouted) along, and was getting looks. WTF. When the band would stop singing and direct the mike to the crowd to signal an impromptu sing-along, my voice was the only audible noise emitted from the masses. Ken Block described the embarrassing exchange as a "polite sing-along," but sadly he came to find that no, that's just typical weak shit Georgia crowds. I didn't let that ruin my night, though. I sang and danced along as if I weren't surrounded by a bunch of twerps with sticks up their asses. MVP moment of the night: when everyone else SAT DOWN DURING THE BASS SOLO (ARE YOU KIDDING?), Jacqueline, Melanie, Ku, and I just jammed. Glorious. Needless to say, I made Pi Phi look damn good. A mandolin moon and a champagne high later, I was loving life and wasn't even bothered by my embarrassing crowd counterparts.
On Saturday morning, I was the only lameass driving out of Athens on the sacred first home game of the season. Although I was bitter about this fact for the better part of my morning, by the time I had donned my new lbd in preparation for my flight instructor's wedding on Saturday night, thoughts of tailgating and kegs were off of my radar. I was all smiles as I thought of the prospect of an open bar paired with my favorite past time: people watching. And what a glorious night it was. I took Brandes as my date, and we decided that we should consider wedding crashing as a viable career option. During dinner, we sat at a table full of the bride's family members--I have met the bride all of ONCE, mind you. We stuffed Brandes's pockets with the candy that was sitting out for guests. We made nice with the bartender, and she hooked us UP. She crafted a sangria for me once the red wine was running low, and then treated me to "cool punch" when the sangria was out. After cool punch, she stopped naming her concoctions, instead focusing on avoiding any unwanted attention from the nearby cops as she dumped gin and beer in with the kiddy punch. Of course there was champagne for the toasts, and buckets of beer for when everything else was gone. CLEARLY I had a fantastic evening. Work the next day was rough, but it was worth it. Besides, boss man sent me home to take a three hour nap, which made life so much better.
I saw a guy get hit by a University bus on Friday. The story was not even published in the red and black. wtf. Our school newspaper is not competent of anything beyond daily crosswords and football coverage. You know, the hard stuff.
Okay I need to drag my ass to the gym. Peace out girl scouts.
peace love and fireflies.
