Whitney and I went to a little concert thing of theirs and the music was good, but Tyler, the lead singer, spit on my face, and then I felt droplets of sweat hit me as he would jirate back and forth.
The majestic awe of being at a concert of a band you love is now lost on me, in my older wiser years.
Who knew I would ever tire of a rock star's sweat/spit on my face?
Whitney and I are almost positive that the lead singer has thigh and knee implants, and Whit and I could not hold back sudden outburst of laughter caused by freak/pukka-shell boy in the front row who knew, and screamed to, all the lyrics of all the songs. And while his body flailed about and his fist pumped mightily in the air the gel in his hair kept the mop on his head looking just right.
So Great. I think I'll go to concerts now if, and only if, Whitney goes with me to make fun of others. (Her or someone equally as funny or clever)
But highlight of my day, and highlight of my yesterday had to be the tomato/curry/squash soup I had yesterday while eating with the poets before the big poetry event on campus last night.
The soup was unlike anything I had ever tasted. Jo latter described it as "warm moist chunks"
(I don't know why I added that little bit from Jo, it actually kinda ruins the entire "the soup was amazing" thing I was going for, but it was funny when he said it)
Anywho after an delightful, inspiring night of poetry from Andrea Gibson and Buddy Wakefeild.
(Fell in love with Buddy last year at the Revival, Andrea I wouldn't recommend looking up if you are in the mood for a new poet, she has an amazing way with words, but the book I have of hers is quite foul, and most of her poems last night was on lesbian lovers) (If you are a lesbian lover, then yeah, you might like it)
I felt inspired to be artsy, to write, to love, to create, to. . . to . . . recreate that good soup we ate.
So just to report, I made the soup for my family tonight, who have recently become ginnie pigs for things I have been learning to cook, and it was pure success. Apart from the lingering curry smell I have retained on my fingers, it was great. . . . . not perfect, (I already have ideas for round two.) But 8 people ate it and 7 people loved it . . my Dad said "yeah, it was good" . . . .so not bad.
I figure if I'm am going to snatch me a husband I gotta learn to keep him well fed, right? I know my place in life, and in the kitchen.
1 comments:
barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. don't you forget.
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