Two for the price of one blog!

Right. I grew up in the 80's. I believe that children are our future. I still refuse to understand why our future hangs out in bars with their parents. This drives me more insane than having my sock on upside down. ..and few things are more annoying than the heel of your sock rubbing against the top of your foot. When I'm in a bar, I expect to drink. My time there is not to be a babysitter. This is an ongoing rant, and I really, really wish it wasn't. Bars are for drinking, not for babies.

So I settled the bill and ran off to another bar. And I'm here being socially deviant by typing on a laptop during happy hour. Perhaps the parents who tote their tots (see what I did there?) to the bar are feeling smugly rebellious, perhaps even slightly deviant. But. My typing in a bar, which is possibly annoying, holds no candle, flame, or lighter to the folks who bring their hyperactive brood to a bar.

My typing is contained to my table. My typing does not impose itself on other people at the bar, who are there to be grown-ups at a bar. I'll say it again: if you have to ask a bartender if they have milk and he doesn't know...it's not a place for your precious poopy-kins.

And as I type this rant, there is a man and lady walking with their three-year-old and seven-year-old to the FRICKING BAR!!! And there they go running amok (the kids, not the parents. Parents running amok would be a somewhat good band name). Sigh. There is a restaurant portion of this place. Alas. If this is a Colorado thing, it really needs to not be. If this is a national thing: IT'S CALLED A BABYSITTER!!! CALL ONE!!

Moral of today's story: bars are called bars because they serve alcohol and perhaps nachos. Not milk and G-rated language. Hell damn shit.

An Erinku (in crankiness):
two straws
for my happy drink
they stole my chairs
for their progeny. Punks.

Adventures in Lap-Topping

One of the many differences between my current going to school and my previous going to school I (I am a grad school junkie) is that my previous degree was mostly completed on bus rides. I read all the books while keeping slight track of the many twists and turns of the route. I wrote many assignments while sitting in metal boxes of different shapes, sizes, and speeds. It's creepy to think about.

However, this time around, the bus isn't helping so much. I can barely fit my cello on board, let alone set up and run through some random bit of Prokofiev over and over again for an hour. So. I'm bringing my wee little laptop along to help fill those various hours zooming along the face of the planet. The problem is that my wee little laptop is so cute that any female who sits in a bus-seat radius squeals and asks about it. This wee little laptop is better than using a puppy to pick up chicks. Alas, when I'm pre-coffee, squealing women are a bit grating.

So. Each birthday I try and make some sort of goal for the year. A few years ago, I went to an average of one concert per week. 52 concerts in a year. Last I did...something. I like to think I'd had “complain bitterly once a week” as my goal. That way I can feel accomplished. This year, I plan on writing a bit each day. My little rants (a.k.a. Bloggity-blogs) are how I blow out the stagnant water from my hose of writing. And with that image, I think it's coffee time.

An Erinku:
yes, I know
it's cute
yes, I know
it's Linux
(everyone squeals)

Pre-Birthday Snow Day

Dear Birthday Santa-
I REALLY appreciate the snow day as a pre-birthday present. You know what would be even more awesome? A snow day ON my birthday, too! I love to wear my tiara on my birthday and since I'm a bit shy around some folks, it makes me a little uncomfortable to go to work and/or school with it on. So that's a tension that could easily be resolved by, say, another two feet of snow. However, I'm not afraid to wear it to parties or to the bar, so I'll need the bus to be running tomorrow while I make my social butterfly celebration rounds.

I will be 32 in a few short hours and am looking for a year of ease. And for a year where I can handle more than ten minutes on an elliptical. But I'm not too picky. Just send a few lattes my way and I'll be a happy little sea otter. And on that note, this sea otter needs to practice some more music since I've got a lesson on my birthday.

Moral of today's story: snow days rock!

An Erinku:
favorite coffee cup
spoon tilted
jaunty angle
(jaunty sounds like a pirate verb)

Irish Heritage

Just now, as I was savoring a nice rum and coke in the sunshine, it occurred to me that I expect from the universe a bit of leniency while I'm on vacation. As I was wandering about with my drink, I realized that since I was outside in a public area, I was technically wandering about with an open container. Instead of being worried about this, I planned on announcing I'm Irish and that's it's St. Patrick's Day in Reno. Turns out that open containers in Reno on a traditional Irish holiday isn't likely to be a problem.

Morale: we are leaving my family's company in 20 minutes for further adventures.

An Erinku for my heritage:
rum is a
problem
like typing while rummed
is a problem

Magic Pockets

Near the Hobbit Hole are a variety of churches. One is called something like the Holy Comforter. This is not to be confused with a blanket, even though it’s spelled the same way and even though I really think it should be confused with a blanket. Oddly enough, the billboard outside of the blanket church is usually filled with very angry hellfire and brimstone messages (which aren’t exactly comforting) to off-set the nice, happy, hopeful billboard down the street at a different church.

As I passed the blanket church today, the billboard said something along the lines of, “HOLY EUCHARIST AT THE HOLY COMFORTER.” I, of course, mentally added “BATMAN!” to the end of their announcement. I went through a long phase of watching old-school campy Batman. My Batman is the one who carries a spray-can of Shark Repellent on his yellow belt; not the Batman who broods in the dark and talks with a gravelly, tortured voice.

This got me to wondering if one could get a hold of a can of Shark Repellent and then somehow find a church-like official to bless the can, if it would be a more effective product. Holy Shark Repellent, Batman! At this point, wondering if I had any brilliant items in my coat pockets (like mittens) I found my phone. These are the same pockets I checked three times last night for said phone. These pockets also have a few small holes…which obviously leads to: HOLEY MAGIC POCKETS, BATMAN!

An Erinku (Batman!)
My boxed wine
expired in February;
I drink it
anyways

Finals

Saturday was the first perfect Colorado day of the year. When it's a sunny Saturday near 70 degress, all Coloradans have the same idea at 1:30 in the afternoon: beer on a patio. I, too, had this idea and 41 ounces of beer later was a content, slightly sunburned Coloradan. Like a kitty, I sat in the sun and absorbed heat. Like myself, I absorbed good beer while wearing my sarcastic Budweiser t-shirt.

I'm basically done with my quarter (only one lesson left) and due to my sort-of kicking ass on my finals and having to work a bit on a Saturday, I celebrated with some Colorado beer before returning to the music building to practice in sun-less rooms. Coffee, cello, beer, cello. It's a typical day in my weekend life.

Moral of today's story: if I place the condensation rings from my beer glass into the Olympic symbol, I wonder if NBC will...oh. I just found out. They will sue.

An Erinku:
toes
escaping nylons
through holes
(now bigger) near toes.