It’s 11pm Friday night, and I’m sitting at the computer taking a break from two assignments, both due tomorrow morning, and both of which I started about 5 minutes ago.

It’s going to be a long night.

And not the kind of long night that I am used to, the kind that involves Fern’s at last call, frenzied runs to store before 2am, sitting up in my friend’s apartment until 6, and falling asleep on her couch to cartoons playing in the background.

But that’s ok, because I had a fine late night last night, and am planning to have one this Saturday, which will involve an art show and possibly another slumber party. And that's two late nights for this weekend, so I suppose one night in won't kill me, as I'm trying to learn this thing called moderation. (Hey, I'll try anything once.)

Last night involved absolutely murdering someone at table hockey, shots with the ladies, a happy birthday tattoo, sitting in my car listening to it beginning to sprinkle outside while someone explained that it’s a certain possibility they’ll tell me to fuck off in the future (right back at you!), a phone call from someone that I had previously believed to be dead (or just about), and being snuggled up under the covers doing my favorite thing (reading, you sicko) until the morning, at which point it was raining full force.

I am never happier than when it’s cold outside, and grey skies and rain make me positively joyful. So even though I’m cooped up inside tonight, when I would much rather be out, I’m still quite happy.

Or maybe that’s just because NaBloPoMo is now over, and I can go back to the good old days of posting with great infrequency.

So, cheers! I’ll see you guys in a month!

(I kid.)

(Maybe)

(No really, I am kidding.)

(We’ll see.)

The Strain by Blockhead is worth a listen. Or like, a hundred listens.

(I know what you're thinking, and yes, I should start writing music reviews.)

If you would like to listen to it, it's currently the default song on my myspace profile, and is available on Blockhead's, as well. It has everything:

A classic 60s ballad of young, ill-fated love. (Running Bear, written by the Big Bopper, partially performed by my boyfriend George Jones, and also covered by Stiff Little Fingers - who knew?)

A snippet of opera, at about two minutes in. This is my favorite part.

1950s improv comedy performed by Mike Nichols and Elaine May, who would later go on to work on The Birdcage together.

I can't even begin to comprehend how someone can take these distinct, seperate parts and compile them in a way that comes out sounding as beautiful as this does. It's a talent that I'll never understand, but can definitely appreciate.

I was able to see Blockhead perform recently in LA, and since I am getting older and crankier and much more hermit-ier, you know I had to have a pretty high opinion of his music to actually elect to get out from under the covers for a night.

I didn't regret it for a second. Not even after I paid $20 for a parking spot. And $20 for my first round (admittedly, I was double fisting it).

Other favorites songs by Blockhead: Insomniac Olympics, Triptych Pt. 2, and You've Got Maelstrom

Enjoy.

(And I would apologize for the Lolcats photo in the last post, but that's what you get when I'm forced to blog every day for a month. I'm just surprised I held off this long.)

Today my diet has consisted of Mountain Dew, coffee, and (I'm actually a bit embarrassed to admit this) a caramel Frappucino. I feel a bit like this:

It would be safe to assume that the nights of wonderful, restful, blissful sleep are few and far between for me, particularly as the school semester is beginning to wrap up.

Last night I went to bed shortly after 6am. For the second time this week. (And it's only Wednesday. Who wants to bet I'll make it three by the end of the week?)

While the first time this happened, Sunday night, was because I was out, having fun, and lost track of/didn't bother to notice the time, last night was because, hi, I don't know if we've met, but I'm kind of a bit of procrastinator.

That's putting it mildly. It's more like I am the BEST PROCRASTINATOR EVER.

You have doubts? I had to turn in a paper today at 5pm. A big, important paper that has to do with a little thing called my graduate thesis, or as I like to call it, MONTHS AND MONTHS OF MY LIFE THAT I WILL NEVER GET BACK.

So when did I start this paper?

Well.

I stayed home last night (after a quick stop at the bar on the way home from work. What? I only had one beer! Don't look at me like that, people!) so I could begin work on this paper. I know what you're thinking. Writing a paper the night before, we've all done that. But remember: it involved a proposal for my graduate thesis. Supposedly this shit is a big deal.

I stayed up until after 6am working on it. Or rather, trying to work on it. But see, I'm reading this really good book right now. And Conan, even rebroadcast, was real funny last night! And there was all that spider solitaire that needed playing. And I think this goes without saying, but did you know that there's wine in that cupboard up there? Because there is!

By 6:15am I had managed to print out a description of the assignment, type my name and the course number on a Word document, and set up the correct margins.

And THAT WAS IT.

I ended up starting, and finishing, the paper at work this afternoon and turning it in about an hour before the deadline.

Certainly this isn't an ideal way to go about getting things done. It doesn't leave much time for dealing with the unexpected, which has bit me in the ass on occasion. (Uh, like that time I threw the phone.)

But on the whole, it works for me. Working this way I graduated with honors in undergrad, and I currently have a 4.0 in grad school.

Of course, I also have the heartbeat of a hummingbird from all of the caffeine and sugar in my system right now, but I'd say it's worth it, no?

(Oh, and if you feel the need to email me studies showing that this unhealthy behavior will lead to my untimely death? Don't. There are any number of things that I do that are way worse than this [binge drinking! driving on the 405! things I can't mention because my mother reads this site!] and are much more likely to kill me first. So there.)

I woke up this morning.

And I was...wait for it...awake.

(Yet another in a sea of endless examples of the stellar writing you come here for, right people?)

This is a feeling I have experienced maybe five times in my life, and the previous four all happened before I was of legal drinking age.

Normally when I wake up it goes something like this:

Oooh, there's a fire! Can't you hear the fire alarm? Fuck that's annoying! But I don't smell smoke. And there's no hot firemen. What's the point of a fire alarm if no hot firemen come running? If there's no hot firemen, then I'll just STAY HERE AND BURN, thankyouverymuch.

Open a single eye.

Oh. The fire alarm is in fact my cell phone alarm going off. It has worked its way into my subconscious and integrated itself into my dreams again. Charming.

Get out of bed.

Fucking hardwood floors.

Fucking cold air.

Turn off cell phone alarm. (It's by design that I have to get out of bed to turn it off. Experience has taught me that if I don't place the alarm out of reach, then in all likelihood I will extend a single arm out from under a mound of covers, grab whatever small thing on the nightstand that is making noise, and hurl it at the wall, rendering it silent. All while remaining asleep! So yes, I place the alarm across the room.)

Check the time. Hm, 13 minutes before I have to be in the car and on the road. You know what that means. 3 minutes of sleeping in!

Burrow back under the covers.

Repeat painful wake up-fuck-it's-cold-I-hate-life routine.

Shower, get dressed, brush hair, put on makeup, grab breakfast. All of this in about 7 minutes. I'm normally the world's slowest person when it comes to getting ready, but I love sleeping in so much that I endeavor to do it until the last possible second, thereby leaving me an absolutely tiny window in which to get ready. It's worth it to me for those precious extra seconds of sleep.

Get in the car, turn up Jawbreaker, Guns n Roses, or any other music that will prevent me from falling asleep on PCH and careening into the Pacific.

But this morning, THIS MORNING, it went like this:

Wake up.

What's that I hear? Nothing but a cat purring next to my head? No brain-numbing, soul-killing, shrill tones?

Are you fucking kidding me? Did I just wake up on my own?

Holy shit. So THIS is what being well rested feels like!

I got ready at a leisurely pace, gave the pit bull some kisses before I left the house, rocked out to Eddie and the Hot Rods in the car, and was running early enough to stop at 7-11 for pure, sweet, lifeblood. (No, not whiskey [I wish]. Second best - coffee!) And now I'm about to do a storytime, which entails jumping around acting like a four-year-old and is awesome because that's pretty close to my level of emotional maturity. And thanks to the coffee (24 ounces! God bless America!), the jumping around isn't exactly voluntary, anyways.

I never thought I'd say it, either, but it's only 10am and today is already fucking awesome.

Not necessarily awesome enough to make this a habit, however. I'm well rested because last night I did the unthinkable and fell asleep around 10pm. This was because the night before, Sunday, went something like this:

10pm: I can't be out too late tonight, guys. I have work tomorrow. Let's just grab a beer and call it a night.

Midnight: Shots!

1:30am: Beer run!

3am: I should be leaving now, guys.

4am: Wow, that was a hilarious story. Let's stay up and keep talking forever and ever because sleep is for fools. Fools!

6am: Uh, I should probably head home now.

It was a long night. Still, I managed to grab a couple hours of sleep before work, and combined with the nap I'd had earlier that day, I wasn't too horribly tired. Proving, once again, that I can totally pull off this kind of behavior, which is why staying out way too late is more likely to repeat itself than going to bed early and waking up well rested.

But it was really nice while it lasted.

Despite appearances, I did not forget to post yesterday.

Rather, I was having technical difficulties with my FTP program, so I posted over here instead. (Not that it’s really worth reading. I pretty much just wrote the same thing as I did here.)

But aren’t you glad to know that I’m totally committed to this posting every day thing? For 4 more days, at least. And then I MAY NEVER POST AGAIN.

That would be this girl.

So you get cute! baby! hippos! instead.

You are so, so welcome.

Since you're not going to be reading anything worthwhile here, how about reading one of this year's 100 Notable Books?

Out of all 100, I, librarian-to-be, super-reader extraordinaire, have read exactly zero of them. (But I did just read Owen & Mzee, because I'm a total sucker for odd animal pairings. And baby hippos, IN CASE YOU COULDN'T TELL.)

From the list (of "real" books for grownups), I plan to read Out Stealing Horses first. I love the title, but it was the description that really sold me:

In this short yet spacious Norwegian novel, an Oslo professional hopes to cure his loneliness with a plunge into solitude.

Wow. There's a thought process I can get behind. It's like, hey, I'll think about this whole drinking problem OVER MY BEER. Makes sense to me!

The second book on the list that I plan to read is How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read, because I figure that one pretty much takes care of the other 98.

I just got back from the Miss California pageant.

And…wow.

I was there supporting a family/childhood friend who is actually a pretty awesome person (she can kick your ass without breaking a nail or a sweat – she's a second degree black belt). And I’m sure that many of the girls parading around on stage are also wonderful people, once you get to know them. (Miss Culver City has a comic book collection. My kind of girl!)

However, I am just as sure that some of those girls are total idiots and/or bitches. One girl listed her favorite hobby as “complaining”.

No, I am not joking.

I lost track of how many girls “studied” communications at college. Not graduated, not got a degree, no, they just “studied” briefly. I also lost track of how many girls listed shopping as a hobby, as well as scrap-booking (seriously? Is this the new trend for 20-somethings? Did I somehow miss this?)

Luckily, I had comedic relief in the form of my mother and several of her friends. I was driving, so they were free and able to ply each other with liquor, and OH BOY DID THEY.

There was a shoe throwing incident in the lobby, and I witnessed two of my (straight laced, church-going) mother’s friends kissing. The pageant crowd responded with shock and horror, which was almost as fun to witness.

Needless to say, I was so, so proud.

Whiskey

Books

My parents

And so,so much more that I could make this a big, long, meaningful post but I'd rather have another glass of sangria (dad's recipe), so instead I'll just wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

Cheers!

...for things that I can't necessarily talk about.

If you know me AT ALL, go ahead and take a guess.

Yes, that would be correct.

So cheers, and I'll be back (most likely!) tomorrow.

Work closes early tomorrow (and isn't open at all Thursday and Friday - score!) so I was given the option of coming in at my normal time (noon) and working until 6pm, or coming in early and getting paid for a whole day.

And I don't know what the hell I was smoking, but is must have been strong because I said 9am? Sounds great! I'll be there!

I've been acting out of character this whole week, though.

For one thing, it's Tuesday, and I haven't yet gone out this week. Unless you consider Sunday the start of the week. In that case, I have.

Anyways.

I went running with my pup, wait for it, both last night and tonight. I used to go fairly regularly (well, fairly regularly for someone who considers whiskey a fine meal) but since school has amped up I haven't been out in a good 2-3 weeks. But now this makes twice this week, which means I have a whole lot of beer to drink to make up for this.

Adding to the strange occurrences, I COOKED tonight! Something for Thanksgiving dinner, even. Though "cooked" may be a strong word for what I did (there were only 4 ingredients, one of which was water, another which was liquor) there was a stove was involved, so I'm going to go ahead and call it that. (Curious? I made cranberry sauce -from actual cranberries- with Grand Marnier. Shut up. It counts as cooking! STOVE, people.)

Regardless, this trend of going in to work early, exercising, and cooking will surely be replaced (like, tomorrow) with sleeping in, drinking whiskey, and eating meals consisting of green olives, celery, and maraschino cherries (or whatever else I find in my drink).

Creature of habit and all.

I recently mentioned that I bought a new car. This was done mostly so that I could begin the long, expensive process of restoring my first car (a 1969 Nova) and also so that I wouldn't have to sell any (more) body parts or sexual favors in order to afford a tank of gas. (While big block engines are undeniably sexy they are also TOTAL HELL on the wallet. My monthly car payment now is actually less than what I used to spend each month on gas. For reals.)

So far this has been working out fabulously. Getting more than 10 miles to the gallon is grand, and don't get me started on power doors and windows (the luxury!).

But Chrysler? I call bullshit on you.

You saw fit to install a feature that would remind me, oh so gently (ding! ding! DING!!!) when I wasn't wearing my seat belt. How kind of you. And while, yes, ideally everyone should wear their seat belt, is it really your place to not only tell them that but to also manufacture cars so that they emit a brain liquefying frequency should a person not securely buckle their seat belt? Couldn't we let people decide whether or not to take this precautionary measure on their own (survival of the fittest and all)?

What's that, you say? You really are that concerned with safety? You just couldn't, in good conscience, LET IT GO?

Then please explain to me why the fuck my speedometer goes up to 140. (And I know for a fact that the car actually does 140, too. But at least I was wearing my seat belt!)

Fucking hypocrites.

(Love the car, though. Really, a wonderful automobile.)

Tonight: Take it easy

OK, I get it already!

(It's sad when even the newspaper is telling you to get more action.)

It's just after 4pm and while I anticipate returning home before midnight to write a decent, normal-sized post, there is the slightest possibility that I may not.

I’m going to a place where there is rumored to be beer. And maybe even liquor. And I love you guys, and am fully into NaBloPoMo, but I am not going to refuse alcohol so that I may be in fine shape to drive so that I can come home and post tonight. No fucking way.

So just in case, here this is!

Tonight: Be easy, like you used to be.

Hm.

I normally don't give much thought to the vague, sprawling comments that are supposed to apply to every single person born in them same 30-day time period as me, but this time? Well, perhaps I was wrong to dismiss astrology so quickly.

Last night I got drunk and emailed Brian Posehn. I think I called him both a comic nerd and a unicorn, and there may have been a reference to making out. And I'm pretty sure I closed with the words motherfucker and cheers.

(Hey, if you're going to do stupid shit when you're drunk, go big.)

I also texted a bunch of you, apparently. I'm sure no one was caught off guard by this; if it wasn't for alcohol most of you would never hear from me. Though I wonder if the guy that got the "fuck I miss you" text from me (which I managed to misspell. Oh god, the shame.) at 4am had an inkling I may not have been totally and completely aware of my faculties at that moment.

I'm thinking he probably did.

So last night was just an all around great use of my time. Other great uses?

Seeing Super Diamond play tomorrow at Hollywood Park, where it will be dollar beer night. There is so much that is right with that sentence I have chills.

Going over to a coworker's house to watch Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, with many other coworkers. I'm planning to bring a big bottle of whiskey (surprise) because I love it when people get drunk and do stupid things that I can hold over their head come Monday.

Entertaining the idea of going to Vegas for a 12 hour stretch, which is apparently how long I go on vacations for now.

Cheers.

You know last night, when I revealed (yet again) to the wide open internet that I'm a total nerd and declared my pure, unadulterated love for comic books? Well, that same night someone from Metropolis, Illinois visited my site.

METROPOLIS.

As in Superman. Whom I also mentioned last night.

(Though if the first thing that came to mind when I said Metropolis was the Fritz Lang movie, you're still good in my book.)

So yeah, that was pretty awesome as far as coincidences go. I hope that reader comes back and sees this. Hi, reader from Metropolis! Are you creeped out yet? No? Well, give it time!

And now, I really need to go. I have a bottle of wine, a copy of The Boys vol. 1, and a hardback volume of Crooked Little Vein that I've been slowly chipping away at for the better part of a week.

I'm more excited at the prospect of staying home, getting tipsy, and reading than I am at the thought of going out and being social.

(Though I would not be at all surprised if this changed by say, tomorrow.)

I don’t have much time to write (here) because I'm busy writing nonsense somewhere else for a change.

And since I will be getting a grade on this something else instead of just the mild looks of disapproval that I get from you all (I can sense those, people!) I'm going to go ahead and concentrate my efforts there.

This something else is a paper for school, due tomorrow. So of course I started it tonight. What’s it about, you ask? (Kind, dear, interested reader.) It’s about research methods and results! And when did I start this research? Also tonight!

Luckily it doesn’t have to be really terribly in-depth (the paper or the research) and it’s about a topic (comics) that I already have some knowledge about. (Did you know that both Bruce Wayne's and Clark Kent's mothers are named Martha? Is it sad that I bring things like this up in normal conversation? At the bar?)

(And I really don't even believe it's possible, but if you didn't know that Bruce Wayne = Batman and Clark Kent = Superman, then I am SO rolling my eyes at you right now.)

When you factor in the 24 ounces of 7-11 Fusion coffee (With ginseng! And extra caffeine! And probably crack!) that I’ve been nursing, this paper is pretty much writing itself.

Now if only my hands would stop shaking, this typing thing would be much, much easier.

Well.

Perhaps it's a good thing that I don't have Mondays off more often.

First there was the guy that bought me a drink within one minute of me ordering my first Jameson on the rocks, because a drink like that? It clearly says this CUP FULL OF WHISKEY won't fuck me up quite enough, I NEED ANOTHER!

Then there were my friends who absolutely forced shots down my throat. Or put them in front of me, same thing.

And oh boy, it worked. At 4am I was standing in my friend's apartment in my t-shirt, (very cute) underwear, and shoes (?) and I'm not quite sure how that happened.

There was more, but if I told you I'd have to kill you. Or I'd just have to try to remember it all, and that would make my head hurt.

(Oh? And photos? Ha. Ha ha ha. Which means no.)

I have work off this Monday.

Wait.

Let's try that again.

I HAVE WORK OFF THIS MONDAY!!!

This is a huge deal for me. You may remember me bitching (you know - that one time) about how nearly all of my lady friends reguarly have Mondays off, making Sunday the night to party.

And then there's me. Up until a month ago, I had to be at work at 9am on Mondays. Factor in the hour commute, and that means that I had to get up around 7:30am. Predictably, this led to some serious sleep deprivation and general crabbiness (or, hating life) on my part.

Thankfully, I recently switched my schedule so that now I don't have to come in until noon on Mondays. This -more than the discovery of fire, or the invention of the telephone- has changed my life for the better in so, so many ways. (Meaning, now I get an average of 5 hours of sleep on Sunday night, as opposed to 2 or 3.)

And now, this Monday, I don't have to go to work AT ALL.

Meaning? Tonight is going to rock.

I'm going to try and remember to take pictures (if only to have something to post instead of I'm sick blah blah I sleep a lot blah blah somebody get me a drink blah blah).

But I make no promises.

Cheers!

So I’m getting ready to go out tonight and it hits me – I almost forgot to post today!

I don’t know how that could have happened, since I was UP UNTIL 5 AM last night, and got a whole 3 HOURS OF SLEEP before I had to get up at 8 AM so that I could GO TO SCHOOL on a SATURDAY.

(Your heart is bleeding for me, right?)

While working on homework during the wee hours last night I may or may not have had 3 beers, and when I awoke I may or may not have had a soda and a candy bar for breakfast.

Seriously, I don’t know why my mind doesn’t work better-like.

It's no secret that I party.

No secret at all since I write about it all the time. And post my college graduation picture. Yes, that really is it.

But with this whole NaBloPoMo thing, rather than just post about the highlights of my week, or the parts that I can actually remember, you guys are stuck hearing about everything (the sickness, the sleeping) in between as well.

I am so, so sorry.

And tonight doesn't look like it will be any different. I'm taking a break from my third cup of coffee and my fourth hour of homework to post this, because OH DEAR GOD I NEED A BREAK.

Yes, this is my Friday night.

I have school tomorrow morning (of course - why else would I be doing homework unless it's due the next day?), so any late night shenanigans would have to be put on hold until Saturday, anyways.

But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't rushing through my assignment (and this post - what's that, you could tell?) so that I can maybe, possibly, make it out tonight for a drink or two.

(Or four.)

Yes, somebody is feeling better.

I just hauled myself out of bed at 11:30pm so that I could post, and not wuss out on NaBloPoMo.

(I really, really hate losing.)

And now that I have (just barely) fulfilled my requirement, I’m going back to bed, where I have spent about 15 hours today.

Still sick? That would be a yes.

But it’s nothing a little NyQuil, a tall vodka and orange juice, and another 12 hours or so of sleep can’t cure.

Cheers.

A few years ago I worked the graveyard shift at a seaside diner on Pacific Coast Highway. Around 4am, once the bar rush had come and gone, I would stop to take a break, rest my feet, leaf through the newspaper, and do the crossword.

(Ok, and read Pearls Before Swine, too.)

(And my horoscope. What? Stop looking at me like that.)

While thumbing through the newspaper one night a headline caught my eye, and I paused to read a book review of Like the Red Panda. The book deals with a topic, suicide, which I've always found sort of morbidly intriguing.

Though I don't know if I'd have the guts to go out there and say this:

"When I say I’m pro-suicide, this doesn’t mean that I’m advocating some sort of blanket death mission for the world. What it means is that I believe in the concept of rational suicide, and I believe that for some people — again, not all people, but some people — suicide is a reasonable option."

(Author of Like the Red Panda, Andrea Seigel, in an interview that can be read here.)

I agree with many of her points, and whether or not you do (it's ok if we disagree! This is a totally individual issue! It couldn't be more so! Don't send me hate mail!), I think she makes her case eloquently.

I've always felt that some people just aren't cut out for this world. Among those, some are better at playing along and making a go of it, and some aren't. For those that struggle daily with a constant, nagging feeling of wrongness...well, I can imagine how almost anything, even suicide, could seem like a desirable alternative.

A year ago today, at the same time that I was reading stories about rainbows and butterflies to preschoolers, my brother shot himself in a hotel room overlooking PCH.

It's one of the few things about him, and his life, that I can come close to understanding.

And I don't care how cold or fucked up that makes me sound.

(Disclaimer: I really, really hate to put this in here, but I feel that I should. For any of you reading this that don't know me, let me assure you that I am fine. "In my own way, I understand this" does not equal "Me next! Me next!".)

I left work sick today.

And now I'm crawling back to bed.

Recently I read a biography of Zelda Fitzgerald (yeah, I like the uplifting stuff) that detailed some of the lengths young men would go to get her attention. One man in particular attempted to win over her (not yet totally insane) affections by flying an airplane around her house. She would watch from the porch as he executed dives, loops and whatever other daring feats, until her father ordered him to stop.

I mean, wow.

And then today I see this.

Which really says to me that, guys? Let's turn this flirtation up a notch. Your cute text messages are not going to cut it anymore. Step this shit up. Seriously. (Although airplanes are not necessary. I am however a HUGE fan of pyrotechnics. Just something to be aware of.)

(And I have to admit that I did get flowers delivered to my work on Halloween. And there was CANDY scattered among the blossoms. So yeah, that was pretty amazing.)

(But not as amazing as say, illegal fireworks.)

An update on Texas will be up as soon as I can write about it and not have to restrain myself from kicking, screaming, and crying SEND ME BACK THERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!

It may be awhile.

I'm back.

I need a nap, a shower, and a drink, although not necessarily in that order.

(I'm thinking more like drink, shower, drink, nap, drink.)

I’ve mentioned here before that I’m participating in National Blog Posting Month, the rules of which dictate 30 days of consecutive posting during November.

Well.

I have this thing about the weekends. During them, I like to actually DO STUFF. Stuff that doesn’t generally involve computers, staying home, and the like.

This weekend, for example, I’m going to Austin (for a day) to see a favorite band play. Why? Why not? (This won't be the first time I’ve traveled to see them, either. For my birthday last year I went to Seattle and had one of the most amazing times of my life. I’m looking forward to this being one, too.)

So, fully committed to this whole blog posting thing (or, just really not wanting to admit defeat after a whole 3 days – you guys know how I am with winning) I had to find some way to make this whole party lifestyle mesh with the nerd lifestyle.

Instead of packing up my laptop and bringing it with me (seriously, I’m going for such a short span of time that I’m actually packing less than I did for last night’s sleepover) I’m posting now (3am), which technically makes this Saturday’s post. And I’m getting back Sunday afternoon, so I’ll be able to post just fine upon my arrival home, assuming that I’m at that point still able to compose coherent thoughts (as much as I ever am, that is).

So I’m not cheating, I’m just using my crackhead night owl tendencies to my favor.

If you don’t hear from me after this point, know that I died in Texas with a smile on my face. And if you do hear from me tomorrow, and it sounds like akjdlskalitualsdukjflaj, know that the airline, for whatever reason, thankfully did not see fit to stop serving me those adorable little bottles of alcohol, though they probably should have.

Cheers.

Last night I got home from work and started packing my bags. Not for Texas (I plan to pack Saturday morning, about 10 minutes before I have to leave for the airport) but for the night’s event:

A slumber party.

A girlfriend of mine and I were recently lamenting the fact this awesome partying that we do? It generally has to come to an end far too early for our tastes (so, 3 or 4am). The solution? Pick a day where neither of us has to get up for work the next day, stock up on supplies (let your imagination run free here), and proceed to get amazing.

And oh, IT WAS. The details of the night are a bit fuzzy, but there were prank calls, bottles of Night Train, Batman pajamas, and more hijinx involving the young skater boys that just moved in next door (we had previously welcomed them to the neighborhood by spraying them/their living room with silly string).

(And if you guessed that the Batman pajamas were mine, you would be correct.)

In short, it was awesome. I fell asleep on her couch until 5pm, went home, and proceeded to nap for another 4 hours.

Suffice it to say, I am so ready for round two.

I watched a news report last night in which a psychologist explained that many adults dress in Halloween costumes that present them as they would like to be, something that is generally in contrast to what they actually are.

DUH.

There was a nanny dressed as a witch, because "some children just need to be scared" (wow, I'm totally hiring her), an investment banker dressed as a hippie, etc.

So I guess it makes sense that I, the librarian-to-be, dressed up as a thrill-seeking killer, a junkie songstress, and oh yeah, another thrill-seeking killer.

(3 costumes, if you were counting. In two days. Immature and self-indulgent? Highly.)

The Night Before Halloween
The first costume was Varla from Faster Pussycat, Kill Kill!

I wore this one the night before Halloween to see Long Beach band Repeater all dressed up and playing as Joy Division (AWESOME) at the Prospector. I wasn't sure how many people were going to be in costume and didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb, so this costume was perfect; except for the major, major cleavage (eye contact - ever heard of it, people?) I was dressed pretty normal. If you aren't familiar with the movie or Tura Satana, you probably wouldn't have even guessed that I was in costume.

Of course, this also made me THAT girl - the one with the costume that you are clearly NOT COOL ENOUGH to get. When really, I was just that other girl, the one who spent 2 minutes preparing and $0.00 on her costume. And that was pretty cool.

Halloween Day
The next costume had to be work appropriate, so both of my female villain outfits were out. Again, seeking to spend as little time/money as possible (I'm lazy!) on a costume, I just threw things together from my closet and went as Amy Winehouse. (Original? Oh, I know.)

This costume was great for a number of reasons. I got to wear jeans and a wife-beater to work. I didn't have to flat iron my hair, therefore allowing me to sleep in an extra two minutes. That I still suck at applying liquid eyeliner actually worked in my favor. And the fact that I didn't get much rest the night before and was dead tired at work? That was just me being in character, people!

Halloween Night
Once I got off work I hightailed it home to change so I could head up to LA for the Pogues show at the Wiltern. Halloween night in LA? Time for the big guns. Nothing I could do would top the outrageous costumes on display, so I could quite confidently go all out.

So I did.

Red knee-high boots. Black catsuit, with a slit down to there. Red elbow-length gloves. Red wig. Heart-shaped eye patch.

(Who guessed it already? Nerds? You with me?)

That's right: Molotov Cocktease.

(This picture is actually from a Halloween party I went to last year. I redid the suit this year though, so it came out a bit better.)

At first I was a bit leery of wearing this out and about, but I was in good company as there were plenty of wonderful and outrageous costumes on display. Even the Pogues dressed up (as a mariachi band, heh) and I wasn't uncomfortable in the least. Especially after the second Jamesons on the rocks.

Though I'm sad to see Halloween go, I'm very much looking forward to this weekend. As of tonight I'm off for 3 days, during which there will be a slumber party, some (more) innocent pranking, maybe a little time at the bar, hopefully some homework getting done, and oh yeah, I'm flying to Austin to see the Murder City Devils (among other bands) play.

I should be in totally great shape at work on Monday.