so, after ringing in the new year with some close girlfriends, i got home at a reasonable hour and headed for my jammies. but before i could even make it up my steps to my apt. i was confronted with "loud-girl-in-the-hall-drinking-and-spilling-her-beer-and-falling-down-the-steps-girl." conversation went like this:
Mrs. Lady (me): are you ok?
LGINTHDASHBAFDTSG: yeah, i'm just glaahd i dont live heeeerrrre.
Mrs. Lady: um, well, honey, I do.
LGINTHDASHBAFDTSG: oh, srrorry, i'll clean thirrs up. (puke).
and the end.
until, Mrs. Lady had to go up to the boyz party upstairs at 4 am. (LGINTHDASHBAFDTSG was at the party downstairs).
apparently, guitar-hero is now cool in williamzburg.
here's the deal. nirvana was fine. lerved em. back in the day. i wore flannel, for christ sake. but not when 23 yahoos upstairs who probably were not even alive when kobain offed himself are jumping up and down to a tv and a fake guitar with surround sound and shit falls off my walls.
i've decided to get my own guitar-hero, but will fill it with pet the cat music. and i will start cranking joni mitchell 3 chord power jam to Both Sides Now at outrageous times like 3:30 pm when those tired, over-coked out kids are just getting to sleep.
mrs. lady, will be up, in her robe, sewing sailor suits for her cat.
tip of the hat for "Mrs. Lady" to eben.
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2 comments:
puke stories ... always funny. see you at bklynblahggrz "night" this month. 3rd thursday, greenpoint starbucks, 11am.
Liar. You haven't worn flannel since you were 7. But I will gladly chip in for guitar-hero-pettn-the-cat-version 3. heard it's the skittles
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