Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Out and Back Again, and Do You Remember September?

Earlier tonight I went out, and I was home by eleven. I've been sitting here drinking wine ever since and feel kinda drunk.

Shock and awe, yes. I know. There was a band, led by a friend, and they're really a very mediocre band in the most literal sense of mediocre. To use the input of Gyna, they're all watered down pop punk and then even moreso.

It's very frustrating, because this friend of mine, who is technically more of a long-time acquaintance, has another band that is somewhat novel, but far superior in sound and lyrics, and they just don't try to get that shit on the radio* when they fucking should because it's way better than this crap ass common sound they're trying to push right now.

End rant.

So me, Gyna, and Phil headed over there, and I was bored. Thank god for Gyna, because we got it into our head that it was time for some serious B and E, and although our sights were originally on the snazzy ass video camera all alone recording in the corner, that proved to be too hard to steal, so we stole a lamp instead. Fuck you, Double Door.

And because I can't get this conversation out of my head every single time I speak with someone new, which MoLinder the Roommate and I had back in September, here is a memory which I recorded but never posted:

Me: Man, I fucking hate it when I'm talking to someone and they pretend they care at first and then just don't give a shit about what I'm saying. And then they like, give me that smile that says, "Okay, crazy. I shall turn away slowly." What, are they better than me? Fucking hipsters. Sorry I don't wear skinny jeans and flats and shoot heroin up my vagina and wander around praising horrible beers and name-dropping Murakami and talking about how overrated Che is. Am I not indie enough? Shut the fuck up.

You just have to stop being a goddamn Lion all the time.

Me: But--

MoLinder: No, don't be a whore. You can't just run up to people and be all, "Story time, raaaahhhhrrrr."

Me: What the hell do you know? [Pause] Crazy cat lady.

[under her breath] You're becoming one too.

Me: Ahhh, balls.


Of course, the radio is still for sell outs. But seriously, dude, you are living off of the royalties of your first band that peaked in 2000, and have never held a job. We all know you want to be a rock star. Do it with style and originality.

End asterisk rant.



formerly fun said...

You can't just run up to people and be all, "Story time, raaaahhhhrrrr."

Uh, why not? I hold people story hostage constantly. Why do you think I like to wax vag so much? Cause when there are naked on my table with wax all over them, they can't go anywhere. Raaaahhhhrrr!

Rassles said...

FF: I concur, your excellency.

Oh, and by the way, one of the fucking cats just baffed on my fucking shag rug, and I stepped in it.

Cat vomit, dude. Cat. Vomit.

I miss my dog.

Anonymous said...

These little pit stops in the world of Rassles are . . . unsettling.

Cat vomit . . .

I . . . don't know what to say. You've got me all flustered.

Thanks for that . . .


Mister Crowley said... time. What's your story, hon?

Nikki B. said...

i have the same problem and pet peeve...

do you mind if i preface my next story with "Raaaaahhhhrrrr...story time!"?? can i use that?

Anonymous said...

oooh i hope that lamp works. i didn't get time to play with it last night when i got home.

ps- i am also buying a cool "unique" hat tonight- wanna come with?

Bluestreak said...

If people can't handle your raaaahr-Rassle story time, they aren't worthy. There are plenty of us out there that can. Oh and I might look at you like you're nuts but there's no way I'm turning away. I like nuts.

Mrs. Booms said...

Zombies say rahrrr... and then don't even tell stories? What?

paperback reader said...

Seriously, though, why aren't you toting Norwegian Wood or that Sputnik Murakami book around all the time?

Okay, I dated that girl for awhile. But she didn't shoot heroin into her vagina. I think, anyway.

Also, best use of Che in a sentence last year - my old roommate lamenting hipsters at a punk show by saying, "All those kids are wearing those ridiculous hats, you know, the 'Che-meets-a-gay-train-conductor hats?'" Brilliant.

Anonymous said...

My sincerest wish in this life is that I can be in your general proximity, so that you could go all lion on me (btw, nice call, MoLinder!)

Also, THAT'S where the heroin goes? Fuck, I'm naive.

Rassles said...

Tys: Sorry about that. Goddamn cats.

Crow: Next time I got one, I'm hitting up you first.

Nikki: Go ahead. I don't think I've ever really said it before, though, like out loud.

Gyna: I'm sure it'll work, because nothing the illustrious Double Door uses could ever be broken

Blues: Hee hee. You said nuts.

Boomer: Yes they DO say Raaahhhrrr. Why doesn't everyone understand these things? Does my response even make sense? No? Yeah, I'm not surprised.

Pistols: It's my experience that hipsters don't like Che anymore, because now he's too mainstream. Fucking make up your minds, posers, you like him or you don't. You can't be "over" Che. But yes, that line is fantastic.

Ginny: That's a fucking coincidence, because my sincerest wish is that people want to be in my general proximity. Seriously.

Gypsy said...

I can think of a lot of things I'd like in my vagina, but heroin isn't one of them.

Also, skinny jeans are from Satan.

Anonymous said...

whatever yo. you know you love the cats. you even said that they are intuitive. and they are.

Rassles said...

Gypsy: You are always right.

MoL: Shut your mouth.

The Ambiguous Blob said...

See and I really like pop music. I'm definitely not indie enough. Or hipster enough. I mean- I wear sensible shoes and haven't ever even tried on a pair of skinny jeans. But mostly because my calves wouldn't even fit through the butt part. Can you even be hipster if you can't get into skinny jeans? Hmmm.