Life, Liberty & Pursuit Of Your Boyfriend

I realized last night through a different set of conversations that I have had a lot of shit happening: tumor-like bug bites, dates, shots and scalpels, waiting rooms… another “Only Mel” run-down. The life is glamorous, no?

My desk calendar fucking hates me as much as my body. I wish I could post a picture of all the handwritten jibberish, but I also jot down personal work contacts and the like when I lose my Post-its. I have something written for EVERY SINGLE DAY. Except for October 27. It’s a Monday. I will probably watch TV. In fact, I think I’ll schedule that right now.

Anyway, I finally had to be proactive about this damn cough that would not cease, and was placed on an antibiotic for some sort of bronchial infection (no surprise, as I get bronchitis almost every year)… which then caused another infection (ladies, you know). For someone not at all interested in modern medicine, two separate prescriptions in two weeks is uber-sucky (especially having to take an aspirin and benadryl mix for the first time in YEARS for the bug-lump-induced headache I received). The first anti-bac pill, recommended no alchol. The second? ZERO tolerance for alcoholics, such as myself. And Good God the second medication tastes like melted ass on iron ore or something. Blech. I also think it makes me bi-polar, but that’s neither here nor there. Regardless, I have to remain liquor-free for 9 days. NINE DAYS.

These are the things I did sober:

Helper T-Cells, Man Man and Tim Fite at the Grog Shop on Tuesday night — an incredible bill. Helper T-Cells remind you of some wacky children’s show while taking acid (which is obviously very entertaining). And I found out they will be performing as the Flaming Lips music at the Beachland Halloween concert. Awesome.

Tim Fite? Fucking killed it. I had no prior knowledge on the particulars of his stage show, only my iPod loaded with his albums. First, I love to scream “Fuck!” so why not fall in love right there? Second, a crowd sing-a-long of “Heads, Shoulders, Knees & Toes”… twice. His televangelist persona is crazy, his crowd-loving sidekick “computer guy” is fucking wonky as shit (love him) and I could not stop myself from giggling with the video screen cartoons and videos of Tim Fite times three. I lost it every time they bopped their heads or did a funky dance move… and the one with the sunglasses. Just fucking awesome. This was a once-in-a-lifetime show, as I know he is destined for bigger crowds.

Man Man didn’t have the same intensity and energy as their Lime Spider show last year. I was sort of disappointed, but happy to have seen them again. I felt like by the end of the show — even though they played the crowd (and my) favorites — they were pissing me off with their slower, uninteresting songs. Maybe just my non-moshing mood… who knows. Maybe they are one of those bands you can never see the same after seeing once. Or hopefully, they’re just different each time.

Wednesday morning, I had an almost-forgotten about appointment with my dermatologist to remove a couple moles. I waited for almost two fucking hours. Seriously. Mel partially-naked in a hospital gown (I guess there was an emergency in the room next door). I left my boots on, just in case… I finished half of “Breakfast of Champions,” so it wasn’t all for naught. The procedure itself took three minutes. But I was unprepared for the fucking needle being poked into my skin at rushed speed — I mean, obviously they were running behind — but Jesus, I don’t like random needles without warning. Anyway, so now, something else I need to remind myself to do twice a day. Fuck. And worry about yet another test result.

Then I re-dressed, went to work (late) and realized around 4 p.m. that I still had my bra in my purse. Way to free ball… err, boob, all day. I knew the deli lady at Dave’s was extra nice.

After leaving work (late, again) yesterday, I met up with friends over in Collinwood at Music Saves for the in-store acoustic set from Frightened Rabbit, which was really, really cool. Of course, I loaded up my iPod with some additional songs that I heard. Then, drinks and a little music-and-movies conversation at some dive bar on Waterloo… I had Coke. Loser. With all that movie talk, I’m excited to have “2 Days in Paris” delivered tomorrow for my Netflix pleasure. Time? Got time?

Can I tell you how cracked out I was from caffeine from the espresso drink from Phoenix Coffee on Coventry? (I think it was an iced espresso ambrosia?). I love that woman for recommending that perfect drink. I didn’t need any alcohol.

THEN, The Toadies (again, at the Grog Shop). The MOTHER-FUCKING TOADIES. A band, after breaking up years ago, I thought I would never, ever see live. “Rubberneck” is by far one of my favorite albums (with lyrics from one of the songs as inspiration already for another tattoo I’ve considered since about 1997). Their new stuff is really good too, albeit more emotionally-sappy charged. But I like sappy lyrics — especially if it’s rock like that. A WTF goes to the Grog Shop for apparently forgetting to turn on the A/C though (loved the guy that yelled “Open a window!” during a break between songs. I was so sweaty when I left. Thankfully, I had a few layers I was able to remove, when all I really wanted to do was jump naked all over the bass player. Right? Also, You know that The Toadies are going to play fucking “Tyler” (it’s one of my faves too), but J.C. did you need to yell it after every fucking song, douchebag #1 and #2?

Rock on, Cleveland. I’m retreating to my basement tonight… for a little Mel TV and laundry love. Sober.