Last night was fucked. I don't know if it was a full moon or what, but if you resisted my invitation to visit Job #1, that was a really smart idea.

Last night was fucked. It was my boss's last official night at work. There was kind of a weird vibe in the air. I personally had an entire group of frat boys thrown out before midnight. The whole staff was on edge all night.

Last night was fucked. About a quarter to one, I'm sitting at the front door chatting with Bouncer #1, and all of a sudden, shit hits the fan. The bouncer is calmly trying to remove two guys that customers have been complaining about, and I am slowly backing away because I have a bad, bad feeling. It was one of the guys' twenty first birthday and he kept yelling, "How can you throw me out when I'm a paying customer? I pay your wages, bitch!" I walk down the bar to grab one of the bartenders to make sure she's got the phone in her hand just in case, and as I turn back around, one of the guys is attacking my bouncer and the other is attacking my boss and all I hear are muffled cries of "CALL THE COPS!"

Last night was fucked. The brawl spilled out into the street as Bouncer #2 joined the fight. The customers crowded the door, and the rest of the staff abandoned their positions to watch what was going on. I couldn't handle it, so I walked away for awhile. When I returned to the scene, the cops were shoving Mr. 21 into the back of the "paddywagon" to a full chorus of customers singing "Happy Birthday."

Last night was fucked. Ten minutes later, Bouncer #2 is pulling someone off the stage, hollering for Bouncer #1, who comes running in and slips in a puddle of Amber Bock that I had spilled fifteen seconds earlier.

Last night was fucked. Five minutes later, my boss and Bouncer #2 are throwing another person out. I walk to the front bar to see the familiar lights of the cop cars reflecting across the street.

Last night was fucked. I walked back to the back bar, and there were five people there. It was one thirty. Last call was still a full half-hour away.


I don't know why this affected me this much. The cops come through at least once a month, if not more often. This particular fight, the one with Mr. 21, really unnerved me. Maybe it was because I saw the entire thing happen firsthand, or maybe it was because I had been talking to the bouncer fifteen seconds before he had to turn into Rey Mysterio. The rest of the employees shook their heads and told my boss she went out with a bang and mentioned it being awhile since this happened.


Apparently this really got to me, and I don't want to experience this again any time soon. Belligerent drunks, stay the fuck away from my bar.

Chemistry freaks me out sometimes. I'm not talking about the composition of hydrogen, but that freaks me out sometimes too. I'm talking about the spark that flickers when you reach a connection with someone.

There's this guy I've known for awhile. Most of my friends at one point or another have encouraged me to "hook up with" or "date" him because we have such great chemistry. I've always said no, no, no, I value our friendship a lot, and I like us as the friends that we are.

Someone who doesn't know him met him recently and told me immediately that we have "unbelievable chemistry" and she can't see "anyone better for me" right now. I value her opinion a lot, so it was interesting that she say that to me. I don't necessarily see him differently, but..... it was interesting.

There's this other guy I have amazing chemistry with, but he's unhappily taken, and obviously I'm not getting in the middle of that, but it all makes me wonder about the greater scheme of things and why we have this chemistry and what it all means and why.

I've obviously had too many white russians to function correctly right now, but I just can't stop thinking about why I have such great chemistry with people that dating is nearly impossible with.

How amazing and amazing and did I say amazing? was the Heiruspecs show tonight? God.


I saw my first show from the bar tonight at Pizza Luce. It was a really different experience. I was no more than ten feet away from any of the performers at any given time, and while that was nice, I missed the energy of the crowd. I really lose myself in hip-hop shows, and I didn't feel I could let go and dance (as well as a 21 year old white girl from Suburbia, Minnesota can) like I do when I'm in the middle of a packed crowd. I didn't feel like I could proudly scream the lyrics and wave my arms and do the call-and-response. So I didn't - I stood there and bobbed, downing Grain Belts and chain-smoking Parliaments, feeling like a fool if I audibly whimpered at the realization of the song. I almost lost it during the end of "A Tiger Dancing," but I merely shook back and forth and grinned like an idiot.

I kept turning to Suzie, trying to talk about the songs, but it felt almost awkward... like the people in the bar didn't care about Heiruspecs, that they had gone to the bar to get away from Heiruspecs so they could have their conversations.

It was nice, though, to be in a place that didn't smell like white-boy sweat and alcohol-soaked air, and it was nice to have some elbow room and a place to set my beer and jacket. It was very chill.... but almost too chill.

Any experienced? Pros, cons, comments, suggestions, two cents on the issue?


It was an amazing show, nonetheless. They pulled out "Jump" by Van Halen, meshing the best of both worlds. Also, I didn't lose my cool in front of Felix or Muad'Dib. And they signed the back of my t-shirt, mentioning that they "have my back." Fuck yeah, bitches. I got Heiruspecs on my side. I dare you to fuck with me now.

Hey. If you're getting a lot of action, you don't need to announce it at the top of your lungs at work. It just makes everyone feel really awkward. Trust me. (Especially if three customers in the next room hear you. Heads up on that one.)


One of my very favorite things to do is to tell people what to listen to. This is why I created the internationally recognized Weekly 5. This is something I haven't done for a long time, so here's a Weekly 5(+, depending on how I feel). Because I hate to disappoint.

Here are five songs that I can't stop listening to this week. I think you all know what song 5 is going to be.

-ZZ Top - Tush (Fandango)
When I think of ZZ Top, I always think of this song. While I'm a fan of "Cheap Sunglasses" and "Sharp Dressed Man" and "La Grange" and the others, this song tops them all. Solid fucking rock.

-Thelonius Monk - 'Round Midnight ('Round Midnight)
I rock out. Hardcore. I still like jazz a lot, though, and this Monk track kicks my ass. In a jazz way.

-ELO - Don't Bring Me Down (All Over The World: The Very Best Of The Electric Light Orchestra)
"DON'T BRING ME DAAAAOOOOWWNN.... BRRRRUCE!"

-Tom Waits - Fumblin' With The Blues (The Heart Of Saturday Night)
Not growly, not gentle... just Tom. It's hard to win when you always lose.

-Shakira - Hips Don't Lie (Oral Fixation, Vol. 2)
FUCK yes. I can't get enough of this song.

Also, I'm starting to plan out The Official Homegrown '06 Schedule. Let me know if you're in.

Okay. I've had it.

In the last week or so, I've been told I look exactly like Lindsay Lohan or called Lindsay Lohan at least three times. Granted, she & I have a similar haircolor... but for real?

To illustrate my point that despite the sometimes similar hair color, we really are nothing alike, I've decided to make a list of the things we have in common and a list of the things we do not have in common.

THINGS ANNIEMOSITY AND LINDSAY LOHAN HAVE IN COMMON.
-We like Garrison Keillor.
-Neither of us can sing very well.
-We both like our booze.
-We both regularly get in cat fights with blondes.
-We have both unsuccessfully attempted to hook up with Bruce Willis.
-We were both named "It Girls" of 2005.
-We both enjoy this picture.

THINGS ANNIEMOSITY AND LINDSAY LOHAN DO NOT HAVE IN COMMON.
-I have a cuter nose.
-Wilmer Valderrama is nasty.
-While I enjoy Coca-Cola, Lindsay likes something that sounds a lot like that, but is quite different.
-I have not been with sixty seven men this year. Yet.
-There is no way in hell I would wear this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this.
-I'm poor. And not famous.
-I know how to drive. Lindsay doesn't.
-I do not like Mischa Barton.
-Oh yeah, WE LOOK NOTHING ALIKE.

Case in point. Argument over.

I bitch a lot about not having a car. I'm hoping this will change soon, seeing as I'm eyeing up a Grand Prix that will soon be mine, but for now, I'm doomed to use my God-given feet.

I walked to Job #2 on Friday, and it was lovely. I walked back from Job #2 on Friday and it was awful. I returned home sweaty, dirty, and cranky. Walking downhill four blocks is a lot different than walking UPhill four blocks... especially when the gradient is Duluth Intense and it's around 4:00pm when drivers honk at you and don't let you cross 4th street. Bitches.

Walking in Duluth gives me a much different perspective of the city, however.

This entry may not exist when I wake up because it's super lame... like how I'm turning out to be.

For the last two Wednesdays, I've been spending my free time judging the karaoke competition at Job #1. (I know, going to work on your day off is kind of lame, but when I'm judging a contest and drinking for free, I'm not seeing the problem with it.)

One of the things that's happening is that those who don't place in the top three come back every week, giving it another go. Perseverance is an admirable quality, no doubt about that, but it's the ones that suck really badly that are always coming back. There's this one couple who each enter separately every week, cranking up their arrogance with each passing round. This last Wednesday, the gentleman wore sunglasses onstage and the woman definitely had more attitude, shaking her shoulders and declaring to her man that nobody would love him better.

Well, this couple is awful: genuinely, unbelievably awful. The guy is kind of hit and miss - sometimes he isn't quite as bad. Every now and again he almost comes close to possibly rocking the John Mellencamp songs he loves so much. The woman, however, is just... bad. Bad. Really really bad. I don't know how many times she can desecrate the masterpieces of the Dixie Chicks and Vanessa Carleton without God striking her down.

Every week they come back, hoping that this will be their week. They gaze into each others' eyes, soaking up every word, every warbling tone, every wrong note. They love it so much that they harass the drunk judges after the winners have been announced, hoping to see their scores so they can improve. We, the judges, are inebriated and slightly embarrassed to tell them that they scored six out of forty.

The thing that puzzles me about this couple, and about seventy percent of the Bad Karaoke Regulars, is that nobody tells them how awful they are. Yes, if you get up there, give it a go, realize you're bad, and finish as gracefully as possible, that's one thing. If your friends put you up to it as a joke, that's another (unusually cruel) thing. But if you really think you rock when you clearly suck and your friends don't tell you, that's just mean.

Although, if they don't tell you, maybe it's because being a karaoke star is your dream. They don't want to crush your fragile dream. So they decide to let you wear fucking sunglasses onstage because that's how much they care. And when you don't win, they'll harass the judges for as long as it takes before the judge drunkenly sputter, "YOUKNOWWHAT, man.... I don't even know! You don't even know! Where's my fucking drink??"

I've found out the hard way that karaoke is serious business, and definitely not something to be taken lightly. Especially in Superior.

Hey.
Remember FLH '06?
It's been remedied.



I'm super cute. Thanks, Adeline, and thanks, Matz.

I know I said I'd say something today, but have you been outside? Yeah, I'm heading out there to lounge and bask.

Since it is so lovely, here are five songs that remind me of a summer.

Weezer - Why Bother (Pinkerton)
Jane's Addiction - Idiots Rule (Nothing's Shocking)
Portishead - Wandering Star (Dummy)
Robert Randolph & The Family Band - I Need More Love (Unclassified)
Béla Fleck & The Flecktones - Pineapple Heart (Ten From Little Words)

Sunshine.

...but I'm still alive. A full re-cap is to come Saturday, my full day off. Here's a sneak preview.

-I like drinking at bars (legally).
-I work twelve hours a day nearly every day of the week (which is why none of you see me anymore unless you work with me).
-I'm going to start working the front bar next week, which I'm sure you've already heard me bragging about. That's huge.
-I've had a lot of Summit Extra Pale Ale this week. And by "a lot," I mean "a lot."
-The co-worker who asked me out got fired. I guess this solves my problem.
-Judging a karaoke contest was super fun... especially because I got to drink for free.
-I like having money.
-I don't like not having a car... so I'm going to buy one.
-My girls are too good to me. (This means you, Stacy & Amber. Also, this girl named Amanda at job #2. You guys.)

My life is boring and consumed with work (and the subsequent free alcohol). I could be ranting and raving about how fricken excited I am for "Stadium Arcadium" or bitching about my lack of sleep, or mentioning my fresh obsession with Disney movies from my childhood... but this is all to come Saturday.


Also, the jazz cabaret show kicked my ass and Eric Buegler should update his blog.