So I was probably the last person on earth to get around to…

…renting Brokeback Mountain.  I knew the premise from all the hype.   Gay cowboys in love. 

I put in the DVD last night and started folding laundry, doubting I’d be interested at all…and before I knew it, I was boohooing with mismatched socks in my hands.

Why don’t you people warn me about these things?  It was so sad! It was so depressing!  Two people wasting their lives away, refusing to live out their dreams.  And then it was too late for them, no more second chances.  And then I’m crying all through the last 15 minutes of the movie.  Oh my god, when he finds their shirts in the closet from the first summer on Brokeback, I was a mess, just wailing.

The point here would be twofold: first, why don’t you people warn me not to rent this crap when I’m moody?!?  Send me a freakin’ email and say “Kat, Brokeback will rip your guts out right now.  Rent The Cable Guy instead.”  Second, go and love somebody with all your heart and soul right nowwwwwwwwwww I’m so aloooooooooooooooooooone.  Booohoooooooooooooo………………..

Let me pull myself together long enough to point out that I watched The Butterfly Effect last week, and no one warned me on that one either.  Horribly upsetting, horribly depressing, ack!!  The whole point of the movie is that life would’ve been better for everyone if he’d just died in the womb?  What the hell kind of entertainment is that?

Just another Friday night in Ashevegas

Friday night was fun, ya’ll!  Where were ya?  All the hot action was going down at Fred’s Speakeasy with a crazy lineup of Automanic, Luxury Pushers and Crank County Daredevils.  Thanks to my bro being fashionably late as always, I missed most of Automanic’s set.  Luxury Pushers were super cool (hunt ’em down on myspace) although I really wanted to give their guitarist a blood transfusion and a peanut butter sandwich; I could pick my teeth with that boy…but any band that opens their set with a few lines from “America” by Neil Diamond is ok in my book.

The crowd was happy as hell it was Friday, friendly and mostly drunk.  There was dancing and flailing for Luxury Pushers, which if you know Asheville’s music scene like I do, is insane–seldom will Ashevillians get up and show love to the headlining band, nevermind the opening bands. 

The bathroom at Fred’s is haunted.  My sis in law announced this to me early in the evening.  My own investigation led me to the same conclusion, so don’t pee alone in the Speakeasy ladies room.  One of the employees overheard us talking and threw in her own two cents of agreement.

By the time Crank County got rolling, the crowd that was drunk for Luxury Pushers was now wasted, but still friendly.  A mosh pit formed in front of the band, and for reasons I can’t understand, the men of the pit felt it best that they pull their shirts off.  Heh heh heh, ok, let me jump in there.  Makin’ friends with shirtless sweaty men, yeah.  One of my new friends felt compelled to give me random shoulder massages between songs.  Had I not been feeling a gentle Jager buzz, I probably would’ve punched him in the nose—no one touches the Katster without permission, especially when I don’t even know your name, but as I mentioned, it was a really friendly crowd, so I was going with the flow.  Good gawd it was hot, and I shouted out to my bro that I needed water, but he dissed me entirely!

Crank County put on their usual high octane show, but because the “stage” at Fred’s is just a corner of the room, the band is on the same level with the audience.  Audience members from the mosh pit are spilling over into the band, singing spontaneous backup vocals, good stuff.  By the time they rolled into their ass-kicking cover of GnR’s “It’s So Easy,” they’d just given up control of the vocals to the crowd entirely.  It was awesome, really fun.

Post show, we weren’t eager to leave Fred’s, we were having too much fun.  Bro, Sis in Law, and two super hottie rock stars from local bands were hanging with me at the bar.  I’m drinking water (thank god for water, thank you anonymous super hottie rock star for getting me water) and high five-ing my mosh pit brothers as they amble off into the night—some of them have located their shirts, some of them are wandering away without one.  We’re all just chillin’, shootin’ the shit.  It’s time for Fred’s to start closing up shop, so we hijack the super hottie rock stars in my brother’s vehicle, the BroMobile, and take our soiree to Denny’s.

Denny’s around 3 AM is a very strange place.  They have security guards in place to keep the peace should a brawl over maple syrup break out.  Everyone else in the place looked pretty cranky and tired, but our table was rowdy and happy—and maybe a little too loud, it’s hard to judge how loud you’re talking when your ears are ringing. 

Food at that late/early hour is good.  Any food at that hour is good…except, apparently, for the bacon (“oh my god, I think I might puke, that bacon is horrible, try it, no, really try it.  I think it’s raw, taste it.”) and some mysterious pancakes of evil (“I didn’t order pancakes.  Why are there pancakes here?”).  My bro redeemed himself for being late and letting me dehydrate at Fred’s by paying for my chow.

We drove our first super hottie rock star home and left him with his box of Satan’s pancakes of the damned…and as we were chauffering our second super hottie rock star home, that’s when the full belly sleepiness started washing over me and I couldn’t sit up straight. 

I was dropped off at home, locked the door behind me and started to strip on my way to the washer to deposit the funky laundry.  The smell of cigarette smoke and the sweat of mosh pit men was pretty gross; I had to wash the clothes immediately.  I wanted a shower, but couldn’t make it another step, collapsing on my bed, instantly asleep.  Good fun, good times, just another Friday night in Ashevegas.

I love acupuncture

This is a tough one to explain if you’ve never had it done before, but a really good acupuncture session is bliss.

First off, I’ll back up and say I was in a fender bender that left me sore between my shoulder blades, an ache that wasn’t fading away.  Ice and ibuprofen weren’t making a difference.  I thought I’d go back to the acupuncture clinic and see if they could work some magic.

They’ve worked magic for me in the past.  They’ve fixed my sleep problems short term, they alleviated tremendous back pain after two flailing falls.

So you’re on a table, a massage-type table with the cradle for your face.  You might be on your back if the acupuncture needles are going in your front side, but I think all my treatments but one have required I be on my stomach.  After a consultation with your acupuncturist, you assume the position (on my tummy, in my case) without clothing but covered with some artfully arranged towels and get really comfy, because that’s the position you’ll be in for a while.

Twenty-four needles were put in during this session.  I had needles up my neck into my hair, and needles all the way down to my hips.  Once you’re all needled up, the acupuncturist leaves the room and there you are for thirty minutes or so, very still and quiet.  The office I go to has some relaxing new age-y music playing in all the treatment rooms.  I’ve been known to fall asleep on the acupuncture table and drool on the floor, super sexy.

I don’t know if it’s the needles or the table or the heat lamp on my feet (thank you, my feet always get cold) or the music or the sun shining in on me, but I always melt away into the most deep relaxation.  The noise in my head quiets and it is replaced with calm, wonderful tranquility and happiness.

After thirty minutes, an assistant comes in ever so quietly to remove the needles and finish your treatment with massage.  This go ’round, my usual massage was replaced with a “moving cups” massage that made my toes curl.  I think I proposed to the assistant, asked him to marry me and be my massage slave.

I left the acupuncture center in a haze of happy smiling bliss, purring like a contented kitten. Mmmmmmmm.  Like a good romp in the sack, I could’ve either gone back for more or gone right to sleep, and either choice would’ve been perfect.

I go back again next week.

I think I need a vacation

It has been a really exhausting ride since my birthday, really.  Full of some highs and some lows, some waaaaay down lows, but I’m ready for even keel, some smoother sailing.

I’ve been jerked around a little this month, not intentionally, but still, jerked around while someone was wrapped in some self-absorbed BS.  The only person allowed to be that self-absorbed, folks, is me, so make a note, don’t let it happen again.

 I think the hardest part of it all (I hate to be cryptic, but this is a public diary after all, you’re peeking over my shoulder into my thoughts, so I have to be a little guarded) was that my intentions were misunderstood.  And the party involved never took a second to even ask my intentions, just took a question, ran with it, blew it up, emotional shrapnel everywhere.  We’ve talked at length since then to make some peace and move on, and not once was I asked what I wanted, what I meant to happen.  

I just think that’s a little odd, a little off, that when I extended my hand, so to speak, it was slapped and that was that.  Why did I extend it, hmmm?  What did I want out of this?  The answer might not be what was expected.  I guess I’ll stick with a don’t ask, don’t tell policy on this…I’m not blurting out any more.

I need a break.  I need a vacation.  I love my friends, all of you, but man oh man, I could use some quiet.

OK, I’ve been told I’ve gone all wimpy

I’ve been too f’ing sensitive lately.  So today’s song lyrics are much beloved to me, uplifting, full of good cheer.  Name that band, and don’t cheat by googling the lyrics, weasels:

And when I get your blood I rip your throat
Your blood I rip your throat
I want your blood, I rip your throat
To drink some blood

or how about this one:

 Black dress moves in a blue movie
Graverobbers from outer space

or:

They pick up every movement
They pick up every loser

Don’t cheat! Name that band, for extra love name each tune.  The first person to get it right gets…well, I guess that depends who’s the first person to get them right what I’d give them…

Off on another tangent…

We’ll start this new tangent with a lyric…mainly because I don’t want to go back to the previous post and explain anything…so we’re off on a new subject.

Oh, I used to be confused
But now I just don’t know
Since you left I’ve been watching
Blue skies come and go

a-ha, The Blue Sky

One summer when I was a teen, I met Johnny P. at an Urban Spelunkers show.  A little bit skate rat, a little bit poet, very much a bad boy that was loved by few and disliked by many.  Smitten smitten smitten.  He was living with Kevin, the local dead ringer for Judd Nelson; I don’t remember why exactly Johnny was holed up at Kevin’s house since it’s been around 20 years, but it would seem that Johnny had some kind of trouble at home.  And we spent some time together, hung out on the long, leisurely teenage days, and then he was leaving, taking off for Atlanta.

I felt like my heart was being ripped in two at the news he was leaving.  Who else was going to call me and speak to me in French? (no one has since Johnny)

He used to wear split rings, like keyrings, in the top eyelets of his Chucks (we all wore Chucks, we couldn’t afford Docs).  On the porch at Kevin’s house the night before he was leaving town, Johnny gave me one of the rings from his Chucks.  (It stayed in that shoe until I wore holes in my sneakers, years I wore it)  I gave him my favorite hat, which was probably some Vision Streetwear something or other.  He told me to go home and listen to The Blue Sky by a-ha.  I told him to listen to A Night Like This by The Cure on the way to Atlanta.

As I walked down the steps at Kevin’s, I told myself I wouldn’t look back, I wouldn’t look back.  But I did, and Johnny was still standing there, watching me go, and he said “bye” one more time and that’s when I had to speed it up, to run actually, to my friend’s waiting car so I wouldn’t burst into tears in front of him.

I never saw him again.

It goes dark, it goes darker still
Please stay
But I watch you like I’m made of stone
As you walk away
I’m coming to find you if it takes me all night

The Cure, A Night Like This