my nose was a snout and my ears were too big

It's hard being this jet-setting, fun-loving, self-destructive yet nice girl, especially when summer's putting it into 4th and I've got a comfortable amount of time/blood on me hands. This weekend, Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday occurred. Then, it transcended into half of my Monday, and now I'm all like, "It's fuggin three o'clock already? Criminy Cryminy."
(Who doesn't love a play-by-play?)














On past Friday's eve, we tried to see the elusive Will Oldham/Bonnie "Prince" Billy play at Mad City Music, where he had schedule a free show. We arrived en masse to another mass of people stuffed into the small store and space right outside the store and a few dripping into the parking lot. I shoved up close for a second or four, became hot and annoyed, and returned to the group. We declared it was time for dinner. 7:30p on a beautiful Friday evening on the near East side should prove it to be relatively easy to find a table for 8. I'm being facetious. I hate it when I do that.













Tex Tubb's Taco Palace was crammed to the extreme, if you know what I'm saying. Thank Goodness it's Margaritatime, is what my mother always used to say. That place is delicous, even though it's always packed and the "food-runners" as they call them always bring at least two dishes out to you that belong at a different table. Czech it out. However, they do not give you free chips, which is a huge faux pas in my little black book.

Mickey's is fun but not if you have a chimichanga icing out your intestinal tract. Earlier this summer, they opened up a large, appropriately lit and umbrella-ed back area that I call a veranda connected to what used to be a small back porch. This works out well for smokers who want to drink while they seal a certain cancerous fate. The only problem is that you can't really hear the jukebox from out there, only if the windows are open and then just barely. Speakers need to be hooked up henceforth! (This request has been called for many times by multiple patrons--I'm sure it will happen soon enough.) Mickey's jukebox is my favorite in town. I would list off all of my favorite things to listen to on there, but I think I may just need to say "Oh, but Boston is my home" to make things clear.

As one of my friends and I took a slow walk up Jenny Street (my last particular walk of this type to that address), we had a brainflash. It may/may not be one of the most genius things that I thought of this weekend, save my Saturday night concoction. Soon enough, my pretties.

Excellent Idea #1: Robrats

I think the name is self-explanatory, but for the rest of you not riding the genius wavelength that I do, it is a robot specifically designed to bring people bratwurst. It would be programmed to ask a few key questions like, "Would you like mustard on that?" and "Onion, relish, or both?" However, it would not provide ketchup. I don't know why, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Subsequently, we made up some other rules that are nonsensical and semi-in-a-different-undefined-language, so much so that I'm a little embarrassed to share them, but I will anyway.

Rules of robratrics:
1) mo' bratas equal yo' bratas
a) me brate et tu brate

I don't remember the other rules, come to think of it. Perhaps we're better off that way, you and I. I'm also noting that we definitely requested that a) be a subset of 1) though the two really have no relation to each other.

Okay, I'm getting a little long-winded here, so I'm going to try to wrap it up. Saturday, I spent some time packing and moving to my new address. However, I hit an obstacle while running an errand mid-move/pack. Funny how there are always errands to run while I'm trying to get something accomplished, but that is neither here nor there. I decided I needed laundry detergent and Ajax for either a mouth-watering cocktail or for cleaning purposes, so I went off to the store. I learned later that this was a bad idea. Grocery stores lure me in; I end up wandering the produce department looking for the perfect fruit to match my whim. Then, I decide that I deserve a treat for my good-intended effort. Treats usually mean booze, and booze usually means bourbon.

Long story long, I ended up back at my new residence for a quick drink with Peter. I, of course, made the first one a double, which means that I did not complete my move/pack situation that night. Instead, I invented a fantastic new drink, had seven of them, and decided it was time to bring my cat over to the new house.

Excellent Idea #2: Whiskitos

Ingredients--

• 1 bottle high-end mineral water
• 1 bottle whiskey (ladies' choice)
• 2 limes, cut into eighths

Directions--

Fill tumbler with ice cubes. Fill half of glass with whiskey. Fill other half with mineral water. Squeeze one slice o' lime and throw lime peel into glass. Stir with finger. Enjoy!

It's pretty tasty. You'll find that you'll run out of mineral water before you run out of whiskey. In this situation, you may substitute with tap water, chilled. The drink would then, by technicality, be called a Selbito. It is always important, however, to keep your lime carcasses in the glass. Then, by the end of the night, you'll know how many you've had by the number of them left in your glass. This system is flawless and perfect. I challenge anyone to tell me otherwise.

Blahblah, you know. Naturally, Sunday was a slice of heaven for me, having to complete the majority of my move with what I'll call an excellent idea hangover, seeing as how the day before I had completed about an eighth of the work I needed to finish. Like I said, it's hard being this jet-setting, fun-loving, self-destructive yet nice girl.