This photo has nothing to do with my post. I just wanted to see a pig walking around at the State Fair right now for some reason.
I have to say, today was a little more taxing than most Monday's. My sleep schedule is all off from staying up too late on Saturday night, and last night I couldn't get to sleep until after 2 a.m. Was it worth screwing up a day or two during the week for one night of fun? Yes, I believe it was.
After we got back from the concert and took pictures of Coadster and her ever-popular jazz hands, she went back for her evening performance, Stinky went to a movie with some friends, and S. and I went to eat at the Hamburg Inn. Because I have no tolerance for alcohol, it's very important that I drink on a very full stomach.
I love it when ex-Iowa Citian's come back to visit, because then I go to places I don't normally frequent any more. After The Hamburg, we walked over to the Deadwood to drink a pint of Leinenkugel or two. I haven't been in there in about a year. The good and bad thing about this town, is that there were still people I knew hanging out. Some of them have been drinking there since I was eighteen and clutching my fake ID with both hands, lest someone try to snatch it away from me.
The show at The Picador was so much fun. S. is just as much of a spaz as I am and when we go out, we're twelve years old all over again. S, got her bearings about her right away by identifying some of the Iowa City action figures. (as my friend Kyle likes to refer to the most eccentric and identifiable townies) "Hey, there's that one surly guy who works at the Co-op - the one who scares everyone away from his line by harping at them to become a member," She said. "Oh, and there's that guy who looks like Trotsky. I remember him. Let's stalk him."
Don't worry, when S. said stalk, she just meant, be weird and keep tabs on him. Like, if one of us came back from the bathroom, the other might ask, "Hey, have you seen Trotsky lately? Do you think he took off already?" and the other of us would reply, "No. I just saw him back by the bar, chatting up some hipster chick." It was just something to do in between sets.
Spying on Trotsky was probably way less obnoxious than our little daring game. Once I get a beer or two in me, I like to dare people to do all kinds of stupid shit. Since S. doesn't live here and probably won't ever see any of those people again, she was up for almost anything. I got her to touch a woman's hair, (it was all twisted in this cool bun thing and was just begging to be touched) and pet the fur that lined the hood of a man's jacket. We both stopped short on S.'s last dare. She wanted me to run up and jump on the stage in the middle of one of Ed Gray's songs and do some of the show choir moves we learned from Coadster. I thought it would be even funnier if she did it. In the end, neither one of us had the guts. Apparently, we both do have a little shame - who knew?