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2006-06-04

Fuckin' Marathons

Duuuuude. I was so annoyed this morning. Last night, went to bed later than usual thinking, ah, Sunday, I'm just gonna sleep the fuck in, maybe hop out of bed at 9 or 10 and run over to the Farmer's Market for the usual and then come home, spark up some kind of caffeine, and get to work.

But no. Something ELSE happened, something horrible, something right out of those stories you read about weird warfare tactics. SIX A.M., despite the white noise whir of the air conditioner, regardless of the tightly closed and locked windows, both M.s. and I shot out of bed in a "What-the-fuck?" sort of stupor to yelling, cheering, and BLARING music.

LIVE music. A band. On the street below. Playing their hearts out to a screaming audience at six-in-the-fucking-morning. Is this the Twilight Zone? I couldn't see it for all the fog out the window and gunky crap in my eyes, crap intended to KEEP THEM CLOSED for at least another two hours.

In our underwear, we ran downstairs to get a better view, I had to go back up for my glasses and come back again. Plastered against the windows, I noticed them running by.

"Right," I said. M.s. still looked bewildered. "Rock'n Roll Marathon. Remember the signs?"
"Right," he said, and went to surf the internet while sitting on his blue bouncy ball.

I went back upstairs and cursed the music (while occasionally calling downstairs to M.s. to repeat my thoughts that, though extremely annoyingly loud, they were an excellent band and I was even more pissed that I wasn't willing to get up, get dressed, go downstairs and join the ruccus to find out who they were.

At around 7:45 they stopped. And I passed out for another hour and a half. When I woke up, ready for the Farmer's Market, I was surprised to find my glasses resting on my chest. Good thing I didn't roll over.

-Barbarella

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2007-05-19
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2007-05-16
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2007-05-09
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2007-05-06
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Fuckin' Marathons 2006-06-04 3:42 p.m. Duuuuude. I was so annoyed this morning. Last night, went to bed later than usual thinking, ah, Sunday, I'm just gonna sleep the fuck in, maybe hop out of bed at 9 or 10 and run over to the Farmer's Market for the usual and then come home, spark up some kind of caffeine, and get to work.

But no. Something ELSE happened, something horrible, something right out of those stories you read about weird warfare tactics. SIX A.M., despite the white noise whir of the air conditioner, regardless of the tightly closed and locked windows, both M.s. and I shot out of bed in a "What-the-fuck?" sort of stupor to yelling, cheering, and BLARING music.

LIVE music. A band. On the street below. Playing their hearts out to a screaming audience at six-in-the-fucking-morning. Is this the Twilight Zone? I couldn't see it for all the fog out the window and gunky crap in my eyes, crap intended to KEEP THEM CLOSED for at least another two hours.

In our underwear, we ran downstairs to get a better view, I had to go back up for my glasses and come back again. Plastered against the windows, I noticed them running by.

"Right," I said. M.s. still looked bewildered. "Rock'n Roll Marathon. Remember the signs?"
"Right," he said, and went to surf the internet while sitting on his blue bouncy ball.

I went back upstairs and cursed the music (while occasionally calling downstairs to M.s. to repeat my thoughts that, though extremely annoyingly loud, they were an excellent band and I was even more pissed that I wasn't willing to get up, get dressed, go downstairs and join the ruccus to find out who they were.

At around 7:45 they stopped. And I passed out for another hour and a half. When I woke up, ready for the Farmer's Market, I was surprised to find my glasses resting on my chest. Good thing I didn't roll over.