what's your rock and roll lifestyle like?

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Answers

Man, I don't even have one compared to yours, g. I feel so inadequate and...elderly.

To make spending money, I was a staff soloist at a church in my college town and, for the early service on Sunday (7:45 AM, baby), I would often show up still drunk from Saturday, with visions of bad drag queens dancing in my head (I think it is a testament to my professionalism that I showed up at all - right?). The tenor soloist would actually be drinking rum and coke in the choir loft. Nothing like singing the opening hymn after you just spent three hours dancing on a box at the bar screaming out the timeless words to La Bouche's "Be My Lover."

Those, my friends, were the good old days.

I suppose this was rather more of a rock and roll lifestyle minus the, uh, rock and roll and plus classical music. Or something.

Pamie, I laughed so hard at that "Farewell My Concubine" reference - tears came to my eyes. My best friend and I still do a little F.M.C. whenever the need arises. For example, whenever we see a Mazda Miata - we bust out with "mmmmMMMMaaaAAAzdaaaaaaaaa MMMMEEEE-AHHHH (long pause in which you cut your eyes seductively to the side) TAHhhhhhh." I will never forget how close I was to killing myself when that movie ended.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Believe it or not, I afford my rock & roll lifestyle by living in New York. We barely ever go to clubs and stuff. NY clubs suck. Most NY bars are boring. I seriously would rather hang out in Chinatown or the Village all day and then go home and watch Singles. I only go out and when I'm visiting my friends at home or they're here visiting us.

Sometimes the rock & roll lifestyle bugs the shit out of me. People come complaining about their hangovers, lamenting about how much money they dropped getting wasted over the weekend, telling tales of drunken hijinks and spewage that stopped being funny in college. Shut up! Go to bed on time! Drink on a night when you DON'T have to get up at six the next morning.

It's all overrated anyway. Save your pennies and go on a trip.

BTW, according to the survey, I want to live in Boston 2nd (where I'm from) and NYC 4th (where I am now). Pretty damn good test.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Heh ... mine is almost exactly like yours, Pamie, except I don't go out drinking anymore on weekdays (or many weekends, either). Well, except for last night. And last weekend. And tomorrow. Oh, and maybe tonight. But other than that, never.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Yep - right on the money. Myself and my cube-mate are the youngest ones in our department so we're the token "kids" that everyone else attempts a vicarious perpetual hangover with. On the one hand - it's easy to be hungover/late, but on the other, you can only hear "HAHAHA LOOKS LIKE YOU HAD FUN LAST NIGHT" a dozen times before you want to pencil in their eyes with red marker "Lemmealoneaready." to match yours.

My boyfriend and I are notorious for saying we're not going to drink tomorrow and be responsible - every night of the week.

Hmm... not cats though. I have a growing pile of laundry that's taken a life of it's own that I swear has found a way to transform the frequency of it's odors into a vocal plea for me to put it out of it's misery. Which I'll do, of course, tomorrow.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

My lifestyle is only rock and roll when my friends are over from the US or I'm down in London with my UK friends. Then it's pubs and clubs and $7 bottles of beer every night, something that -- as I get older - - I really have to be in the mood to enjoy. I kind of preferred the way things were when I still lived in America and was too young to drink, where we just went over to somebody's house for either a party or to just sit around talking, drinking and laughing our asses off.

That said, nothing beats puking your guts out into the river Thames, over the railing of London Bridge, with Big Ben chiming in the background.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

I've had this rock and roll lifestyle for far longer than I should have.

I work about 9 hours a day and my job is um...boring. I go out. I go out alot. I go to dinner. I go to bars. I go to parties in museums and abandoned warehouses and tiny apartments. I meet new people everyday, and I have adventures whenever possible. I drink, I smoke, I listen to music, I flirt with boys. I give my phone number to people who will never call me, and I screen my calls for weeks to avoid the undesirables who do. And then I haul my ass out of bed in the morning and do it all over again. One of these days I'm going to have to settle down, at least that's what people tell me.

I love the pace of my life here in New York, but sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on the beauty of the simple life. Lately I've been thinking that it might not be so bad to get a pick-up truck and a dog and move to a little house in the country with a big front porch and an unobstructed view of the stars. A place where the air smells of fresh earth and grass and flowers, and where I can leave my house unlocked at any time. Maybe I would learn how to cook. And have lot's and lot's of animals. And a garden.

Hmmm...maybe.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

OK, I am now *officially* old.

A big night for me is going to the brewpub on a work night. Or staying out past 10 on a Friday. Work and grad school conspire to fill my time, and I can't be late or miss assignments. I have to make sure I schedule time to work out regularly, or this middle-aged body will go south overnight.

Break out the Geritol.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

7:00 AM Wake up an realize a single bed is to small for two people. If you didnt share a duplex with two other people or insisted on having a computer, scanner, printer, ect. in your room you could have a nice big bed that didnt make noise. Move downstairs to couch.

12:05 PM Get into stupid shouting match with roommates over stupid shit. You leave, pissed off, for lunch at Magnolia. Pick up the tab with your lunch money for the week. You didnt really want to eat lunch this week anyway.

4:30 PM Alternate working on web site with watching Austin Powers. Drink 12 pack of Mexican beer, half a bottle of white wine, and smoke something to ease tension with roommates. Animate site with Flash.

7:00 PM Load up on ginkgo biloba and ginseng to get ready to go out.

9:30 PM Go out to neighborhood dive bar. Your friend knows the bar tender. Cheap Mexican beer and tequila.

10:30 PM Your friend knows this girl who has a friend from out of town. Everyone has a seat with more beer and tequila.

11:15 PM You just said something funny and/or meaningful to the Girl From Out of Town. You dont know exactly what but, she hugs you and puts her hand on your thigh.

11:40 PM Is that her tongue in your ear?

12: 10 AM OKthis is totally inappropriate in public. Everyone is just being polite pretending not to notice the woman attached to your face. Did she just..HELLOshe did.

12:30 AM Where did the girl go? She was here just a second ago. Who cares? There are men at the table. We talk about manly man things and howl at the moon even though we can not see it.

8:15 AM Dog wants out How did I get on the couch? How did I get home? What day is it? Where is my Visa card?

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

"Rock and roll lifestyle"? Oh boy. Well. Um.

First, gather your supplies and your motivation:

At beginning of month, pick up free monthly music/entertainment magazines. On Wednesdays, pick up free weekly entertainment paper. Start circling.

You want to see every live show that doesn't suck. Because all the promoters refuse to talk to each other or are trying to out-do each other (you know at least five of them and they aren't exactly non- competitive), there's always a booking conflict or NOTHING going on: it is especially a feast or famine situation on weekends. This upcoming Saturday, there are four shows you'd like to see AT THE SAME TIME in opposite parts of the city requiring different hoops to jump through. One requires that you buy a $35 pass to a musical conference that's on this weekend or you can't get in. One requires that you skip dinner at a reasonable hour and book like hell to get over there before the band is done. There's another that will force you to endure three CRAPPY bands before you get to see the one that doesn't suck, and due to whimsy, the non-sucky headliners might or might not actually play last. You don't know when you should be there. Lame.

But I digress.

Okay. It's Wednesday night. You circle all the stuff you want to do that week and that month and then you pay your bills (hoping you remembered everyone this time) and then you count what you have left over. If you're lucky, you have enough for lunch, gasoline, impulse purchases AND cover and a drink (not necessarily alcoholic) at each place you can't get a pass or guest listing for. You sock this money away.

Thursday. If you're lucky, it's PAYDAY. You go to work and workworkworkworkwork. It's not much fun. But you get money. So you type and create and e-mail and edit and cut and paste and design and mess about making j-card liners or reading on-line journals and doing non-work-related e-mailing, then you go home.

Much like Pamie, you hate everything in your closet. Then there's everything leftover from Laundry Day that weekend on the bench at the foot of the bed, and you pretty much hate all that stuff, too. Summertime makes it harder, because you like layers and coats and long pants and it's over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit outside. The only thing you'll survive in is a slip dress, but then you'll freeze once you get inside wherever place you're going to. What you really want to wear are the amusingly tacky animal-print pants you wore two days ago, because they make you laugh, but they are in the hamper.

You go see some music. Sometimes the venue or the crowd annoys you in ways that it wouldn't have even five years ago. Your contact lenses feel smeary. You know your hair will reek of someone else's cigarettes. You play with a toy lighter that has LEDs or something (fire, fire, fire) then light a clove in retaliation. You are pounced on out of nowhere by five vinyl-clad goths all begging for one. These are probably the same people who ignored you up until now because your hair wasn't dyed black and you had no facial piercings or tattoos. You make friends by doling them out. Conversation ensues. Your shoes are deemed cool enough to comment on. One asks you "What's Bauhaus?" and you feel damn old. Lucky you don't consider yourself a goth or you'd be suicidal. You go home and scrub three layers of filth off your body and swear never, ever to go out again on a work night.

Friday: you emerge from a cocoon of sleep-coma after two or three hours of extremely re-energizing sleep. You're ready to take on the day. You're happy to be alive! What a beautiful day. You've never felt better. You're lying, you cow. You drag in to work--sneaking past the anal-retentive tattletale you don't even work with, who always says "uh HUH, mm HMM" when you're five minutes late--and you're wearing the pants you wore Monday (still pressed, damn it!) and a shirt you wore last Wednesday (who'll remember?) and hide in your cube all day doing whatever it is you do. You're not sure, but you earn a paycheck every other week doing it and folks seem satisfied. That's okay by you. By lunchtime, you've forgotten how much you wanted to die earlier in the day and are actively considering going out again. So you get home, cry over your clothes, go out.

You and your friends are in a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. No, wait, it's the latest "underground club". Whose stupid idea was it for Not Bad Really Band to play here? The venue has no signs and you just have to know or figure out that it is located UNDER the parking lot of a strip mall. You arrive fashionably late and there's five other embarrassed early birds there, all trying to act like they're not freaked out and worried that they misread the fliers. The Bettie Page girls, the Mod Boys and other Too Cool For A Nine To Five Job people start filing in. The band dawdles, hoping to get a bigger crowd to play to, so after waiting around for two hours, you finally are entertained by the lead singer yelling at the sound guy, who is toking on the biggest fattie ever rolled, to turn up the band's monitors. However, they aren't the Big Name Band, so the sound guy just rolls his eyes, scratches his fresh tattoo and reads his Evan Dorkin comic book. The stand-off ends with the lead singergetting pissed off and throwing his guitar on the stage and storming off. You find friends in the back bar and relate what has happened. One friend leaves to go soothe the lead singer, who is in three other bands with him. The other friend tells you that her ex- boyfriend sent her an unrequested toaster oven, unwrapped, via a third party for her recent birthday. She's not happy about it. You tell her that your ex is the Incredible Schitzophrenic Man who blows hot and cold from week to week (probably depending on whether or not he's had any luck getting a date that week). Consume mass quantities. Get maudlin. Endure bad bands so you won't be tipsy when it is time to go home. Hours later, you get home, ears ringing, and swear never to go to any clubs that don't have the decency to mark themselves ever again. You take a shower to scrape the smell of the sound guy's B.O. and Thai stick off your epidermis. You don't remember going to bed but you mange to find your way there.

Saturday, you sleep until the crack of noon, then roll out of bed. You're blind! You panic, bump into things, scare the cat. You discover that you forgot to remove your contacts AND all of your glitter eyeliner. You are a big dummy. You take another shower. You go thrifting for cheap cool stuff. $50 and two vintage purses, snap- things that go in your hair and a weird skirt later, you emerge and defy E. coli to eat a cheap burrito in a 'quaint' neighborhood restaurant. Your friend complains that her roommate's cats are psychotic. You trade animal stories, complete with sound effects and anthropomorphic descriptions, until people nearby start thinking you're crazy cat ladies. You go vinyl diving and CD shopping. As usual, you confuse the clerk by wanting some weird combo platter like the Who and Crystal Method and Leslie Gore and J-pop comps. You decide to go see some live theatre and go to see the improv show and wet yourself laughing for two hours. The theatre people are having a party and they all animatedly exchange stories about when they were in Guys and Dolls and West Side Story and Waiting For Godot. You realize you are the Least Funny Girl Ever. All these people can remember punch lines and they're animated and witty and attractive. Talk about panic! But you're having a good time and everyone is really nice, and they have wonderful stories to tell. Then the Bad Thing happens. A well-meaning soul with a goatee and a Hang Ten retro shirt and a beat-up fedora toasts you with a martini and pauses in his recitations of his Worst Stagefright Ever stories and politely asks you what YOUR favorite theatre experience was. You confess that you are not, actually, an actor. You don't even play one on TV. Someone overhears this--which is easy because the room has fallen silent like an E.F. Hutton commercial--and he or she sneaks up behind you, pins "LEPER" and "KICK ME" signs on your shirt. You are Shunned. You go home, vowing to volunteer for some art school video project Right Away. God. You're such a loser. You go home and scrub the stink of failure off your body and vow to write ten plays before partying with the cool kids again.

Sunday. Gak! Tomorrow you have to go to work! GAK! What have you accomplished?! You attempt to write some poetry and hate it all. You vow to become a better an dmore productive human, and you'll start by eating a nice heathy lunch. Well, okay, there's nothing to eat in the house that doesn't require a can-opener or a microwave. Except...ice cream. A huge bowl of Edy's Thin Mint Girl Scout ice cream (with that genuine Girl Scout taste!) later, you realize you're a fatty-fat idiotgirl. You have only a few hours before the weekend is over to do chores and to be productive in some way and suddenly you're exhausted and procrastinating. You play with the piano for hours, forget to get up in time for X-Files, go to bed REALLY LATE after getting absorbed in a book.

Then it's Monday. Traffic. Work. Type up weekend report for friends. Read e-mail. Web surf. Lunch. Work. Send weekend report out. Traffic. Home. Long bath. Collapse. Sleep a full eight hours.

Then it's Tuesday. Traffic. Work. E-mail. Web-surf. Lunch. Work. E- mail more. Traffic. Errands. Flowers. Groceries. Cat Food. Drugstore stuff. Bank. Gas car. Home. Make phone calls. Take long bath. Collapse. Sleep five hours.

Then it's Wednesday. You pick up the weekly freebie entertainment paper and start circling...

I pay for my so-called RNR lifestyle with fatigue, generally. My co- workers think I'm just really quiet. I'm actually really, really tired. Today's Tuesday, and I'm going home tonight to just RELAX, I think. Tomorrow is my roommate's birthday...

M

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

hey sarah,
where do you live in New York?

I have a concise plan of personal maintainence (fuck, i've written that work 12 times now and i can't make it look right) for my rock 'n' roll lifestyle. it goes like this.

1	drink - drink - drink.	4	begin to enjoy the hangover portion of your day more than any other.
2	start moronic zombie phase (normally a daytime, and by extension, worktime occurance).		NOTE -  especially revel in the clarity of mind you experience in these hazy mornings and marvel at how funny you and everyone else in the world have become.
3	decide that the last five years of heavy drinking have not been adequate time for your body to acclimate to incessant partying and dose yourself with a remedy of 6.5 pints that evening.	5	add a week or two of wildly inadequate drunk sleep (the kind that isn't really sleep) and you're in a position to "afford" a rock 'n' roll lifestyle.1

¹ paying for it, is a completely different boy-toy band, and one with which i am not nearly as familiar.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Sarahgoddammit!

If you move out of New York City just as I am moving back, I will have to hunt you down in your country abode and smack you upside the head.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

tracey, i feel like a carbon copy of your life, right down to squeezing in the guilt workout between grad school class and working. ugh. it's the pits ... but a means to an end, nonetheless, right?

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Aw who am I kidding? If I actually moved out of the city I'd lose my mind within a matter of weeks. My rock and roll lifestyle is a good one.

Don't worry Sara, I'll still be here when you move back.

And then I can drag you down with me.

Be very afraid.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Hm,

That's interesting.

I was under the impression that nobody did much carousing in New York City.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

I must be old. I didn't realize that excessive drinking is a lifestyle. I just thought it was kinda stupid.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Before there was dope, sex, and rock and roll, there was jazz, sex, and dope.

The music was better. I don't know about the sex. My drug of choice was alcohol, as it is for many writers.

Charles Willeford says that after a person becomes a writer he doesn't do much besides sit at a desk and write about what he used to do before he became a writer.

A writer may still drink, but he does more drinking by himself, and less drinking at parties, and he doesn't go as many places. Like to concerts, nightclubs, sporting events, lecture series.

I afford my lifestyle by writing freelance articles on health-related subjects in women's magazines. For fun, I say snide things about people on the Internet.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

Step One Move to small, rural town, where there is one bar (oops 2 a new one opened) and the Lodges (VFW, American Legion, Eagles, MOOSE).

Step Two Get sick of the one bar, and the overpriced watered down drinks.

Step Three Join Lodge, drink cheap there.

Step Four Realize it's not a rock and roll life, it's a country and western life, but you like it.

Step Five Admit you're old, married, and happy about it.

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

My rock-n-roll lifestyle? >:D

My week: Stumble into work bleary eyed on Monday, get a minimal amount of work done, and spend the rest of the day talking on Instant Messenger and blowing everybody off. I'm only a temp anyway, what the fuck do you care. Come home, get so high I forget to do my laundry and end up spending half the night digging through my closet trying to find something appropriate to wear to work the next day. Crash at my bass player's house after long talk about moving back to my hometown to rock out with my old drummer. Wake up, walk to work (making dying animal noises in the last half stretch), repeat Monday, jet out at 4:30 or 5pm (no one's really paying attention anyway). Decide to have a drink. Have too many. Crash again at bass players so that I can walk to work again in the morning (I have no car, all my money goes to my rock n roll lifestyle). Repeat Monday on Wednesday, only throw in practice at 6pm and an open mic at 503 at 8:30. Ride home basking in the glow of having made some noise, even if only to a bunch of annoyed hyper coffee house junkies. Thursday is the unofficial weekend. Start partying. Stay up all night writing songs on bar napkins at Lovejoys. Friday, go see friend's band play. Meet up with local quasi-rock star disaster boy who happens to be perpetual fling and stay up getting trashed and listening to KISS records, eventually dragging our drunken carcasses back to my room to shag ourselves silly. Saturday, eat breakfast with said disaster boy and mutual friends, part ways, come home for first break in weeks, end up recording really cheesy drum loop from cheesy keyboard and rocking out to it for thrity minutes. Hook up with bassist and guitarist, head to a party, jam at said party with a bunch of old farts who try to tell me how to play the drums before I even pick up a stick (my being a girl and all), proceed to blow away old farts, get sick of jamming, keg floats, abrupt departure from scary party and the big bunches of meat on the table. Later that night disaster boy drops by guitarist's house, where we are, watching a music documentary (which was way more entertaining than the lame ass party we were at). Repeat Friday night, only this time include rugburn. Sunday, stay out too late, regret it on Monday.

Lather, rinse, repeat, rock and rooooollllll!!!!

-- Anonymous, June 13, 2000

How do I afford MY rock'n'roll lifestyle?

To be blunt, it's nearly free for me. I write for a music review 'zine, so I have press and photo passes to any show I'd like to see (not that anything good passes through Jacksonville, but you know...)

On top of that, I have another job in the service industry, which means I can hit any bar in town with three or four friends and still leave with a tab of less than ten dollars.

And as far as dealing with the hangover factor, well... I'm young enough for it not to take too much of a toll on this little body. That and not ever having to be at either job before noon make this the best time of my life.

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

I moved to New York last week. I love this place. (it scored #3 on my places to live survey).

It's all about naps from 6 to 8 (nothing happens then anyway)

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

i don't really have one - maybe that's why nobody reads my journal :(

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

[offtopic] Hi! So...what's this 'places to live survey' you speak of? Sounds interesting. [/offtopic]

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

"Feel like ass in a bottle" Heh.

That about sums it up.

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

Milla: I don't have the link here, but I linked to it on my page a couple of days ago; scroll down to the bottom.

Heh. That was a sneaky way to pimp my site.

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

i, personally, favor supporting my rock and roll lifestyle (getting stoned and working in the theater until four am, anyone?) by living in a communal college owned house with 19 other company members and fellow college students and having houseguests. said houseguests aren't working or paying for housing, but do nice things like bake triple chocolate chip pot cookies and fill the beer fridge with beer (four cases!) to keep up their end of the housing.

my rock and roll lifestyle goes something like this on the weekdays: work until 5. sit on front porch and drink beer and smoke cigarettes until dinner is ready. eat. spend 6 hours in the theater, taking smoke breaks every 45 minutes and occasionally going home to have another beer. go home. get stoned. pass out.

weekends are similar, though they generally involve lots more drinking, and dancing in the theater to bad pop, and taking one's shirt off when any madonna is played. my rock and roll lifestyle is boring and tends to involve mostly theater geeks and their sense of humor at 2 am.

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

Thanks, XeneyBeth!

(D'oh! Caught in the act of not reading Xeneystuff for a few days. ;) )

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

"taking one's shirt off when any madonna is played"

Hahahahha...

If you are on this notify list, all post are e-mailed to you. Unfortunately, the e-mail doesn't show who posted the message. However, as soon as I read that line, I thought: "That has got to be Aggie! It had been so long since I had read about your freaky Madonna games, but I never forgot it. It is good to see you are still around. You didn't mention one thing about hockey in your rock- n-roll lifestyle though. Surely you haven't given it up?

As for my own rock-n-roll lifestyle, I have to admit that it sucks. I still drink too much rum, I never get to bed at a decent hour, I am always late for work. All the major components are there, but It just doesn't seem as wild as it used to be. It seems like I try to relive the energized, fanatical ways, but fall short of what I remember it being like. The recovery time has also hampered the lifestyle. After a bash, I used to get a couple of hours of sleep and feel great. Now, however, I am ten hours of dead, and still feel like shit. Getting old sucks.

-- Anonymous, June 14, 2000

Rock 'n' Roll lifestyle? I have more of a "Crappy Pop Band" lifestyle. You know, where you're just barely under the legal drinking age and manage to have fun by working your ass off nights in a cheesy chain restaurant and then find places that are open later than yours and don't give a damn how old you are. and the sleeping from 4am to noon is always nice:)

-- Anonymous, June 15, 2000

Oy. I always thought i wanted a rock and roll life.

Now i have it.

I'm up by six a.m., in the office by 7:30. I deal with a lot of people who really don't want to talk to anyone, as i promote the music out of our label, i go to stores to make sure our albums are properly displayed, i go to radio stations to hand out press kits, i write said press kits, i hang out during recording sessions, i record my boyfriend doing vocals for his next album, i write song lyrics, i stay late for more recording sessions, i stay late for practices, i go to functions, i go to live performances when my boyfriend plays in his on-the-side cover band, i drink wine or beer or bloody cesars. Some days i crash on the studio couch for a quick 10 minute cat nap during breaks or lunch hour. I sleep on my office floor when a recording session goes past midnight. I'm 25, but you know what?

Dude... I'm tired man. I'm freakin' tired.

*yawn*

-- Anonymous, June 16, 2000

Hey -- bitch much, Joy?

(I've read this woman's posts on diffent forums, and I have never seen such a slew of negative cattiness in my life.)

-- Anonymous, June 18, 2000

Gee Julie, you must not get out much then. Probably trolling message boards for "negativity" keeps you darn busy.

-- Anonymous, June 18, 2000

Who needs to troll, Joy? Your sweetness and light can been seen on almost every forum. Methinks maybe *you* need to get out more.

-- Anonymous, June 18, 2000

I thought I was on the outs with my rock and roll lifestyle, but everytime I think I'm about to put it down and become an "old fogey", it starts up again. :o)

I'm gone every weekend, particularly Saturdays. I always meet up with at least two friends and along the way, we pick up more or meet some and say, "sure, what the hell!" and the party goes on. Usually end up going to a dance club or a packed bar where everybody's at.

But I tell you, going home around 3:30 or 4 in the morning and feeling excessively tired Monday night is a little tough. I'm 28. Senior citizens call me a "young'un", but damn, I do not feel so.

Hey! I'm having fun anyway. ;o)

-- Anonymous, June 19, 2000

You marry well. (Don't hit me. Please. I didn't mean to marry well, it just happened :P. And this is my first post here, and this topic is old, so i bet no one will read it, hoho!)

Seriously, i was busy being a dork pre-doctor girl in Texas, (San Antonio) and then i found a guy from CA on the net and voila...

Our lifestyle has 3 distinct groups. Computer people, biker people, and goth people. There's a lot of overlap (tho the extremes of each group never touch) and so a basic weekend involves dressing up as a trophy wife for a computer geek party specifically so people will think i'm unintelligent and not tell me about their new tech stock opening while i drink chocolate martinis. We ditch that party at 12, because people "have to get to bed" (which i think is code words for "go find net porn") and head to biker birthday party at som

-- Anonymous, June 23, 2000