Photo: It doesn't now, but it will.
The last 40 hours of my life have been entirely too weird and uncontrollably sweaty for my taste. After missing the Posies show (due to drama that came out of nowhere), and sweating our sticky, miserable asses off in our top-floor apartment (which I have now dubbed "The Asshole of Washington"), we finally enjoyed two seconds of our Saturday night/Sunday morning with our neighbors during a late-night building barbecue. As we cooled off, so did the weariness from our day, and we got our second winds during Rock Band; I sang a lot of the vocals, although I surprised myself on the 'drums'--I didn't totally suck. Six of us ended up across the street at Cowen Park, in the warm wee hours, playing with Michelle's lit-up Frisbee; we brought beers for everyone (illegal) to the park after hours (also illegal) and I have horrible karma (from doing things like this, I suppose), so it didn't surprise me that an hour into it, the cops showed up. The 35 screechy teenagers partying on the playground ran for their lives; we adults made our way home quickly, with our heads down, and without speaking. For a boring, 32-year old sun-hater who had a terrible morning that morphed into an even worse evening (and knowing I was missing out on a good concert with most of my friends), narrowly escaping the police in the park at 1AM came in a close second. I felt sixteen again, and alive! That is why I've decided to embark on a life of crime from here on out. All the signs are pointing in that direction, and I'm going to follow them. Besides, I have nothing better to do, and I'm feeling adventurous.