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It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss...


my three most fabulous nights...

okay. lets start off with Wednesday:

Sons of Sound are playing at Sin-e. And as much as I would like to see them, I have a negative bank balance. Besides, I promised Nora I would worm my way down to Brooklyn to see her DJ. And I did just that. Only it was just us... us being, me, Nicole, George & a few Dutch Kills. I tried to convince Boy 2 to pop over, but he was sleeping, blah blah and was I going to the Delays on Thursday cakes? (I was planning on it). The one fantastic thing about the Alligator Lounge (aside from Nora's EXCELLENT spinning) was that with my last 6 dollars I was able to get a beer, a personal pizza, AND a round of Ms. Pacman –pretty impressive, eh? I thought so.

We rolled out of there about 12:30 to head over to the Boys & Girls "reunion" party and squished Matt GoStation into the bug on our way. Once inside, the night just exploded... we ran into Dan Morningtheft, Jacob Surefire, Kat, Scott , Amy & more. The Free Shots on the hour started appearing more frequently, the smoking ban was on holiday, the music was perfect, the dancing was hawt – I fell victim to a "hit an run kisser" who sidled up to me on the dance floor, kissed me cheek, and vanished – leaving Nora & I to dissolve into a fit of giggles. Then the alcohol fight started... this was an ongoing process that eventually took over the entire group. There was ice down shirts and shorts, there were beers spat like fountains at arms and cleavage, there were drinks spilled on heads and down backs – and it was the MOST fun I'd had in ages. I even got chatted up by a renown NYC dj who was SO adorable and SO Irish that the girls would shit twice and die if I ever brought him home. It really was too bad that I couldn't stick around to see how he'd turn out – but it was past 3 already by the time I surfaced... tired, sweaty, and drenched in beer on the west side. Now the stories I heard of what I missed would curl your hair... but I'm just going to wink and smile and button my lip, as we all know my policy on exposing OTHER people's adventures.


Perhaps the most amazing thing about Wednesday was the complete LACK of hangover on Thursday. I felt fine. I felt better than fine. And with my bank account replenished I took off for Manhattan straight from work. The idea was to get to the Mercury Lounge early, (I was worried after the Killers debacle that I might not get in) only it really wasn't an issue. When I arrived, there was no line and the doors weren't open yet... so I hoofed on over to Pianos, caught up with Jasper for a bit who oh so excellently hooked me up with free food & drink (xoxo), tried to determine if anyone else I knew was gonna show, and then got back to the Merc in time to check out opening band, Delegate (formerly Zetamale), whom I found absolutely enchanting. Straight up Indie-pop/rock with minimal electronica... just a more organic feeling sound that I've been leaning towards lately – likely a reaction to the heavy rotation of FF, the Killers & the like... Anyhow. I liked them so much, I popped on over to their Merch stand and picked up an EP. Yay.

Called Boy 2 to see if he was still thinking of trekking on over or if he'd been swayed by the $2, Free Beer, indier-than-me, show at Volume. He had been. Can't say as I blamed him. Called Jacob, he too was thinking about Volume considering that his chances at the Merc's door were looking a little slim. Boo. Brooklyn was stealing all my friends. Luckily, I ran into Brett shortly thereafter, and got to chill with him whilst we waited on Doug & Erica. I was distinctly unimpressed by the sounds pouring forth from "Cardia"'s set as the door to the bar swung open & closed... even if they are a "super group" formed from the splintered factions of once brilliant NY bands – they just weren't doing it for me. Instead I spied Erica & ran outside to meet her. We moseyed up the block to find Doug GoStation chowing down on a couple of slices. All of a sudden my phone buzzed violently at me from my pocket. It was Boy2. At the Merc. Volume was sold out... where was I? Ah. Hem. Right. "I'm up the block see you in a few" And, basically, I did. Well, as soon as Doug was finished that is... no need to rush out of there really. Got there. Found him. Introduced him to Doug, they determined that they are in fact, both incredible geeks, and then we settled in to watch the ethereal loveliness that were the Delays.

I cannot say enough good things about this band. They are flawless in my eyes. The set was tight, but still raw enough to not feel like I was listening to a lip sync – and consequently, the sound emanating from the lead singers lips actually sounded like it might contain a "y" chromosome after all. It was pretty, it was poppy, I bounced and bobbed and danced along as much as I could... because, there was of course (drumroll please...) Dancing Boy. aka- white boy on crack. The insane guy, wearing a backpack that decides once a bit of space opened up in his vicinity that he needed to bust out his best "glow stick moves" from his raving days. Yeeeeah. We couldn't stop laughing. Lucky for me, the Delays could have been playing for a room full of dancing boys at an over-packed Rothko – and I STILL would have loved them. yay delays.

Post show, I met the infamous "Pancakes" whom heads up Boy2's current musical side project. A side project I have never seen mind you, because Boy2 is a slacker and doesn't tell me about shows until the day of - or worse – after the fact. I think they might have asked me to manage them. I think I might have blown them off, because really... I don't know how to manage a band. Especially one that's already drawing 35 people with out a manager or publicist. All I know is who they ought to talk to get booked. Anyhow. I run into Sarah & Karen outside. They are off to UP. I think that sounds like a plan. I invite Boy2 along, seeing as his birthday starts in oh, about an hour. We go. He's a little overwhelmed by The Delancey and we have that whole LES hipsters are different from Wburg hipsters debate. We pop downstairs so he can check out the stage – he feels much more at home in the stripped-down basement & I can't stop the smirk from sliding across my lips. Outside, we decide not to stay and drink expensive drinks with the creme de la hipsterdom.

Instead, we opt for a six pack & his couch. I get to listen to a recording from his unnamed main musical project (I really like it. No, really, I do.) We watch some Freaks & Geeks (I'm a fan, he's not) a little Animal Planet, some late night talk shows, we talk about pointless and absurd things in the manner to which we are accustomed, and then, there was the kissing. Right. Remember the kissing? Remember when this blog was all ABOUT kissing? ::sigh:: so do i. I wish there was more for me to say, but really... there's not. I have found the handful of guys left in this city who don't ever push past the kissing, and here I am living in my PG world. Absurd as it may seem, it's true. In some respects, it's nice to feel like I'm 16 again, on the other hand, I'm beginning to think there is something horribly wrong with me. Besides. In this scenario I knew precisely what to expect... first there's the kissing, then there's the not hanging out, then there's the not talking until he's deemed that we've moved a "safe" distance from the incriminating event. Which is pretty much which came to pass, and really, it's okay – only next time can we try for an "R" rating?

All that Siren had to offer tomorrow... I PROMISE.


VICIOUS @ Rothko and

Morning Theft @ Lit