Wait....does this make us groupies?

Allow me to apologize in advance for any semi-congealed thoughts or incoherent babblings. I don't know who the hell I think I am, but if I don't get some sleep and quick, I may have to be hospitalized for rock-star-like "exhaustion," which, if you have neither the fame, fortune, talent nor notoriety of a rock star, is pretty much just sad and pathetic. Come to think of it, it's sad and pathetic even if you do have those things.

To the recap. Monday: As I said earlier, I went to a show--Steve Poltz, with the Truckee Brothers opening. Seriously, it was more fun than should be legal. So much great music, so much energy, such cool-ass guys who were pretty convincing that they were having a good time talking to everybody. Peat bought C's Assbag painting, which is a great story--but her's, not mine, so she'll have to tell that one. All of us--Nora, C and I--were in such a great mood we couldn't go to sleep till the wee hours.

Tuesday: Tired. But happy. At least 2 coworkers thought I must have gotten me some based on the goofy grin plastered on my face. Nope. Just still buzzing from how much fun I had Monday.

A guy who joined the company not long ago and who mostly works out of his home e-mailed to ask if I wanted an after-work beverage. I said sure, because in this company, it's damn near grounds for getting fired to not drink with the new guy. I walked into the restaurant's bar--nice place, not too swanky, not too beer-covered--and immediately got a bad vibe. It could not have been more obvious unless there had been candlelight and a string quartet that I had just walked into a date ambush. Fuck.

Gotta give the guy props for guessing that if he just kept ordering booze without asking me if I wanted another drink, that he might get somewhere. And he might have, had he not, oh, relayed tales of his experience with federal law enforcement authorities, or, maybe, not broken down into tears at one point. Suddenly, it was 1 a.m. and I was trashed and telling him "No" in about 50 different ways and at least 3 languages.

Side note: Lizzie, what is it you said once about my love life being feast or famine, saltines or Ritz crackers, top shelf vodka or Natural Light? Yeah. It's baffling. Must be the sap rising in the trees.

Wednesday: Still tired, and now hungover to boot. C and I had been mulling going to Dayton to see Poltz and the Truckees again, just because it was so much fucking fun seeing them Monday. (Not sure if I mentioned how much fun it was.)

But that would be crazy, right? Nobody in their sane, rational mind would drive 2 hours to see a show they just saw on Monday, right? On a weekday? C and I weren't sure what qualifies as groupie behavior. She said if we'd maybe been Ratt groupies in high school, we'd know. I pointed out my high school wardrobe of flannel shirts and yellow Chuck Taylors probably wouldn't have gotten me backstage.

So yeah, long story short, I said, "Fuck it, I can sleep when I'm dead," and we got home from Dayton at 4:30 this morning. All day various parts of my body have been wigging out/shutting down from lack of sleep and solid food. Was the show good? You know it. Did I get what compelled me go to Dayton out of my system? Not even close.

Oh, and the CFO called me into his office today to "start a dialogue" about what I'd be doing at the company now that this soul-sucking, creativity-sapping, alcohol abuse-fostering project I've been working on is wrapping up. I was too tired to even try to spin it. I told him I was already looking for something else, because in another couple weeks I'd pretty much just be taking up space. The good news is that they don't have a date for kicking me out. So, anybody know who's hiring? Flexible morning arrival time preferred.