More than anything, do you know what I hate? I hate feeling like a chump. I hate waiting around for someone like a total shmuck, wondering if they're ever gonna show up, after they've said yes to your invitation and you've made some effort to coordinate plans. And then they don't show, and don't call you, e-mail you, or anything.

I'm royally pissed that my friend flaked out on me last night -- this isn't the first time, and not the second or third or even the fourth time. You only get so many chances, ya know?

Well, I thought the night was just gonna be a sucky miasma of mope, but it turned out I had a fine time. It was just bizarrely unlucky for me -- I recently transferred most of the contents of my old purse into a new one, and I apparently forgot to put my ID into my new bag. The bouncer gave me the benefit of the doubt and let me in, though. Then, it turned out that the person who was supposed to put me on the list I was supposed to be on didn't actually put me on the list. The list-checker gave me the benefit of the doubt and let me in. I still felt like a chump. Then, I realized I forgot to bring a pen for taking notes, so I had to make do with my eyeliner crayon, which kept crumbling and smearing all over my notepad.

I guess I'll elaborate more when I write my review of the show -- it was the Gern Blandsten Records 10th anniversary party. Remarkable mainly for the following observations: I saw a bimboish blonde girl in a tight, form-fitting CHE GUEVARA t-shirt, and no fewer than FIVE guys with this year's hot coif, the Albert Hammond. I like the Albert Hammond better than the "I shaved my head two months ago but my girlfriend didn't like it" 'do the dudes were sporting last year.