Jabba, Smiley, and a Shack of Crap

Good morning! What's shakin', cute people of the interwebz? Not too much going on here; just struggling to clear the cobwebs from my noggin! It sure was hard to get out of bed this morning.

Can't imagine why.

Crap Shack, party of 7!

We rented a cottage near the shore that turned out to be the shittiest place EVER and we all did our best not to touch anything. I was seriously concerned about bed bugs, but thankfully the sheets and towels were clean even if the floor wasn't. The walls were paper thin; if you tapped on the wall the whole thing shook. Mala & Joe had a gaping hole in the ceiling of their room, and M&E's room slanted noticeably towards one corner. It was like a fun house!

Luckily we were barely there and it was a place to crash, though as Jim and I lay down on our glorified sofa bed and listened to the loud college kids partying in our front yard (which sounded like they were in the room with us due to the aforementioned thin walls) we both started giggling uncontrollably.

I didn't take pictures because it was just too horrifying, but I'll describe it to you with my mad English skillz:

Our room contained a lumpy double bed, a dresser, a bare light bulb with the string dangling from the center of the room, and a rather pungent odor. I shudder to think about what sorts of things have gone on in that "house" every weekend, but let the record show that when Mala arrived and turned on the TV it was tuned to a porno channel. That explains why the wooden arms of the dilapidated (circa 1978) sofa were STICKY. Seriously, I have slept in cleaner frat houses.

The cost of one night in Slumsville? A mere $250/night (split 3 ways). FML!

I need a miracle.

But ANYWAY. As soon as we fought our way through the shore traffic (took us 45 minutes to go a quarter of a mile) we got the party started, at which point I remembered that I was a bird brain left our two tickets to the show at home. *FACE-PALM* I carried those goddamn tickets in my purse for TWO MONTHS, but the day of the show I decided to carry a smaller purse.... FML again!

Thankfully, the show was not sold out and it was nothing that a short walk and another $40 couldn't fix. Sigh.

Jabba wants his money.

The band was great and since it was general admission we wormed our way right up front again. The only bummer was Jabba, who was easily 6'4" yet insisted upon standing in the front row, and even when we tried to move several feet to his left or right he seemed to migrate so that he was always right in front of one of us. He was a hulking, disapproving WALL of a man, and he was stubbornly in our way all night.

Nice bum, where you from?

The music was awesome!

Close your eyes and it's the real thing, and definitely the closest thing to really seeing Zeppelin that we'll ever get.

The Battle of Evermore was epic.

Mmm, smokey.

I'll have what he's having!

The bass player, who we dubbed "Smiley," was a trip. He had perfected the "rock star stance" and was clearly enjoying every minute of the show. He had this huge shit-eating grin and kept making eye contact with audience members, including yours truly. It was fun but a little awkward; I'd smile back but then he'd just keep on grinning at me until I kind of danced behind Jabba to hide. One time it went on so long that everyone in my group noticed and were laughing about it, and I took this picture:

Slappin' da bass!

That little bit of contact was NOTHING compared to what Mala got after the show, however! She stood in line to meet the band while the rest of us hung back (I had had enough contact with Smiley during the show, thankyouverymuch), and she got a chance to chat it up with her crush, the keyboardist/guitar player (and Grade A Hottie).

While we waited for Mala to stop shamelessly flirting we admired the mural of famous folks behind the bar. We decided this is George "C3PO" Carlin:



The next morning we eagerly skipped out of the Crap Shack and went home. I spent most of my day watching the kids play in their kiddie pool and reading trashy magazines before moving on to a trashy novel. I started reading Secret Diary of a Call-Girl, which is the book that inspired the sexy Showtime series. I'm only about 40 pages in but already I can tell you that it's a decent read, doesn't require a lot of brain power, and is absolutely filthy! So of course, I dig it.

So that's all the news that's fit to report. Good times, as always! Now it's back to the grind. Gotta find something else to look forward to; it sure does help to get me through the week.