The bewitching hour approaches
So. Welcome to the summer that is totally sucking butt. I have a cold. My throat is getting progressively sorer (more sore?) and the fog in my head is thickening and my eyelids are drooping and oh mercy, I’m hot. No, I’m cold. I’m freezing. I ache. I’m really, really hot.
IS THIS ANY WAY TO SPEND THE SUMMER?
I think about my blog compared to other blogs and I do an awful lot of complaining here. Complainy McComplainerson, at your service. I should really stop doing that. No one likes a negative Nellie.
I got invited to a Phil Lesh & Friends (Trey Anastasio TREY ANASTASIO) concert next week but I can’t go because a) I have to work and b) the tickets cost $30 and c) I will be far too depressed about missing the DMB show this Wednesday night to even set foot near “The Creek.” That’s something I don’t care if I complain about a lot. I am missing the DMB show Wednesday night and it is KILLING ME. Slowly. From the inside. There will be no sweaty white-person dancing to the various hits. There will be no screaming CARTER BEAUFORD ON THE DRUMS!!!!!! during any number of songs. There will be no swooning over Dave. No showing Butch the love. None of that. None. At all.
Welcome to the summer of the suck. No concerts. Except for those free ones I plan on attending in August. Big Head Todd, Gin Blossoms, and Candlebox. The ORIGINAL line-up. I know, right? For free! I’m so stoked.
But no DMB. Sniffle.