Wish us luck

We do love us some Bishop Allen chez BLC. But with an 8 o’clock door and two bands play­ing before­hand? Well, I’ll be order­ing cof­fee, not beer, at the bar, espe­cially since I have to be two hours from here in another state by 10 am tomor­row, for a depo­si­tion in an asbestos law­suit. But the BH and I are rar­ing to go, regard­less. I have my loafers, turtle­neck sweater and Vera Bradley wrist­let. The BH has his slip-on Clarks, khakis, and merino wool zip up cardigan.

Yeah. That’s how we afford our Rock n’ Roll Lifestyle, suckas. And, past our bedtime.

Update: OK, we’re old. We get to the door, and the sign says the band we want to see won’t even go ON until 11:30. WTF? I mean, yes, I’m a hope­ful assh*le who should know bet­ter, but still. They could post the time on the band or the venue web­site, right? I mean, don’t they fig­ure out line­ups in advance? Crank, crank, crank.

Thank good­ness I have a yup­pie organic choco­late bar and some yup­pie alco­holic grape juice to con­sole myself. I may not have a rock band fix, but boy, have I got antiox­i­dants out the wazoo. Grr.