how my sister and I mistakenly attended an extreme cage fight last Tuesday night

I told you I had the crazy. Well now I am blaming it on my computer. My dead, dead computer that abandoned me and went to computer heaven. I came home to an uh-oh smell one day (computer, were you using my hairdryer?) and the next day my unresponsive computer was being proclaimed deceased by an apathetic Geek Squad dude who added to my disappointment by not even faintly resembling Chuck. (Where were you, Chuck? You could have saved my computer. You are gorgeous and so is your red couch I want it in my apartment and I wouldn’t mind if you were on it too.)

I can’t think without my computer. I’ve been going around every day in a slight fog, not quite sure who I am without customized desktops, iTunes playlists, and bookmarked tabs. What do I even like to do? Computer, you took all my projects with you.  Where is my Google calendar that tells me what to do? Not in front of my face every morning where I need it.

And that is how my sister and I mistakenly attended an extreme cage fight last Tuesday night.

We thought we were seeing these good people. Which is all the better for being a polar opposite brand of strange.

Rasputina

There we were, in line outside the Knitting Factory in Bodo wearing our corsets, poofy skirts, and heavy eye makeup. A cheerful summer sun is baking down on us and everyone in line is staring. The thought going around under my ratted up Helena Bonham Carter pompadour is we would stop looking so crazy if the sun would just fucking set already.

That’s when I notice everyone in line appears to be a twenty-something male wearing Hollister. This is all such an unexpected, uncomfortable conundrum for us until we get up to the door where we see this sign.

“Rasputina is on the 20th.” Sister points out to me.
“Yeah, I know,” I retort. I’d seen the concert was on the 20th back when I’d had a computer. And left to my own devices in the post-computer darkness, I had managed to blunder into a rock-hard certainty that the 20th was a Tuesday. This Tuesday.
“E,” she coaxes. “What’s the date today?”
“Um…” I break into a sweat. Realities are colliding. My mind is ripping apart. “…Not the 20th?”
“Let’s get some dinner.”

And that is how my sister and I ended up at Solid in corsets, poofy skirts, and heavy eye makeup, eating burgers and curly fries to live bluegrass being performed by a dude I went out with a couple of times in 2008.

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