So, here’s some news – I have (thanks to my dear Fiona F), scored some tickets to KIMBRA. FREAKING KIMBRA, LIVE. LIKE, REALLY. I’ve been notified that the tickets to this gig have sold-out. So, I’m absolutely jiggling around in causing major jelly. I also should probably lay off the caffine for a bit. And the alliteration as well.
I will be heading out there tonight with my dear girlgirl Kathy – meanwhile we must both find something to munch on, as well as find, the dreaded P-word – Parking. /SHUDDER. Now parking in the Valley is like a mini-jackpot, where the jackpot is a parking spot and the opportunity for your vehicle to be peed-on by an overly enthusiastic beer-glugger. It being a weekday, the likelihood of urinary expulsion on one’s vehicle is greatly lowered, so there’s something to sigh in relief about. But this is little relief to me – a woman of little faith in the human race, rich in a thick dosage of sarcasm and brain-batteringly-bad* parallel-parking skills. WATCH ME BATTER ALL OF THE CARS!
Another metaphysical-terror that I am currently experiencing is the “WHAT DO I WEAR” connumdrum. A typically female futile pursuit, dressing for comfort as well as warmth and with a healthy dose of style will be a difficult task. What the sod is there to wear in my wardrobe that will make sure I will also not die of hypothermia? What the sod is there to wear in my wardrobe that will not make me look like a mad cat-lady? Clearly, the leg-warmers are not an option (maybe). The anthem of “Where are all of my flat shoes?” will be heard house-wide as I stare listlessly into a wardrobe packed with flat shoes.
Augh, in any case, for those poor (suckers) who couldn’t get tickets, here’s a little taste of what you’ll be missing out on. Because I’m a sadist. Now it’s time for me to get psyched for Kimbra. Yeaaaahhh.