It's the freakin weekend baby I'm about to have me some fun

Why do Friday afternoon and Sunday morning have to feel like worlds apart? Why do I always go into the weekend feeling like a rock star and end it feeling like a pathetic loser? How long can this go on before I finally find that thing called "balance" that people speak of?

To add insult to injury, I'm 25 now. I've come to terms with the fact that that isn't very old in the larger scheme of things, but it's not exactly young either. What I mean is that the guilt I feel when I wake up hungover and miserable on a Sunday morning is only magnified by the fact that I've had a quarter century to get all this out of my system and it's still there. My favorite place in the world to be is still the dance floor, as cheesy as that sounds. I still live for the weekends.

The problem is, there is a very real dark side to partying...there comes a point in the night when everyone's eyes become soulless and glazed over and there is this unspoken feeling that everyone is trying to stay out as long as possible to avoid dealing with reality, and then it all starts to feel a little sad. I've started to wonder what I'm trying to escape from...I like my life.

It bothers me that this is even an issue, because it's A. easily avoidable with even an ounce of willpower and B. one of so many things that people in their 20s talk about as if they were the first person ever to experience when really it's old news. Also, I'm fully aware that if I were writing this on a Friday afternoon rather than a Sunday evening, the tone would most likely be a lot different. It's a vicious cycle, but not vicious enough to have any tangible consequences, which is why I keep repeating it.

I have this vision of my ideal weekend self: spending my days exercising and catching up with friends over tea followed by peaceful evenings of home improvement projects, then in bed by eleven. Maybe this will be me someday but for now the most I can hope for is to strike a balance. Go out one night per weekend instead of two. Come home before the club closes. Try my hardest not to dance on any tables.

I'll let you know how that goes.

Missed Calling

I just saw The Runaways and now I'm feeling like, damn, why am I not a rock star? I know everyone thinks that sometimes, but I actually had the opportunity! I'm musical! If only I hadn't quit piano lessons at 8. I was like, UGH, piano lessons are so LAME, I'd way rather spend my time listening to my Raffi tape and making Fimo clay figurines and writing in my diary about how much I hate my sister.

And then, if only I hadn't quit playing saxophone in the school band when I was 12! I could have started the first all-girl saxophone band! It would have been sick, seriously. But NO, I was like, being in band is LAME, I'd way rather listen to the Backstreet Boys and watch TRL and shoplift makeup from Rite Aid (kidding...or am I?). Was my dad right, that I would regret quitting band? Please say my dad wasn't right.

It's so ironic that playing an instrument is social suicide in middle school, but as an adult playing in a band is basically the coolest thing ever. And even more ironic that the "cool" kids in junior high who think being in band is dorky are now either working at Hooters or coaching football at a junior college somewhere. And the really nerdy smart kids are running companies and peering down at us all from their penthouses. More on junior high later.

Anyway, throughout the movie, there were two women sitting a few seats away who obviously came of age in the 70's, and they were having a ball. Kristen Stewart's Joan Jett impression (which I honestly can't knock as much as I'd like to) was straight up taking them back. They were dancing and singing and clapping in their seats to "I Love Rock and Roll" while all the twenty-somethings gave them side eye. I can't even begin to imagine the crazy memories that movie was stirring up in those women and honestly, I was a little jealous.

I kept thinking, will this be me and my friends when they make the Lady Gaga movie in twenty years? Will we be jamming out in the movie theater when Lady Gaga (played by someone who is not even an embryo yet) steps onto stage to perform "Pokerface" for the first time? Probably. And all the damn kids will be shaking their heads at us with a combination of disgust and sympathy, and we won't give a shit because they have no idea. Their music will probably all be produced and performed by robots programmed to create exactly what the masses will eat up with a spoon. I mean that's where we're heading, right?

Whatever. I'm getting kind of sidetracked. My point is that I could have been a rock star by now, and instead I'm sitting here in sweat pants setting my alarm for 6:45 am. I drive a Civic (a sick motherfucking new Civic that I freaking love, but you get my point). I pay my taxes (I'm the whole package). I budget (poorly). I don't even leave dirty dishes in the sink anymore! If someone doesn't start a band with me ASAP it will be too late!!! I don't remember how to read music or play any instruments, but I'll dance around onstage in leather and pretend to sing! PLEASE!!! My coolness is decreasing by the minute!

*Sigh*

xoxo Jess

The Douche Chronicles, Part II.

First of all, I would like to start off by saying I had an amazing weekend, and I had criminal amounts of fun. While I was having all this fun, I realized something. I completely forgot about an entire category of San Francisco douchey guys! So without further ado, I would like to introduce you to...

4. The Industry Dude



You'll meet this gem at an after-hours rooftop loft party in SOMA (I did). He'll ask you for a light and then strike up a conversation, probably about how bummed he is that he "left his mic at Mighty". Yeah, he's an MC...are you impressed? According to him, you should be, because there are just so few good MC's in this city. (He may also be a bartender...the point is, he is hooked up and has the skinny on the happenin after hours).

After talking to him for about twenty minutes, you may actually think you are having an interesting, meaningful conversation, even though he seems really fucked up and he's asked you the same questions a few times. Then he'll stare into your eyes and say:

"You're really beautiful. You know, I just want someone who I can cuddle with, like, once a week. I rage way too much and I need someone to make me stay in. But just, like, once a week."

Yeah guys...that really happened to me this weekend. As flattered as I was that MC douche wanted to spend one night a week "cuddling" with me, I made my exit soon after. And by "made my exit" I mean grabbed my girl and ran away in the opposite direction of this freak show.