It’s Sunday & I’m Boring: Rock & Roll Anxiety Edition

10:58 a.m.
Mornings get off to a bumpy start when I wake up (at 9 a.m. lately, I’ve been rocking the 12:30-1 a.m. bedtime since Labor day) all itchy-nosed and swollen-eyed. Allergies are a motherfucker and I wash down my favorite generic-brand meth-grade allergy pill before my eyes are fully open. If I were smart, I’d set an alarm at like 6 a.m., take the pill, and then go back to sleep. I am, however, not smart.

Before the pill, when I first blink my eyes open, I reach for Ziggy to see what time it is and see on the screen a “Happy Replacements’ Day” email from my pal, Vodo. My eyes, in their allergy/morning puffiness open to about half-mast with alarm. For a second I think that perhaps I forgot to go to Chicago. Because that could totally happen. Because Maxwell, my travel companion, wouldn’t have said something. Or my sisters. Or Wolfdogg. Or everyone on Twitter.

My ‘Mats excitement has been converted to full-on ‘Mats anxiety. What if I fall down the stairs and break my leg this week? What if I get hit by a bus this week? What if I die this week? What if I die and I NEVER GET TO SEE THE REPLACEMENTS? Do you know how much that would suck? Do you?

It would suck a bunch.

I’m also having a bit of Chicago-related logistical anxiety. Usually when I travel, I go with a gaggle of other adults who worry about the logistical details for the trip. I’m not a logistics person. I am a “we’ll see when we get there” person and when you travel with logistics-people they’re all “oh no, we will know before we get there” and so I just let them figure it out and follow along.
Now, for some reason, I feel like I have to have a plan. How we’ll get from there to there and back and where we’ll eat and all that. Only instead of doing any actual figuring, I just worry about it and say “fuck it, we’ll just take a cab everywhere.” I’m sure Max won’t care.

1:08 p.m.
“The Love Boat” is on MeTV. Sadly, it’s on at the very same time as “Gidget,” which puts me on the horns of a lazy-Sunday dilemma. To Love Boat or not to Love Boat? As I type Mrs. Keaton aka Meredith Baxter Birney is asking Julie your Cruise Director if there is a newsstand and if it sells Kitten magazine, because she’s dating a Congressman and she has been in naked pictures. Apparently, she’s Miss June.

UPDATE: Apparently she posed for the pictures when she was in law school because tuition was so expensive.

10:40 p.m.
There was napping and some reading of The Runaways biography and family dinner (and if I’m honest, entirely more time playing Plants vs. Zombies 2 than I am willing to admit). We had BLTs, which we’ve been having a lot lately because of the ridiculous bounty of tomatoes from the CSA. Over dinner Nolan asked if I’d bring him home a souvenir from Chicago either a Replacements’ record or a Replacements’ t-shirt. I’m not sure if he’s just ass-kissing or if he really does love them (“I Will Dare” has been one of his favorite songs all summer). Regardless, I’m a sucker for it.

We spent some time talking about the Infuriating Corporate Password Fiasco, which is an on-going series of events I can’t really discuss with too much detail because I like to pay my mortgage. But boy, if I could discuss it with any detail you’d see me let loose with a string of swears and curses and obscene hand gestures.

Then we talked a bunch about going to Chicago and the pros and cons of taking a bag to RiotFest and if they’d have water refill stations and public transportation vs. taking a cab. Like I said, the logistics are causing me some anxiety and I’ve vowed to just not worry about it until I get to Chicago.

SEVEN MORE DAYS! Practically six now, because today is almost over.

Just think, next week’s I’m Sunday & It’s Boring will be all about how I saw my most favorite band of all time a mere two days after seeing the first woman singer to ever capture my heart.

There will be tears. And ecstasy — the emotion, not the drug. And, as you can see, my brand-new rock & roll hair.

The “It’s (Insert Day of Week) and I’m Boring” is a series that Christa and I do to pay homage to the beauty of old-school blogging. (I totally copied this nice explanation from Christa).

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