Ned and I were out late last night; we went to see Lucinda Williams.
Please remind me to tell you about the Excitable Roy who sat in front of us. He looked like my friend Roy--at first I thought it WAS my friend Roy, with his ginger hair and long beard--and you could be certain he'd seen the opening band before. Let me assure you.
Every song they started, he'd pump his fist and do this, "YEAHHHHHH!" growl/screech thing, then say to his wife, "WELCOME TO ALABAMA!" or "THE SONG ABOUT HIS GRANDMA!" Then he'd pump his fist, and repeat the lyrics back to his wife, who never did anything but nod exhaustedly.
"That wife? Beleaguered." I announced to Ned. "I know!" said Ned, who'd clearly been thinking the same thing. The good thing about Ned is when we're out, we're both spending the whole time staring at people, and thinking judgy things. If you can't be your worst self with your person, who CAN you be your worst self with?
By the way, I guess you don't need to remind me to tell you about Excitable Roy, because I think I just did.
Ned was not a fan, at least he wasn't as big a fan as Excitable Roy, but I didn't mind that band so much, because I'm from Saginaw. I liked the song they had about the grandmother, and they were all sort of hot, in a bearded country way. The lead singer's shirt came open at some point, and Ned said, "Can you read the tattoo on his stomach?"
"Just some letters, but I was assuming it reads 'Gypsy.'"
"Maybe it says Tipsy," Ned suggested.
"Or Nipsey," I said. "He could be a huge Nipsey Russell fan," I said.
I mean, who isn't?
I like men who wear big, chunky jewelry. Not that Nipsey Russell does, but rather old Tipsy Gypsy Nipsey, up there. He had a big coral ring, and necklaces, and I like that look. (Now Ned is accusing me of liking other men because he would in a million years not wear chunky jewelry, and a good idea is letting your person see what you're blogging.)
Oh my GOD I just came on here to say I can't blog and look what's happened.
I was just going to show you this rainy picture I took of the tree outside my window, finally getting leaves ("finally." It's March) and from yesterday to today it went from hint of green to hi, here are my leaves. So. Also, my robe totally tried to photobomb.
I had my ultrasound yesterday but so far no call re it. I think they're going to say, Hey, you have an ovarian cyst. Nothing we can do about it. That'll be $900, please.
Okay, really going.
Oh, look, here I still am. I forgot I took this picture of my pretty rainy yard yesterday morning as I left for work. It doesn't nearly do justice to all the purple and yellow back there, but it sure celebrates that tag hanging off the chair.
Your fave gypsy blogger,