BLARGH.
m'barfy. n' yucky. n' all sorts of nasty things that make me whiny and cranky and sulky and loathe to even type whole words, never mind say them out loud. if you were speaking to me right now, you'd get a lot of noises and faces and grumbling.
AND I'M GOING TO SEE FUCKING TRENT TOMORROW, GODDAMN IT. I WILL NOT BE ILL FOR TRENT!
except maybe i will be. and i don't think trent will want to marry me in this condition. which destroys my life's ambition, and means i will have to wait another lengthy period of roughly five years before he shows his face around town again. *sigh* foiled time after time after time.
this is all very funny if you know the story of how i actually met trent reznor (very briefly) and was so fucking terrified that i could barely squeak, and it was very fortunate that there were lots of other people around so my idiocy was not well-noticed. yes, me. veteran, once upon a long time ago, of aftershow parties and tour bus mosh pits (and no, i am not and never was a groupie), scared fucking silent. hardy har har har.
at least it will be reasonably easier to convince myself not to blow my entire paycheque (very conveniently timed as it will be fresh in my hands tomorrow) on scalping my way down the mosh pit, as i will probably be in no fit condition for being squished and kicked in the head by assholes who insist on crowd-surfing and the one stupid girl who thinks she's in a bon jovi video and has to sit on her boyfriend's shoulders like the entire show is for her. if you see that girl, knock her down face first. and then punch out the stupid boyfriend, cuz he's just as bad.
going to bed now, with a handful of drugs and some sincere prayers for overnight recovery. wish me luck.