Last weekend I went to Time Out For Women for the first time. Friday night was kind of strange. It's probably normally very good. I think maybe they just weren't on their game. Maybe the spirit missed its flight out here. I don't know. But it was a little bit, um, not so much? A lot of talk about prozac being holy and "don't EEEVEN get me started on women and chocolate, am I right ladies?? And your husbands, do they love the remote or WHAT?!! Ha ha ha!" Anyway, Michael Mclean was one of the ... performers (?) ... he spoke and sang. I guess it just wasn't my thing. A little too gooey or something. So to ease my yuckness a little, I started blogging in my head (you know you do it) and I was trying to think of a way of saying it wasn't really my bag, baby. I decided I needed a picture of him to go with it (you know you do that too.) So afterwards, my friend Kim and I go up to snap a little somethin'. I didn't want to be rude, so I thought of a fact that didn't reveal where I stood on his music that I could tell him. I said, "My senior year, I listened to Like A Lighthouse every day". That's true - isn't it Amy? He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "That's by Michael Webb. He's a friend of mine. I'll tell him." If he didn't have his arm around me I could have run away. Instead he held tighter and I got to bask in the embarrassing glow while he laughed about it. I wish I would have thought to say,"You didn't let me finish! I was going to say, 'I listened to that stupid song every day and I was so mad because it wasn't one of yours. Plus, I think that song is dirty.'"
Look at me. Sweet kid. I think he's about to tell me he's a big fan of mine or something that won't make me want to hide.
My red, red face. Caught on film. Thank you, Kim.
The next day was great. I'm so glad because I thought maybe I didn't have a soul.