Owl City

Holy hangover, Batman.

One of the few good things that Muscles gave me (besides an orgasm) is an appreciation for this singer/group/I don’t know called Owl City. He/They have a sound similar to Postal Service or Death Cab for Cutie. Whimsical, fun, and super romantic lyrics, which I am an absolute sucker for. I highly recommend checking him out if you haven’t.

While Muscles and I were still “on” I looked at tour dates for Owl City and saw that he would be playing in LA in a few weeks. I giddily told Muscles this and then went to look up tickets. Unfortunately, they were sold out. Unfortunately, Muscles already had tickets and once again ignored my not so subtle hints of how badly I wanted to go. Two thumbs down.

I begged one of my friends in high places to use his connections and see if he could get me tickets. Despite being “dumped”, I still wanted to go to the concert and lucky for me, my highly connected friend came through.

I knew there was a chance I’d see Muscles at the show (it was being held at a small venue so if he was there, I’d likely run into him) but whatever, I was going for ME, not for him. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t make sure I looked extra hot just in case. Since the show was sold out my girl friend and I got there before doors opened to make sure we’d have a nice view of the stage. Little did we know that the age of the average Owl City fan is about 13. (Nothing can make you feel old like watching parents drop their kids off at the same concert you’re going to.)

We decided to take advantage of being some of the few senior citizens at the show, and since we had 2 hours to kill before Owl City took the stage, we plunked ourselves down at the bar to have some drinks.

Some turned into about ten. Oops.

While we were sitting at the bar gabbing away, who should walk in but Muscles. (I found out after the show that ticket prices were only 12 bucks, so even his unemployed empty wallet self could afford it.) Not only that, but he walked in….WITH A GIRL. You need to “lay low” for a bit, my ass.

Fortunately, I was way thinner, cuter, and tanner than her. TRIFECTA. At first, Muscles didn’t notice me, and I made sure to avoid eye contact. He stepped up to the bar and ordered drinks for the two of them, and then looked around the bar, as you do.

I saw him see me, and startle. Then, I kid you not, he turned around and ran out of the bar. RAN, people. The girl turned after him saying “Where are you going?!” but he was off. She waited, paid for their drinks, and went to find him. (in hindsight, maybe that was his way of making her pay for the booze)

REALLY, Muscles? How old are you, twelve?

If anything could help play the final notes in our song (OK…that’s a weak metaphor but I’m trying to continue with the musical theme here), it was that. I am not Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. I would’ve been perfectly friendly had he been a man and done the same. But his reaction was what I’d expect from the 13 year olds in attendance, not a guy who’s almost 30. So in a way it was good because I haven’t given him a second thought since.

Though that could be because I’m using all my energy to focus on keeping down the cranberry and vodkas from last night.

Please take a long hard look through your textbook, 'cause I'm history,
LL