Turns out, as a result of the endless generosity of my fwends, I was able to attend Summer Fest after all. Thanks Morgan and John, thanks Jon, and thanks so much, Richie!
So Macklemore goes on, and he's thrift-store shopping and everything, and this lady is all, "I can't see him!"
And I'm all, "Ummm, I've got shoulders, and none of my friends are down to get up there..."
And she's all, "Dude, I'm 6' 1". You sure about this?"
And I'm like, "Yup. Wanna shoot hoops later?"
Poor decision. We made it through one song. I'm not sure my body has ever poured out more sweat within the span of a minute-and a-half.
Then there was some miscommunication about how I was to be compensated for my efforts. She said she didn't kiss on the first date. I told her I didn't either- when I said she could tag me on the cheek, I meant with her fist. 'Cause I had said something that offended her a little. Again, a miscommunication.
Ultimately, she tried to pay me with weed.
I jumped back, fucking appalled.
"Look, lady!", I yelled. Well, yelled and cried. I was crying by then. "Do you know what this is?! This is...marijuana! Do you know where we are?! A FRIGGING MUSIC FESTIVAL! If you think I came here to get drunk and smoke weed...WELL! You been following me around, or what?!"
And that's how it happened, Mom. People these days. Fuck. Frick, too.
Propers due: You took a great photo, Kimberly. Thanks again!
