(Failed) Group Love

Some weeks just fly by. In a bit of an awesome (fail) haze.
Like this week.
Where I learned that delinquency (even when it's all faux and try-hard) pays.
For the record, I kind of revel in the louche and 'Rebel Yell' factor even when it doesn't pay.
Which is kind of often.

What ever happened to you?
Once again - as fate's way of proving to me that I am ultimately destined to never reach the pinnacle of cool.
Yours truly has failed at the art of being a groupie.

Did you ever want to be a groupie?
Um. Well duh. Didn't you want to do like Anita, Bebe and Patti and walk around in nothing but fur and gumboots? Even if fur and nudity don't suit you (like if you're a prude or an anti-fur person in general) - don't you secretly dream of 'finding emotional and sexual intimacy' with debauched musicians (Definition seriously comes from Wikipedia)?

If so - Don't do like Bec and mistake two members of Broken Social Scene for poverty stricken American (correction...Canadian) backpackers who were playing gigs for travel money. Have a lovely polite conversation with them about the merits of vintage leather jackets and my general befuddlement over where to eat on the grunge central that is Gertrude Street. Get number. Express general geographic retardation. ('Um...so where's the Corner?'...'Somewhere in Melbourne') And then decline aforementioned indie royalty's invitation to eat with them.

Because if this does ever happen to you. You will most likely get the following reactions:
Ear piercing screams.
General dismay.
'What is wrong with you?'
'Why do things like this always happen to you?'

I don't know. Clearly I do not deserve it.
However - I can totally revel in the kind of amazing video. My almost-famous-groupie moment. And a rather fabulous vintage day dress. That made me miss my chance at cool-dom.




Peace

xx

Bec