More insomnia. Maybe blogging is a bad thing to do right now, but sometimes it helps me clear my head. Let's hope it does the trick.
I rode my bike in the rain to Sloan's happily full and noisy house and wrote all day. Turned in the first draft of my biggest article so far. It's still patchy - I need to nail down a few more interviews and testimonials, but my editor thought the writing was great, and he didn't fire me, so I guess I'm doing okay with that.
Saturday night was two special occasions - the Blerds' one year anniversary party/my girl K-Rock's 29th birthday, both happening at the Spot off the Wilson stop, and I decided to forego my usual dweeby stay-at-home ways and stick it out 'til the end. I prepared like it was a triathlon. I hydrated all day. I napped. I worked out - twice. I ate a whole Chipotle burrito (with guac, 'cause that's the way I roll) right before jumping on the CTA to the Spot. I paced myself with my drinkies.
I brought a cupcake cake emblazoned with a sweetly iced "Happy Birthday, K-Rock! Chicago Comedy." I waited 'til the room was full and made Mike Bridenstine and Fay Canale lead everyone in a noisy "Happy Birthday, Dear K-Rock." I hugged her about five times. The cupcakes were yoinked off the table one by one until someone finally got too drunk and knocked the tray onto the ground. (This was a Blerds party, after all.) There were upside-down cupcakes everywhere. I laughed. I talked so much I'm still hoarse. I...shut down the bar. But I didn't go crazy - I was being pulled toward two after parties but politely begged off.
There were many cute comedy boys there. TJ Miller showed up late, as usual, and I made "hey, you!" fingers at him from across the room. Later, a bunch of people watched the pilot for his new ABC show, Carpoolers. (He moved to L.A., permanently, the next day.) I made sure to say hi to everyone I hadn't officially met. People don't believe me when I say this, but I actually am shy, and it's hard for me to walk up to someone I don't know and introduce myself. But I did it that night, again and again. What the hell. Gotta outgrow it sometime.
Lots of them said "Oh, yeah, I've seen your picture on your blog!" The more beers they'd had, the more likely they were to schmoop all over me with "I owe the Bastion my career" and "I wouldn't have a manager and an agent if it weren't for you!" Blah blah. Ridiculous. One chatted with me for awhile and then said "Oh my god, you talk just like you write! That's hilarious!" I think that's code for "Wow, you talk like a dork, too!"
Many shots were offered. Many shots were politely declined. There's shiny happy partially sunburned me at left, pushing a wayward party boob onto poor unsuspecting Jordan Vogt-Roberts, brilliant director of all the Blerds short films, and a somewhat shell-shocked looking Mike Burns, Chicago-turned-NYC comedian and Blerd.
The next day Sloan and I took a friend's dog to the beach, walked for miles, and then plopped lazily by the water eating, yes, more Chipotle. It was the best weekend I've had in a long time, and summer's not even started yet.
Hey, whaddya know, insomniac blogging did the trick. I'm going to sleep now. See you tomorrow, er, today. Whatever.