Hard to Follow (Up)

Comrades!
It's me again.
I'm writing my blog post in Starbucks.
Just as Starbucks intended.
What is a Starbuck supposed to be, anyway?
Perhaps they refer to their revunue as Starbucks because they intend to use it to buy a planet.
Or solar system.
Doesn't matter.
Doesn't matter.

I'll be on stage within a couple of hours.
I'm doing a weekend with Allyson Smith.
Sorta looks like a teacher who wanted to be a writer.
I have to speak to her before we get started because I think I accidentally flirted with her last time she was in town.
Despite the fact that I know they have self-esteem issues, I can't think of a more terrifying woman than a comic.
Like myself, Allyson Smith did Just For Laughs early into her career.
I mistake this coincidence as kinship of some sort.
I asked her what I should do after the fact.
She advised that I 'follow up on it.'
I nodded while realizing that I didn't know what that meant.
While she was in town I offered to stop by because I wanted to ask her about it.
This is the situation.
You people don't need to know any of this.
I'm just practicing my apology which I'll be spewing at her in a couple of hours.
I still don't really know what it means, by the way.
Move out of your parents' house, probably.

Speaking of empty nests, mom and dad have flown the coop for a few weeks.
Some Winnebago extravaganza that leaves me man of the house.
I babrbecued everything I ate yesterday.
They're gone for what will be the best three weeks of my summer.

Gandar is over (but not forgotten.)
I performed to a room with an odd shape and a lot of quiet, middle-aged people in it.
I went too long and then Sheehan made me look bad.
In the best possible way.
He didn't like it when I said that he had a square head.
If he dislikes the things I say about him publicily, he'd hate the things I say about him behind his back.
Kidding John!
Kidding.
He drove myself and Avril home to Bay Roberts.
We talked shop, he gave advice, and we listened to Appetite For Destruction.
It was a good gig.
We stopped at a flea market.
I was about to haggle with a round woman in a cowboy hat and fanny pack.
Over a game.
But then she had a frank and terse discussion with a guy who ran another flea market table.
It seemed like he was talking about how wrong all of the flea market "staff" was to dislike him.
She seemed to think that they were all on to something.
I chose to eavesdrop on that instead.

Maybe I'm the coolest loser out there.