bathtub gin

Here comes the joker
with his silly grin
he carries a martini
made of bathtub gin

Wendy's on the windowsill
Waiting to be let in
And were all in the bathtub now
Making Bathtub Gin

Tao of Pauly
Change 100
The Rooster
Coventry: A Phish Blog
Al Cant Hang
Live Music Blog
Phish & Chips

Raise Hell, Drink Beer.
Get Trished.
Indigo Boulevard

The Joker
is enjoying:

Sound Tribe Sector 9

Beck: Guero

TiVo is the Greatest thing EVER.

making bathtub gin:

the joker
31, Pisces
Denver, CO

Windowsill Wendy
is enjoying:

Banquet Beer.

Wilco: Sky Blue Sky

Cassis Rose = Yum

windowsill wendy
29, Capricorn
Denver, CO

"Music is a spiritual expression of what's in your heart. Music as a way of getting rich is a pretty new thing, and I often wonder if the mega-bucks glitzy atmosphere is making the quality of music suffer. You have to work really hard to get around that and remember why you're in it in the first place: because you have to be. It's like an addiction. You can't go a day without picking up your guitar. To me, the only commercial goals that are really valid are, 'Boy, I wish I didn't have to go to work. I wish I could do this all the time."
-Trey Anastasio

"Impose rules to make life simpler. Break them to make life more fun."
-Jon Fishman

Thursday, July 12, 2007


posted 9:54 PM by Windowsill Wendy

Dear Wind,

Today was not the day for you to make an appearance. It is skirt season, after all. Seriously. I'm pretty sure the employees of Colorado Springs Health Partners got a show this afternoon that they didn't bargain for. I am mortified.



Dear On The Border Margaritas,

Is there any alcohol in there? Or am I just such a drunk now that tequila has no effect on me? I could teach you a thing or two about what being a quality margarita really means. Come on, now.




Dear Wolf Whistlers,

I really don't understand. I've made it almost thirty years without being wolf-whistled-at. Why start now? And on the two or three days when I'm completely fried from an almost total lack of sleep, carrying bags around under my eyes that could pass for carry-ons and not even dressed a little bit sexy. Maybe it's because I'm the only female on the planet who stops for gas three days in a row before five am?

Scratching my head over this one,



Dear Mountains,

I miss you. I really, really, REALLY need another weekend of no cell phones, no internet, no TV, no radio, etc. I feel my sanity hanging on by the barest thread, and if I don't get some R & R soon, I think that thread will snap completely. I need starlight, pine trees and camp fires ASAP. Get ready, because you're going to be seeing me very, very soon.




Dear Rock Climbing,

I heart you. No, really, I do. You might have totally kicked my ass on Saturday, but it didn't suck at all. The bruises are fading, the knicks and scratches are healing, and the muscles are mending. I think you and I are getting ready to become quite acquainted. I'm looking forward to it.




Dear Work,

You know I love you. I mean, I know I've been a little bit burned out lately, but I'm completely re-energized all of a sudden. When someone tells me I can't do something, it really makes me get pretty bull-headed about accomplishing a task. It's been an uphill battle to make people believe in me for the past ten or eleven months, but I think many of them have started to see the light. With a few lucky breaks, I might accomplish more than I imagined possible six months ago. That's when work suddenly seems like play. True, the long hours are getting to me a bit, and I know I'm staring down the barrel of twelve weeks of complete and utter chaos, but that chaos is going to be organized and methodical. Tell me I can't do something - hrumph. Just fucking watch me. I'll show you.

Kickin' ass and takin' name,




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