Rockin’ out.

Right this very second I am sitting on the couch with Michael and Calvin, Michael’s girlfriend is on the loveseat, and we’re making OH so much fun of the “Separate Ways” video. Which we have on DVD. Because we’re not just fair weather Journey fans. Oh no, we’ve stuck with them through the air keyboards and the mullets and the skin-tight jeans with uncomfortable looking bulges. And now they’re on their, what, eightieth lead singer? This guy from the Philippines? Haven’t heard him yet. I’m kind of reluctant.

We (the four of us, on two motorcycles) rode up to Scottsdale again today and hit the tequila and taco bar we were at last weekend. Too lazy to link to the entry, sorry, just scrolly scrolly. It apparently cost the bar $1400 to get the bottle of tequila that they charge $200 a shot. We still didn’t get one. We got their tacos, though, which were THE SHIT. Then we rode back down to the Darkhorse for a couple of beers and $10 worth of jukebox hero. And now we’re back home watching a Journey DVD because it’s Saturday night and we can.

Last night I sang karaoke. Yes, ME. Not once, but TWICE. Calvin ran out to the parking lot both times. Otherwise they’d be cleaning his brains off of the bar stools still today. I totally rocked Frankie Valli and Pat Benetar. Well, perhaps not so much rocked as made it through without embarrassing myself too much. There were shots involved. It’s quite possible I sucked worse than I remember. Calvin doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.

And that’s the news.