now, i know what you're thinking. or what you SHOULD be thinking.what you should be thinking is, "Lyla, why the fuck are you at work when you're supposed to be at the *Leftover Crack* show in an HOUR?"which is mind-blowingly preferable to what I've been thinking, which has been going something like this, "Icantbelieveimstuckhereallfuckingnightiboughttheticketsandnowi'mstuckatworkihateyoulindsayandyourstupidquittingbitchass."I am not...how do you say?...HAPPY.It's not that I'm the biggest LC fan in the world, or even in this city, or probably even in this city block. Maybe not even in the building. Oh wait, I AM, at least in this building. Because everyone else that requested off for the goddamn show is NOT HERE because they are lining up at the doors for the show. But I like them, and I bought tickets, and I had plans to be drunk and loud with my friends in ways that are only appropriate at loud punk shows full of other drunk and loud people. And I wanted to hear them bitch about homophobes and republicans and clear channel and GRR i am so mad. And there was going to be glorious beer pong afterwards, and beer, and happily carousing about my friend's apartment complex in the middle of the night. And instead, I'm stuck at work. And yeah, I could still go over there after the show, but then they'll all be on their concert high and I'll be pissed and probably drink too much out of sheer jealousy, and then I'll be sick and hungover and I have to work AGAIN tomorrow.as a matter of fact, in the next two weeks, I'm working 95.5 hours because of her. Sure, I need the money, but I also need, like, my sanity intact.In other news, I might be getting a job at Greenpeace when I move up to DC. Jeff is coming down from DC tomorrow night and we are bar-hopping the gay clubs and it will be fantastic. He is just too cute to live. And then all the boys will buy him drinks and I'll (once again) be called StraightGirlLyla all night, which should perhaps bother me, but it doesn't. I'm trying to cheer myself up. It almost worked.