Holy fuck, it’s so cold outside. Adriana and I were going to go see a show at the DC Public Library, but the weather was like, you are going to freeze your ass off and die if you go outside, so we noped the fuck out.
I still want to see a show at the library though. Adriana says they’re renovating the basement and holding punk shows down there for the time being, until they put a new collection or whatever in. Would be pretty cool to see a punk show in a library.
We did go see Pete Holmes at the Improv though, because we bought tickets what feels like six years ago. I actually think I bought the tickets for that before I bought tickets for RAW, so yeah, a long fucking time ago.
I would just like to describe to you how fucking cold it was outside. It was Montreal cold. The kind of cold where you’re pretty sure you can see the air forming into hanging sheets of ice. Everything felt heavy. My usually teddy bear soft Hollister jeggings promptly froze into panes of canvas and then proceeded to rub all of my leg flesh off. We stopped in a bakery because we got turned around trying to run towards heat, and when I looked down to pull out my tickets and check the address, my eyes welled up with what I’m assuming were defrosted tears.
Pete Holmes was incredible though. Every bit as tall and gangly and adorable as I had been hoping. He had barely any clearance and shoved his arm through the fiberglass ceiling tiles a few times. It was just such a warm atmosphere, I loved his style. He would start giggling at himself, then the crowd would start giggling, then he would laugh harder, then everyone was fucking laughing. Watching Pete Holmes was like if you could get drunk the way they do in movies, childlike joy interspersed with fantastic, well-timed life advice. Like being that perfect three-drinks-in-everything-will-be-okay buzzed forever.