This Yellow Taxi Cab In Which I Ride

The list. It's open mic and you should be here at caffe lena. We miss your pesence and especially your voice. Most likely you are at home and not wanting to venture out into the cold January night that we are having. I don't blame you; it is very cold and the roads are somewhat treacherous in parts if you aren't careful. Enjoy your being warm, but think about us here at the open mic. After all, we are thinking about you! Wish you were here

I hate sweat pants and I use the word "hate" because it is a simple word and tends to be precise. However, I feel a stronger distaste to sweat pants than the word "hate" can truly communicate. (This thought is brought to you by the three college age women at Panera bread who are wearing sweats and look disgusting). *Note: the last time I wore sweat pants, I was in 6th grade. I have not worn them since. I'm in Panera Bread (as you may have guessed) in Schenectady. I'm having a "me-date." First, I picked up some cat paraphernalia for Orea (my cat), which was the purpose of me leaving the house today. Then, I went to Barnes and Noble and spent about fifty dollars on books. I think I am excited about reading again. I had picked up a bunch of books back in late summer and started reading one of them. I just couldn't get into it... it remains one of only a handful of books that I started and did not complete. I grabbed some interesting looking fantas

It must be open mic night. I am sitting quietly in a back corner of rhe caffe with the harmonica contraption around my neck. Of course, I am feeling uneasy about playing the harmonica for the first time in front of people... I guess: here goes nothin'. Guitars

It's a new year and I have been out of the house a couple of times so far. Which essentially means I'm not fulfilling my resolution of hybernating until spring. Although, this morning (it's really almost noon), I find myself in bed and not wanting to get out of it regardless of how much crap housework I have to do today. I have heard the phone ring twice and my cell phone buzz once and I haven't made any moves to detach myself from the bed. One of the times-that-I-left-my-house-so-far-this-year was suppossed to be fun and somewhat fulfilling. It turned out to be awkward and I left. I went to an open mic night in Fultonville. I had first heard about the open mic some time last summer and had every intention of attending some time. It is held once a month in a basement in a church. I finally made myself go (telling myself it was my new year's resolution to put myself in new situations) this past Saturday night. I arrived at about ten minutes to seven, found the sign u