Injustice!

Got a phone call yesterday from my cousin in Germany. Yes, I have a cousin in Germany, like the Windsor family, I'm sure. Except they're royals and I'm not. The upside is I don't have people taping my phone lines for a national scandal.

Then again, if they'd taped my phone line yesterday they would have heard many anguished and frustrated screams on my cousin Jazz's part. Jazz is in her thirties, and she's my only first cousin on my dad's side. She moved to Germany because her husband wanted to study there. Long story short, she got married, moved to a foreign country, and is now eight months pregnant.

Hence the screaming.

"I AM CALLING YOU BECAUSE I AM MISERABLE!" Jazz says to me once she's done speaking to my father and my sibling. "I AM TELLING YOU, CM, IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU, YOU WILL NOT GET PREGNANT."

I laugh, because I'm weird that way, and because somehow, it's still a bit her fault she's pregnant. She wanted a kid, after all.

And yes, she speaks in caps.

"Did you know," she wails in frustration and hormone-enhanced anguish, "that women are pregnant for something closer to ten months rather than nine?? *cue indignation* EVERYTHING they ever told us was a LIE! IT IS NOT FAIR."

Trying to be sympathetic (and failing miserably at containing my laughter), I say, "I assume you're getting tired of carrying a baby?"

"DON'T LET MEN DO THIS TO YOU! You know why?? Because right now, I AM FAT, HUNGRY, MOODY, AND MISERABLE. So I'm calling you to ensure everyone ELSE is as MISERABLE AS ME."

"You're failing in your goal," I say, unable to keep from cracking up.

Jazz suddenly seems to calm down. In a very poised tone, she asks, "Sooo, any cute guys in college?"

"Certainly," I say, and this causes her to cackle evilly.

"Oh, college is the best time. BUT DON'T LET THEIR LOOKS FOOL YOU. USE PROTECTION!!!"

Jazz is back to hysteria. This causes me no end of amusement.

"So when are you due?" I ask, because it's pointless to explain who Project Boy, Admin Boy and Slim are to an oblivious, hormone-crazed woman whose only preoccupation at the moment is her overgrown belly.

"At the end of November!" She says, like this is the greatest scandal in the world. "How have women been doing this for all humanity??"

Assuming this is a rhetorical question, I spare her any smart-alecky comments. "Well, I've never been pregnant, but I sympathize."

"You sympathize?" She asks, weakly, like it's the most touching thing she ever heard in her life.

"Yes, Jazz. You can do it."

"Okay, I feel so much better now."

The conversation ended not long after. Speaking to someone in Germany (across a whole ocean, mind you) is freaking cool.

Later that night, I attended the unholy Battle of the Bands. Anyone who's ever been to high school/college will know what a BotB is: a contest between amateur music bands to determine which one deserves a prize in money.

Slim had sold me a ticket two weeks ago because, he said, his band needed fans. He's a drummer of surprising skill and stage presence, so I wasn't going to say no. Besides, plenty of friends would be there, so we were probably going to have a blast.

Project Boy was supposed to be there too, but I didn't really go for him: I went to encourage Slim. Lots of people I knew were there, so we hogged a few rows in the back and filled them up. I'd say we were approximately twenty Slim n' band fans.

I was seated between Alex and Eva. Behind me were Rick, a friend of Slim's, and other musical geniuses, though they weren't participating, Guy and, next to him, Dague. The two are, respectively, a keyboardist and a guitarist. They usually team up with Slim, but they couldn't enter the contest because Dague doesn't attend our college.

The organisers of the BotB had made some space in the front of the stage for a mosh pit, but it didn't exactly turn into a full-out brawl. Rick and Alex still dropped in for the kick, though, after leaving their wallets, keys and cell phones in my guard, though they seemed disappointed that they couldn't shove people around much.

The show started, predictably, with a band whose talent was alright, but whose music sounded chaotic, à la Pink Floyd. Because of this, it wasn't exactly pleasant to the ear on massive speakers, but the music was complex enough.

The next band was okay too, but since they had sold the most tickets, the majority of the room was cheering for them. This is probably what got them the final victory. Their style was a bit emo rock, with the lead singer a girl whose voice was good, but drowned out by her musicians.

The final band was Slim's. They definitely got the points for stage presence. One might say they had the reputation of having the funniest band members there, with the lead singer a talented guy whose jokes are well-known and often repeated.

Eva made a poster for him, actually. The lead singer, I mean. It said "YOU ARE MY BABY!" because he'd asked for a poster that said either "Make me a baby!" or "You are my idol!" As Eva said, it was a mere slip-up.

Frankly, though, everyone was there to cheer for Slim, who was without a doubt the best drummer at the show. Because you have to be pretty hot a drummer to be able to twirl your drumsticks in your fingers between two beats and not mess up. He even got a solo, which just served to reinforce how awesome his drumming skills were.

By the time we had to cheer for our favourite band, all the Slim n' band fans got to their feet and howled like enraged animals.

Still, the judges gave the points to the other two bands, because, we suspect, they were friends with them.

In frustration, we all boycotted the rest of the show. Heh. We spent most of the time hanging outside the concert room and laughing with Slim, who was pretty calm about it. Eva, Michelle and I, on the other hand, were indignant.

INJUSTICE, we cried. THE JUDGES WERE PARTIAL.

Project Boy seemed a bit vague and tired. I didn't speak to him much, except before the concert, when he wouldn't sit down at the end of our row because, he claimed, he had a cramp in his right butt cheek. Which of course caused us all to wonder how he could get rid of that strange problem (other than a butt massage, which none of us, not even I, were willing to offer). Rick leaned over and asked me if I, unlike him, was able to tense just one butt cheek and not both at the same time. Alex said he was trying and couldn't manage. The three of us just sat there, trying to figure it out, when suddenly Eva rolled her eyes and said the conversation was rather juvenile.

Well, whatever. If anyone can tense just one butt cheek and not the two of them, I'm curious to hear about it.

ANYHOW. That is why I haven't posted chapter 13 of Only in Hyrule yet. I was busy tensing butt cheeks in a concert hall and comforting a pregnant woman.

Well, you gotta do your civic duty is what I say.

Chapter 13 will be up today, though.

Love,
CM