Rawhide

We went to Mason Dixon for KP's birthday. This is where I saw the lady who prompted the previous post. But I decided not to expend my energy hating. Because this was too awesome.









I totally pussed out on riding the bull because there was no audience. It's like doing karaoke to a crowd of two disinterested drunks. The best part of being ridiculous in public is the audience. You get energy from them. I would have done it if there had been a crowd of 22 wasted 22-year-olds cheering me on. I like attention, but have realized that I'll never be the star.

Several of my friends are auditioning for reality shows which is bewildering to me. I mean don't get me wrong, I'll be 100% stoked if they land them. I already find crappy tv hilarious and endlessly entertaining (I like to use my cultural studies degree as an excuse) and knowing someone on a show would be golden (even though I no longer have cable and haven't watched tv in over a month.) It's an opportunity I would have gone for a few years ago, the prospect of sitting in front of a camera talking about myself horrifies me. I wouldn't mind being a talking head on E True Hollywood Story or on VH1, but put me in a "confessional" and I think I'd start crying.

The same with being a host of a show. Wandering around talking to strangers about stuff? No thank you. I can interview people but I can't be dynamic when I do it. Call me a nerd but I can only do that sort of thing when it's subject driven. Being a professional "personality" is a way scarier job than say, deep sea fisher or veterinarian. C'est la vie...guess I won't be the next Rachael Ray. Aww dang.

The Ultimate Poser

She crossed her ankles perfectly and bent over at the waist, leaning on the door of the cab, peering in to say goodbye to her friend leaving her ass in the air pointing directly at the front windows of the bar while the dudes at my table made mocking (yet obviously pleased) gestures at the vision.

We were at Motorcity. My turf. I went into the bathroom to take a piss and as soon as I pulled my pants down the knocking started. BANG BANG BANG! "Hold on! I just got in here." A pause, 30 seconds, then BANG BANG BANG! "Calm down!" The doorknob started rattling, the door started shaking then again, BANG BANG BANG! The more the impatient asshole knocked the longer I wanted to stay in there. I rinsed off my hands, applied some lipgloss, took a deep breath then flung open the door as hard and fast as I could successfully pegging the offender with the door, knocking her into the corner.

Before I knew it I had all six foot plus stilettos of her in my face. She called me a crazy bitch, I called her a stupid cunt and told her to get into the goddamn bathroom since it was obviously such an emergency. She screamed whatthefuck and I yelled shutthefuckup and she went into the bathroom, slamming the door.

I looked around and saw that my encounter had attracted a significant audience of friends who had been watching the episode unfold while standing next to the pinball machine. They knew who was inside the bathroom when the banging began and had been waiting for the ultimate alpha lady showdown. Unfortunately it didn't come to blows. I'm not a fighter, but goddamn it would have been funny to fight a supermodel at Motorcity.

That's right, supermodel. Even though it's a dead term, she's pretty close to one, has the look of the 90s amazons down to the perfect cut off Levi's and white button-down mens shirt, very Cindy Crawford in her George Michael era of hotness.

I am a big fan of having fake rivalries with people who don't know who I am. I had a year long war with Parker Posey once. It started on the corner of 4th Ave and 12th Street. I had just finished crossing the street and passed her on the street corner when she paused, looked me up and down, and then just laughed and rolled her eyes. I wasn't dressed like an asshole, I was wearing jeans and a tshirt. No visible rips or stains, nothing to prove, but the mocking tone of her laugh was devastating and totally uncalled for. She had that perfect popular girl laugh, totally Heathers, totally bitch.

A few weeks later I was at work when I saw her again. I used to scoop icecream at Magnolia Bakery. We had a cart set up on the corner in front of the bakery and I spotted Parker Posey on rollerblades. She was obviously a beginner which cracked me up because, come on, it was 2001, who learns how to rollerblade in 2001? So passe. She ate shit hard right in front of the Marc Jacobs store, fell right on her ass. I pointed and laughed and she glared at me. It was my revenge. Even though I am certain she was completely unaware of our rivalry.

And I am sure this girl is too. But what was incredible was the aftermath that night. She directed all her energy to a male friend of mine, trying to get his attention, apparently attempting to use her wiles to steal my dude, who wasn't even my dude. She also complained to the doorguy who is a longstanding friend of mine and the DJ who is also a buddy of mine. Like I said, my turf. No one is kicking a reasonable sober girl out of a bar unless she throws a punch which, while it would have been hilarious, isn't my style. Fuck...I should have, it would've been my one chance to make Page Six.

I don't get it when girls who have everything want more all the time. Attention vampires. If you are the prettiest girl in the room you don't need to hang a sign around your neck that screams "LOOK AT ME!" because trust me, in your short shorts and pumps everyone already is.

Anyway, saw her out the other night, she obviously had no recollection so I can peacefully go on having a secret rivalry with her that she is oblivious to. Sweet.

I may regret doing this...

The Art(s & Crafts) of Partying

Maybe now isn't the time to go into this considering I just spent the past four hours tie-dyeing. But...I've been thinking about partying a lot since the epic beer bong bro-fest this weekend and I've decided to stop telling people I quit partying. Because, well, goddamnit. I haven't.

Partying is 80% attitude, 20% consumption. It is a fully demonstrative act. It's an attitude, a mindset. Consumption makes it a hell of a lot easier and last a lot longer, but it isn't necessary. Partying is a social interaction based on a series of physical signifiers such as (but not limited to) high-fives, chest-bumping, ass-slapping, dance-floor taking over, fist-bumping, summoning, surging, slaying, and a personal favorite, grapes of wrathing (if you don't know the basic rocking out gestures and stances you'd better learn them if you want to keep reading this blog.) Basically partying is all about the right combination and translation of gestures.

It may come across here that as a retired drinker I have something to prove and it's true. I mean, does having something to prove always have to be a negative thing? I am sick of hearing how much fun I used to be. I don't mind hearing people reminisce about how wild I used to be because I don't mind letting go of that part of myself because it was more part of my persona than my personality. I am happy to switch roles from instigator to enabler too. However, I don't want to say I quit "partying" because I don't think partying is necessarily synonymous with drinking and doing blow. Yeah, rumor has it I got kicked out a thrash band for partying too hard and even though that is actually an extreme simplification of things (admitted by all involved) I still get a kick out of telling people that. It's like a badge of honor (although a shameful one.) I'd rather say I reprioritized my partying than quit it altogether.

This weekend I was part of a human pyramid, took over several livingroom dancefloors, did a non-alcoholic beer bong, was kissed, ate more meat than any lady should, dug into a cake that looked like a hamburger with my bare hands, stayed out til 5 am every night, epically bikeroad, made friends, made enemies (only lame ones), successfully replaced high-fives with low-fives, and participated in various other deviations. I think I am still able to celebrate the spirit of party without blacking out and accidentally waking up somewhere other than my own bed. There are far less bruises and a few less regrets.

Things are, of course, different. My edit-function is always on and I have to try really hard to act without my filters. I have to know whether I want to do something before I do it instead of deciding that it was a good thing to do . Instead of letting chance or impulse take the reigns I am more calculated. Initially people don't think the things I do are crazy, but when they find out I am sober they do. It's as though my sobriety makes all my risks taken as threatening which is so not fair. I don't always have the upper hand although dudes treat me like I should. Just because I remember things doesn't mean they are any more easy for me...trust me.

But seriously, how fun is life without bad decisions? And who am I without risks and an artillery of potential mistakes?

Regardless...this is how I partied tonight (if it hadn't been for the pictures from this weekend this would totally undo everything I just said)

Tie-dyed shorts and Brendan Donnelly shirt (you can't tell the shirt but it is pale green and yellow)




More goods


Angela's Charles Manson tie-dye...amazing...so jealous.

Beer Bongin' Vietnam

P O R K !

Things start off so pretty...



And devolve so beautifully...



"Fuck Iraq, let's go back to Vietnam and have some real fun."

Memorial Day weekend was crowned by Rich's BBQ aka the ultimate sausage party aka Bro Council formation anniversary. When I walked out onto that patio there were about 40 dudes and 4 chicks. I like them odds...even though they did even out over time.

Much pork was eaten, cake thrown, and beer swilled. The beer bong in question is dubbed "Swilly Nelson" although we did like the lady equivalent Swillary Clinton or even Barak OBonga (we really extended ourselves this time.) I gotta say, I'll always love a good bro. In a world full of Teva-wearing, monster-truck-driving, cargo-shorts-owning Chad a closet jock (although never that good at sports) who listens to thrash metal, calls me "babe", and is a proud practioner of the grill and swill is like a godsend. After my former incarnation as Empress Brosephine den mother of the illustrious fraternity known as Team Fun I became quite comfortable as the lady amongst bros, but as the Bro Council teaches us, there is no real ladybro. Because bro-dom is a celebration of dudeness to an extreme chest bumping degree, no matter how down a girl is, her presence debilitates a bro-down, just a tiny bit. No matter how crass dudes seem, they are always holding back, just a little bit, when feminine ears are present. And thank god. Because I am already traumatized enough. Chicks may think they want to know what goes on in a dude's brain, but trust me, you don't. You'll end up like me and never date again.

But...would I really have it any other way?

Good form...


Post-bong stoicism


Are you man enough?


First lady bong of the day


Wendy's first beer bong (at this juncture Paul yelled, "Pretend it's a horse!" fully classed out)


Lex was by far the champion of the lady bong...she went so fast I only could get a satisfied "after" pic.


Which is far more graceful than her boyfriend Chris's after pic.


And then...someone found an extra of Tommy Gunn's non-alcoholic beers. Many jokes were made about how someone should bong one...I was inspired to be that someone. When I quit drinking I vowed to be able to do everything I used to have to be drunk to do. This was pretty ultimate.





Group shots (with offending babes)




More lady bong




And right around the camera died things really got weird:

So I was googling "punk flute"

I can't for the life of me remember the name of that hardcore band with a flute and a female vocalist from the late 90s. I was trying to make a joke about them last night but the name totally escapes me. I think their name has two works but I could be totally off. It always used to piss me off because I thought they were terrible but everyone I knew liked them so much and always made suggestions about them to me because I was a girl, liked heavy music, and played the flute.

Anyway, in my search I found this amazing blog entry...

"I know Josh has his problems, and he does too much smack, and his punk flute band hasn’t taken off yet, but I believe in him. He’s an artist. He wouldn’t hit me if I weren’t important to him and his work."

This is amazing(ly terrible) on so many levels I don't know where to start.

Day Maker

Homemade Pantera tattoo...



When a girl walks into your work and shows you this...something her friend gave her one night lamenting Dimebag's death all you can do is shed a tear, for it is a thing of beauty.

My Life as a Metalhead

My friend Angela Boatwright scouted me to participate in an article that's being put together about female metal fans. I emailed the woman writing the story in lieu of an interview and I basically blogged all over her inbox:

Full name: Beverly Hames
Age: 26
Currently reside in Brooklyn, New York
Born and raised in Lincoln, Nebraska

My earliest memories of metal are probably similar to most my age. There were two bands that were completely accessible during the early 90s, even to elementary school girls growing up in Nebraska, Guns N Roses and the mighty Metallica. I remember the rat-tailed camo-sweatpants wearing boys at my elementary school all had the same Master of Puppets tshirt. I used to sit behind one of them in health class and remember reading that list of song titles on the back to the tshirt so many times I eventually had them memorized: Battery, Master of Puppets, The Thing That Should Not Be, etc. Metallica's black album came out in 1991 when I was 9 years old, just around the time I started sneaking behind my mother's back to watch MTV and that video is hammered into my memory. The timing was perfect and metal became something that wasn't unreasonable for me to get excited about. From there I took the typical junior high mid-90s grunge path, educated by Beavis and Butthead we'd run through the halls of my junior high yelling "GWAR!!!" and flashing the horns for no reason and sing "Mother" in the park after school while smoking cigarettes and perfecting our burnout personas. Truthfully I never was a burnout and as my schooling progressed I morphed into a straight-edge overachiever. I am probably the only Student Council District President in the history of the state of Nebraska to spend her time in between classes jamming out to Motorhead in her car.

Regardless, it never seemed contradictory to be a nerd and listen to extreme music. Where a lot of my friends who grew up on either coast got into hardcore, everyone in my hometown listened to grindcore and death metal. That's the thing about the Midwest, metal never left. I went from being 11 and having a crush on Slash to being 17 and working a double at my job as a rollerskating waitress so I could have the next night off to see Neurosis play at a venue that doubled as an amateur strip club on the outskirts of town. No matter what other subcultural paths I went down in my youth (that unfortunately rockabilly phase or being susceptible to the dubious charms of generic Epitaph records punk and the cute skater boys that went with it) metal was always a constant and it never felt unnatural for a girl to like it. Maybe I was lucky. From a pretty young age I was pretty established as "one of the guys." The only girl who listened to records with the boys because she liked the records more than the boys. If anything, metal strained my relationship with other girls. I was always suspicious of them, worried they only wanted to be my friend because they had crushes on my male friends and unfortunately those suspicions were proven corred time and time again.

Despite being an eternal bro, women in metal were always precious to me. I never got into the riot grrl game. My first punk show was supposed to have been Bikini Kill but my friend's older cool punk rock big sister decided last minute not to take us (I don't blame her, what 17 year old wants to drag two 12 year olds with her to see Kathleen Hanna?) I wonder how my path would have been different had I seen that show. Instead I was turned off to riot grrls because the ones in my hometown were bizarrely mean to everyone, even the younger punk and metal girls. So instead of listening to Bratmobile and Bikini Kill and the more politicized all girl punk bands, I idolized Seah Yseult, the dread-locked bassist from White Zombie and put grunge bands like Babes in Toyland, 7 Year Bitch, and L7 on just about every mixtape I made.

As I grew older my knowlege of the history of metal increased. The 90s were a bleak period for metal and unfortunately that's where I got my start as a music fan. After I moved to New York I started getting more into thrash metal and was turned on to bands like Sacrilege and Sentinel Beast who had female vocalists. I was asked by a friend to join a band he was started and became the lead singer of what was initially intended to be a hardcore band but it became much more of a thrash/grind band once we started practicing. Once I started singing in a band my hunger for female-fronted metal increased and I started searching for other bands. I love the late 80's band photos, three or four hairy dudes surrounding a woman usually dressed in all black, her leather jacket adorned in spikes and studs, her fringe bangs, and her fuck you look. These were definitely not the girls in Vixen. Dirty, tough, and almost sexless, these were the metal women that I identified with. From there I discovered bands like Rock Goddess, Warlock, Chastain, and Black Lace.

As a female vocalist in a band I didn't experience too much open hostility, it was more an awkward sort of antagonism. More than anything I felt fetishized by the male portion of our fanbase a lot of the time. A dude came up to me and said, "Whoa, most women in metal don't look like you. You know, you look good!" I laughed at that one, because, let's see, long dark hair? Check. Tattoos? Check. Skin tight black jeans? Check. Sleeveless Metallica shirt? Studded jacket? Check. Yeah, sure dude, most girls in metal bands don't look like me. Most of it was pretty harmless stuff, guys hitting on me because I was in the band and whatnot, but I think that happens to everyone in a band, male or female. Occassionally someone would say something that really hurt. Like the guy who told me he'd talked to my bandmate about me when I'd first been asked to join in the band and that my bandmate had told him about this "hot chick" who was really gonna "get the guys going" and increase the potential fanbase. It's a terrible feeling to second guess the motives of your own bandmates and thankfully that guy's loose lips didn't cause a rift in the band. Still, it was annoying having to always be "Beverly Battletorn" and constantly market myself as the metal chick. I'm not the type of person to latch onto any singular identity and while I am proud to be a metalhead and my musical affinities are a huge part of my life, it's not my everything.

I definitely get more flack when I DJ than I ever got as a band member. When you are a woman behind the turntables you become a target to a lot of people who walk in the doors. I can't count the times men have come up to me and started quizzing me, trying to test my metal knowlege. My male friends don't have to deal with guys coming up to them and questioning whether or not they deserve the Judas Priest shirt they are wearing. None of them were cornered at the Venom show by aggressive 40-something year old men accusing them of spending $80 on their Raven t-shirt on ebay. That anyone would tell me I don't deserve a metal shirt or original pressing record is downright laughable, but it happens regularly. I refuse to allow these men to engage me in conversation as it seems they have two instincts when it comes to interacting with women, hitting on them or bullying them. More than anything it's the antagonism that bums me out. It's so unnecessary. The other thing I've noticed while DJing out over the years is that men get so much more excited when it's a woman playing Metal Church than if it's a guy. I don't like getting credit for playing a record just because I'm female. It's the DJ equivalent of "that was good...for a girl" and is frankly demeaning. Is it really more awesome that I played Celtic Frost versus my male DJ partner playing it? Really?

Still, it's better to feel supported than attacked. I've made quite a few female friends DJing over the years. There is nothing like playing "See You in Hell" and seeing just as many girls banging their heads and singing along with the chorus as guys.

ALSO, she totally identified with my experiences in high school so I responded thusly:

Thanks! A few of my friends rocked the same boat in their high school experiences. Brainiac and metalhead are not mutually exclusive identities, but in high school heavy metal was synonymous with burnout. I was president of a million clubs and on the debate team and in theater. I spent my weekends in basements watching bands like Assuck, Combatwoundedveteran, and Dead and Gone. Then again my high school was a little quirky. The captain of our football team was in a punk band and later took over my role as the president of Amnesty International at our school and our prom king was a theater kid who now works as a puppeteer. Not exactly your typical Midwest Johnny Football Hero fantasy land.

It makes sense when you think about it, nerds being drawn to metal. Topically metal lyrics can be on the ultra obscure side. I mean it's not exactly cool to read up on Viking mythology or be really into dragons when you are younger. Then again, most of the boys in my elementary/junior high experience were more focused on bands like Pantera and Megadeth than Iron Maiden. Their relationship with metal was about pure testosterone. It took me a long time to be able to listen to Pantera because of my associations of the super macho homophobic long-hairs who smoked cigarettes in the park with me. I have photos of a few of them, the Pantera "Cowboys from Hell" shirt was ever-present. All the popular kids where I grew up listened to Phish and The Doors and were fake hippies (and now are that weird breed of Birkenstock wearing post-sorority/frat types who are majored in business and are really into jam bands.)

Successfully negotiating the killing floor.

I work with the illustrious Miss Lesley Arfin and today in fact was at work filling in for her usual shift when the hilarious happened. A young fellow walked into the store. He came in solo, an enthusiastic kid, tall and skinny with a slight regional accept, which region was difficult to pin-down. He made a beeline for the acid-washed mens jeans and I assisted him with sizes. He came out of the fitting room and grabbed one of Brendan's t-shirts to try on with it. He engaged me in conversation about the tshirt for a moment before nervously asking me, "Does Lesley Arfin work here?"

I told him indeed she did but she was out sick today and that I was covering for her. I asked him if he knew her and he said, "No, I'm just a fan."

"A fan? How did you know she worked here?"

He looked embarassed, as if I'd accused him of being a creeper (which I guess I slightly was, but only because it was funny and he was so non-creepy.) "Some Canadian friends of mine were shopping in here yesterday and told me she was working here."

He went on to gush about how funny she was, how cute she was, what an amazing writer she was, how cute she was, how great her book was, how perceptive she was, and again, how cute she was. I of course agreed with him on all those points because she is indeed all those things.

Turns out Lesley's 21 year old fan is from Philly but has lived in Ontario for the past 10 years and currently is a seasonal employee at a gold mine in Canada (yeah, what? gold mines in Canada?) He is a huge Vice junkie and recent college grad. I should have taken a picture of him wearing the acid washed jeans and pink tie-dyed tiger shirt he wore out. I love talking to kids five years younger than me. It's not that big of a difference but they have a lot less world-weariness. They aren't bitter yet, they still have an attitude of freedom when encountering the world which is something I lost long ago and am trying to regain. (Except for kids born and raised in NYC, they are world-weary assholes by the time they are 12.)

I realize that I have gotten lazy and jaded. And it bums me out. But there is nothing worse than being bummed out about being jaded. That's like the ultimate double bummer. It's basically realizing you've become an asshole and then doing nothing to remedy it. So I am trying not to be bummed, but instead trying to be excited about something, anything, everything. It's hard to become excited again when you are used to neogiating life as survival. Still, I think the enjoyment instinct is still there, although less successfully employed than it once was.

I feel as though my generation of New Yorkers has built a culture of negation. Our creative expression is making fun. I've written about this a lot, that sort of Vice mentality that even Vice tried to break away from (and oh did it's fanbase whine and moan.) Talking to this kid today about the new music movement helmed by bands like Matt and Kim and the Deathset (musically not always my cup of tea but undeniably energetic) that's based on a common infectious enthusiasm by those on stage. Strange that it's a rarity to encounter a band that actually seems stoked to be playing for your. The sense of privilege is mutal; they seem privileged to play for you and you feel privileged to be in the audience. Smiling onstage, should that be so rare? I mean, I understand that smiles don't have a place in all music, in fact most of the music I listen to. My primary expectation from a doom metal band is not affability, but still, it is nice to see people genuinely enjoying themselves while entertaining you and that's what this whole party punk + keyboards scene is all about.

I don't want my life to be dictated by cultural forces that are essentially negative. Vice has always seemed like Maxim for Discord fans, the post-punk (as in post-an individual's indentifying as-punk) lowest common denominator. Every attempt at serious discussion is thwarted by the readership as "lame" or "faggy" and you know how excited these dudes are to use the word faggy and know they won't be scolded.

It's hard to find people these days who will admit that something is amazing or...sigh "awesome" that isn't directly related to their own reality. We only champion the works of our friends and contemporaries. Our realm is exclusive and tiny even though we live in this massive city. We get stoked on things in our immediate reality while exploration (aside from the art of the google image search) is a dying art.

I want out. Not of this city. But out of this mindset. And I think I found a way, but I'll tell you more about that later.

I "Hate" NPR

Okay, so maybe "hate" is a strong word, but I generally react with extremes when I am universally supposed to like something and just, well, don't. It's kind of like my never ending battle with the Pixies. I don't hate the Pixies, but I sure don't like them. And because I don't like them and have been subjected to them time and time again, I've grown to hate them. It's entirely reactionary. I have no underlying objection to them, but I just would never chose to listen to them, yet am consistently forced to. I once tried to go a month without listening to the Pixies, Doolittle in particular, and after three days I realized I wouldn't be able to leave my house if I really wanted to be successful in my avoidance of the band.

I feel that same way about NPR. I don't mind it, in fact I'm quite the champion of oral history, a HUGE fan of Studs Terkel and his work, and even studied audio documentary in college and genuinely enjoyed it and my work was well received by my professor, National Public Radio producer, Sarah Montague.

Sarah was a calm and mild mannered professor with a voice like warm cup of tea, all honey no lemon. I'd sit back in class just listening to her speak, she could be telling a story about her cat and it didn't matter, everything she said was immediately engaging. Classic NPR voice. She was deeply passionate about her craft and her dedication made me want to respect her craft. I wanted to love the pieces she played for us in class, wanted to badly to hold my interested long enough to actively seek out the other programs she encouraged us to listen to. I tried to love the radio, but like theory, I only liked what I produced and couldn't jive with the work of others. I'd already been a writer who never reads, a cultural theorist with no one to site, and now was transitioning into an audio documentarian who wasn't a fan of the form.

I am a college graduate who is liberal-leaning and consider myself a fan of the finer arts, yet I have no desire to listen to "This American Life". Is that so wrong? Maybe I am just not a joiner. When something is universally adulated I tend to think it stinks. When I listen to the carefully studied self-effacing tone adopted by Dan Savage or David Sedaris, I cringe. The topics ranging from how you thought you were cool and realized you weren't or...even worse, how having kids made you realize you weren't as cool as you thought you were, don't hold my interest. Yes, your perfomance art piece in 1997 was embarassing and you should feel embarassed about it, but to listen to you speak about it in a carefully rehearsed "casual" tone makes me want to puke. Blog about it and I'll read it, tell me the story and I'll listen, but when you script it and read it aloud and pause for laughter (if it's live) or provide your own half-chuckle that reeks of self-loathing it becomes too close to "performance" for me to handle.

This attitude doesn't apply to comedians necessarily, but is often extended to them. Maybe that's because so few comedians are actually funny. But that's a whole other rant (and really, enough people have bitched about Dane Cook and Jimmy Fallon already.) My roommate listens to "This American Life" in the living room. I hate it. It makes me want to hit something or someone. I try to shut my door and play music as loud as is reasonably polite so I can shut out those voices. That smug bastard tone that seems to be a requirement of a radio essayist is like murder to my ears. It's the self-satisfied tenor of the finally validated nerd. It says, "I'm on NPR. That means I'm smarter than you." It's the ultimate "making it" for brainiac rejects who always had their hands raised in class. I should know, I was one of those, maybe that's why I liked working in audio but never listening to it. You see, I was also brainiac asshole...I liked to speak up, but never listened. (Come on, what would a rant about NPR be if I didn't put in some self-effacing commentary of my own?)

Memorial Day Weakend

For the first time in the history of my working life I have Memorial Day weekend off. That shit never happens when you work in retail, but god bless Judi Rosen, we are closed Memorial Day weekend and the 4th of July weekend...hell yeah!

I am adapting to my new existence as a weekend warrior. I am managing The Good The Bad & The Ugly doing all their PR, web sales, and displays. I've never been a proper manager and I find it hilarious that I manage two people...wow, what power! Still it feels good to be trusted with someone's business. I mean I'm not an asshole, I just never got promoted before at my old jobs because I was in school, in a band, touring, and...oh yeah...a huge drunk.















Wow, that last picture...a few months later I was making out with a dude in my room and he knocked over a lamp with a bare bulb. It fell on the bag and we didn't notice until we smelled something burning and realized the heat from the lightbulb burned a hole through the bag. I didn't realize until after I moved out of that sublet that I had in fact burnt the floor and warped a pile of records the bag had been sitting in front on. Gavin Russom, the person I had been subletting from called me and asked if there had been a fire in the apartment while they'd been away. I immediately knew what he was talking about and my stomach sank. There is nothing you can do in that situation but tell the truth, no matter how humiliating it may be. I lost the majority of my $750 deposit replacing multiple rare records and repairing the floor.

One of the above pictures was taken on the Battletorn tour when I was drinking every single night. My first night on the road earned me the nickname "Sister Swagger" and it went downhill from there. It's the picture with Walter, Matt, and me sitting in the back of a pickup truck. It was taken in Minot, North Dakota. I look so terrible, so bloated and unhealthy. I can joke about it now, but when I came home from that tour my pants didn't fit me anymore. I gained about 15 pounds in a month and it took a long time for my body to recover from that abuse, and my relationship with my bandmate never did recover. Harsh.

Anyway, I'm in charge of someone's livelihood and am not scared about it. It's a good feeling. Looking back, I get it. I know why I wasn't ever a manager at Beacon's Closet. Maybe the constant hangover puking in the bathroom, showing up still drunk reeking of vodka had something to do with it. Who knows?

I got an invitation from a friend to go to a house upstate for the weekend. All I want to do is run around in the woods and sit in front of a fire. Far away from beer-soaked memories and city walls.

Things that rule

Pink Tie-dye Motorhead Shirt, gift from Brendan

AND



Yes, that's Glen smoking through a grape. No fruit is too small for our brave soldier...

All in a day's work

I make high-class blingee. Very nice.

I'll never get over it

Sorry, but I just think bongs are hilarious.



















On a related note:

Ummm...I HEART Ebay

Gift for Brendan


METAL CHURCH NECKLACE?!?!?!


Led Zeppelin earrings...I am sorry, I guess I really am this big of a piece of trash. Summer stoner style. Gonna look like I belong at the fairgrounds.