I can’t think of a title.

I’m pretty sure that the amount of fun you have at night is directly proportional to the amount of embarrassment/guilt you feel the next morning. For example, if you stay home and knit (I’ve spent many a night doing this) you are very unlikely to feel embarrassed about that. Well… you might feel embarrassed if you tell other people. Never mind, that was a horrible example. Here, if you go to Mexico and snort cocaine with prostitutes in the men’s bathroom behind a Taco Shop (yeah, I know someone who did this), you will likely be embarrassed. Or at least you should be. Does that work as an example for this concept? Maybe this proportionality is only the case for me because I’m strange. (I’m not actually proposing that I’m strange–I’m well aware of this fact.)

Anyway, now that I’ve completely messed up my metaphor, I’ll just talk about what I originally planned to talk about.

Last night was very fun, I think. (Mind you, I was pretty hammered so I’m not completely sure about this. So this will be a combination of speculation, fuzzy memories, and what I’ve been told.) And now, today, I mildly hate myself. Well, more than normal. (Self-loathing teenage? Say what?!)

(Just a warning, I’m in a parentheses mood, so these will be appearing often).

Sunday afternoon, after a ridiculous blow-out with my brother, I went to hang out with my friend, the  lovely Dean. We wandered (can you wander in a car?) around our boring town for a while, stopping at the mall so I could return a shirt, sitting in Starbucks for a while… Eventually, I said “How about we go to the beach?” Which was a really stupid idea considering it was dark out and pouring and normal people would want to stay home. But Dean agreed because he’s an agreeable person. I drove through random side roads, through the mountains, shouting every time a bat or bunny was in view. And then, at a certain point, I decided that I wanted to drink. My brother is my usual supplier of alcoholic beverages, but he was mad at me and we were 45 minutes away from home anyway so…

I automatically drove to a liquor store and somehow convinced my friend to try to buy a 12 pack even though he’s just 19. The thing is, Dean doesn’t drink. His dad’s an alcoholic and so he’s only even been drunk once; when he was with me and I convinced him to. He was just doing this because I didn’t want to be sober.  I told him to act like he had forgotten his ID at home. He went into the liquor store and they turned him down. He asked some people walking into the store, and they, too, turned him down. So, I drove to a 7/11 and had the same situation. And then another liquor store after that.

There were some guys standing outside so I told Dean to ask one of them. This time, the guy agreed. As we waited in the car for the guy to return with the beer, I was absolutely terrified and kept saying “I bet he was a cop. He was a cop, wasn’t he? He’s calling for back up! That’s why he’s been gone so long! We’re going to be arrested!” In all actuality, he was only in the store for about 5 minutes, but with my panicked exclamations, it seemed drastically long than that. But, finally, he came back . The guy told us he wouldn’t have bought it for us, but he was all out of money and really needed that 7 dollars we had promised him. Turned out, he was homeless. But before he had agreed to buy us the beer, he had made sure we wouldn’t be driving and asked Sean a number of times if he was actually over 21. (He had stuck by the ‘I lost my ID’ story I had concocted.)

The rest of the night was pretty dumb. I chugged two beers while I had Dean drive. Then, for some reason, we decided to head over to our friend’s house. That wouldn’t have been an issue, but her dad was still up. I put on my best sober act though, and luckily, it wasn’t too noticeable that I had been drinking. I must be the cheapest drunk in the world, managing to be buzzed on just two beers…

Then things get kind of fuzzy. We went back to the car, and I had a few more beers. It’s weird, I never drink beer honestly, except when there’s nothing else around. I usually do shots of vodka because, while it’s disgusting, at least it’s quick. Beer tastes substantially better, but takes way too long to drink. Plus, I feel like hard liquor is somehow more sophisticated than beer. (Because asking homeless people to buy you alcohol is just the essence of sophistication…)

At one point I made Dean pull over so I could throw up on the side of the freeway. I had picked up Dean, so he called my brother to see if he could drive him home– said he would just have to stay the night. So, basically, I pretty much screwed up everything. Generally, I can’t remember anything when I drink. I have so much that there are just bits in pieces that come through, but I remember last night. I didn’t wake up thinking “Well last night was fun, whatever happened.” I woke up thinking “Shit, why did I do those things? Why did I say those things?”

Things ended up working out ok, though. I mean, apart from the headache and nearly falling asleep in my morning class. And my mother being angry. She keeps asking “where I got that booze”, which, is one of the most irritating phrases ever. Booze is such a dumb word. I’m not sure if I think this because it’s actually an annoying word or if it’s just because my mom likes to use it.

But, honestly, there’s a reason that you don’t remember things when you drink. I think your brain is blocking out that embarrassment so you don’t dwell on your stupidity too much. It’s like a defense mechanism or something. A defense mechanism–so you don’t have to realize what an ass you just made of yourself.

Goth Concerts: A Love Story

Last night I went to see the lovely and legendary Peter Murphy! Well. He’s legendary if you like the same kind of weird music as I do. I went with my friends Alexa and Matt and Matt’s friend who’s name I don’t completely remember, though it did sound something like America so I’ll just call her that.  We had to drive to Pasadena to pick up Matt and America from Caltech because Matt’s a mad genius and goes to a smart school. We took my car because Alexa’s car is fabulous and sporty but completely uncomfortable if you are over five feet tall–which everyone was. Traffic was horrible, as is often the case on Friday nights when you drive to LA. Not that I was actually driving; I asked my friend to drive because I don’t particularly like driving the majority of the time.

Because of the stupid traffic, we didn’t get to Pasadena until an hour before the concert started which was a bit of a problem because the my phone GPS thing told me that it would be an hour and a half to get from Pasadena to Santa Ana where the concert was. Luckily, Alexa drove very quickly and we made it there in only an hour! The whole drive we listened to Peter Murphy and Bauhaus, which was the band he was originally in and made stupid jokes that weren’t actually funny. When we finally got to the concert venue we drove back and forth in front of the place about ten times because we couldn’t see an entrance, so we actually did end up being pretty late.

As we were waiting in line to enter the venue some middle-aged women with sequin pants walked up to the four of us and greeted Alexa and Matt like old friends. Apparently they had met at a past show and had reserved a table for us inside, which was quite the treat for us because you generally can’t get a table unless you’re over 21, and only America was. As we entered the building and immediately smelled that sweet sweet aroma of marijuana and vomit. We immediately went to the stage and got a great spot for the show.

We had to wait an hour an a half, but finally the first act came on, which was a group called the Sacred Spiders. They all appeared to be 50 or 60 years old. The bassist looked like Herman Munster with black lipstick and eyeliner–the whole shebang. The lead singer sort of looked like Billie Joe Armstrong likely will in 20 years. Their first song was pretty decent, though not incredibly impressive. But then as the song ended, The singer began crossing himself like Catholics did. And then praying. And then he was on the ground kind of rolling around, apparently having some sort of religious experience. I just stood there, trying hard not to laugh, and looking at my friends in confusion. I wasn’t sure if this was normal procedures for goth acts, but considering they were laughing too, I decided my response wasn’t to far off base. Finally, the singer finished being touched by Jesus or whatever was happening, and continued singing. A guy standing next to me asked me what I thought of the band and I sort of gave a nonchalant shrug only to find out they were friends of his. So then I was like “Yeah, they’re um really pretty good I um like them yup not bad at all I have to go…” And moved farther into the crowd. The set ended with a song about Occupy Wallstreet (“This is why we occupy!” was the shouted chorus) which left me laughing once again. As they left the stage, the singer handed me a black rose.

While we waited for the next performer, a girl a few years older than me saw us and greeted Matt and Alexa with a hug. Turned out, they had met her at another show also and were friends. Jessie, as I found out was her name, happened to friends with Peter Murphy, but was currently fighting with him about something known as the ‘Miracula Sessions’. Also, he boyfriend used to be Peter Murphy’s photographer. At this point, Jessie was fairly drunk, and kept saying things to us “You’re like babies, you’re so young!” and asking her boyfriend “Would you be sad if I died?” Luckily, her boyfriend hadn’t had as much to drink and was looking after her so we didn’t have to.

The next act finally came on, which turned out to be just one girl with a synthesizer type of thing. She was wearing a black dress and silver body paint. She had her back to the crowd for the majority of the performance and sang morosely over drum beats. She seemed incredibly nervous and kept shaking and I ended up being nervous for her. Jessie told me loudly that she felt sorry for the girl that Peter Murphy and did heroin backstage.

After the girl finished her performance, my friends and I went back to the table and ate. I also went to the bathroom where there was an attendant, so that was weird. We all went back to watch the show, though, as the lights dimmed and out walked Peter Murphy in his eyeliner and lipstick, looking unlike any other 54 year old man. I quickly learned that Peter Murphy, AKA the Godfather of Goth, was one of the strangest human being in the entire world. And I loved it. He twirled a lot and struck poses that were obviously meant to be sexy. But, as I mentioned, he was 54 and the years had not been especially kind to him. It was really very odd, seeing middle aged woman literally throwing themselves at him. He would occasionally kneel down and about ten people would reach to stroke his face. I also quickly learned that Peter Murphy isn’t particularly nice or humble. At one point, he got really into things and kicked over his mic stand, which then hit this girl square in the face, and he wasn’t the least bit  apologetic. He also constantly berated his bass player and made sexual innuendos. But the man can sing! And it was glorious. Jessie and her boyfriend were both standing in front of me, and her boyfriend had become far more drunk than earlier and kept running into people. Finally he completely passed out and fell to the floor, pulling Jessie down with him. I continued to standing there so he ended up falling on me too, which was slightly painful. Security carried the guy out after that.

After two encores, Peter Murphy walked off stage, cigarette in hand, and threw his microphone at a tech guy and the show was over. Everyone was sad to see him leave, but it was quite obvious another encore was out of the question for Peter.  The four of us left the club happily after what was an undeniably amazing night. We saw Jessie as we left, she had broken up with her boyfriend.

And that was pretty much my night!

I later asked my friends what the Miracula Sessions were. Apparently, Peter Murphy spent a weekend in Vegas with around 50 people. They had dinner with him and watched him perform, and at the end of it all he would give them a special gift. All for the low low price of $4000. Ahh, Peter Murphy. I guess that’s musicians for you.

My life is just one long, excruciatingly awkward moment.

Well today was interesting. I am sleeping on the couch because my bed is broken. Yes, broken. It’s like 80 years old and the stupid pieces of wood moved and the freaking mattress basically fell down. Let me tell you, when your bed fall out from underneath you, that is a very intense moment.

Yesterday I dyed my hair bright red which likely looks odd on me, but I don’t really care because I like it. I also like the fact that dressing up as David Bowie or Gerard Way would be much simpler. Because I do that from time to time. My brother has decided that I look like Hayley Williams and now sends me text messages of Paramore lyrics and walks up behind me whispering “Crush, crush, crush…”

I went to karaoke tonight because it’s Wednesday and that’s just what I do on Wednesday nights. My friends Dean and Alexa went with and Alexa bought her boyfriend Weston. I felt the need to sing a Paramore song in honor of my new hair, but then I got nervous and ended up singing the whole thing an octave lower than normal (my voice gets low when I’m nervous), so that was sufficiently embarrassing, I’d say. I also sang a Backstreet Boys song–Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)–as well as a I Wanna Talk About Me by Toby Keith, both of which turned out to be crowd pleasers.

Today, of course, is Pi Day (3/14), so after we had our fill of karaoke-ing, we went to the grocery store and bought a pie. We then went to In-N-Out to eat it because that’s pretty much the only place that we know stays open late. I ordered coffee so we wouldn’t feel bad about taking our pie there to eat. However, my coffee was very strong and I’m weird, so I ended up adding 10 packets of creamer and 6 packets of sugar. In retrospect, that might have been a bit much… Anyway! We all had forks and ate the pie from the container. Yes, the entire thing. It wasn’t that big, but I’d still say it was pretty impressive. I think you should be impressed.

We sat in the restaurant for a good hour reminiscing, likely because I couldn’t stop humming the theme from Sesame Street. At one point, my friend Dean said that no one ever wanted to play with him in elementary school, which I, apparently found HILARIOUS, because I immediately started laughing. The only problem with this (apart from the fact that I’m laughing at my friends misfortune–more on that later) was that I had just taken a large sip of coffee. Everyone was staring at me and laughing because I was laughing so I laughed harder, which, because my mouth was occupied with the coffee, looked something like a spasm or seizure. I tried to swallow the coffee, but started to choke on it and preceded to spit coffee all over the table and myself. It was a great moment. At this point, I had also started to cry because I was laughing so hard and consequently had clothes covered in coffee and and a face smeared with eye makeup. It was a good moment in my life.

Five minutes later I had the same choking/coffee explosion experience, but, luckily, this time I made it to a trash can before a sprayed the table, friends, and myself. I believe there is something wrong with me.

Anyway! The fact that I was laughing as hard as I did at my friend’s lack of companionship in elementary school makes me think that there is something very, very wrong with my personality. I’m really concerned that I am a bad person or something. And it’s not just that! The other day, someone that I know used the word “gay” as a negative adjective, which I found to be offensive, especially since my gay friend was there at the time. He apologized later, saying that it just slipped out and he hadn’t said that since middle school. But later, my friend went on about it, saying that it shouldn’t have slipped out and he never should have used it. And then I remembered that I, too, used to say things were “gay” when I really meant that they were stupid. And I did for a long time. I also remembered that I used to really hate gay people. I’ve always blamed this on my ultra conservative upbringing, but maybe that’s not the case. Maybe this is a sign that deep down I’m a bigoted, horrible person.

That, or it means that I was ignorant and now I’m not.

Or maybe I’m just over-thinking this and should go to sleep. Yeah, I’m going to go to sleep.

On the couch. Just thought I’d remind you. Stupid bed.

good morning, starshine! the earth says hello!

First off, I feel that I should mention that I know I’m not e.e. cummings. I just think titles often look more interesting without capitalization. Maybe it makes them less formal and more conversational? I don’t know. Leave me alone!

Anyway, what was I talking about? A bit about myself, I guess. I’m 19 and an odd person. I like writing, reading, and dancing awkwardly. I care altogether too much what people think about me, but like acting as if I don’t. I like kittens and David Bowie, as well as many other things.

I’m starting this blog because I want to be a writer, but will probably settle for teaching writing to other people. My therapist told me I should start a blog. So I suppose I will! Who knows, maybe someone will want to read some of my ramblings? Sounds like a plan!