The More You Know

It's probably not news to anyone that at the time of this post, 26 people were murdered in a Newtown, Connecticut grade school yesterday morning. 20 of those people were little kids. One was a teacher trying to protect her students from the gunman.

http://www.cnn.com/2012/12/15/us/connecticut-school-shooting/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

The shooter, who I will not glorify any further by naming here, had forced his way into the school. He was a 20 year old kid. It was also reported that he killed his mother and, when he was satisfied with his handiwork, himself. His older brother had to disable his Facebook page when he was erroneously identified as the suspect.

News reports say that the gunman suffered from a personality disorder, which calls into question exactly how the fuck this 20-year-old deranged fucking lunatic was able to get his hands on a loaded murder weapon in the first place. There are extensive background checks for minimum wage jobs at McDonald's, yet this douchebag manages to score an assault rifle? I can't be the only one that sees the epic fail in this.

I found out about the events that occurred late yesterday morning when I logged onto Facebook. I was all set to post about how stoked I was to go see The Hobbit, but I was immediately flooded with status updates about Sandy Hook. Some of my friends admittedly went a little overboard- yes, it was a tragedy; yes, it was sick and senseless and disturbing and horrible; yes, it hit close to home for myself, my family and a lot of my friends (I went to high school about 20 minutes away from Newtown)- but posting news updates and photos and angry rants every five minutes is not going to make anything go away, and will only feed into what this nutjob would have wanted.

(I'm also looking at you, news anchors and media shitstorm. Interviewing parents and even worse, terrified and sobbing children, is probably the most disgusting ploy for ratings I can even imagine. No. Go home.)

One of the most awful parts of this is probably that while this asshole will inevitably be rewarded with a Movie of the Week/feature film/countless magazine covers, in a few weeks no one will remember the names of any of the victims, including the teachers that died shielding their students from bullets.

Some have said that it's too bad that the killer turned the gun on himself, since now none of the victims' families will have the chance to take him out themselves. I'm looking at it this way: I hope the worst is over, and as strange as this sounds, we as a country can look at this in a positive way. Call your friends and family and tell them you love them. Spend time with them if they're located in your vicinity. Do unexpected nice things for random strangers.

Yesterday, inspired by these events, I gave two dollars to a homeless guy and he acted like it was a check for a million bucks. Then, on the way to the movies, I stopped at a pharmacy to get snacks, and paid for the woman behind me since she only had two items in her hand. I didn't even tell her; just let the cashier know that the "next girl was taken care of" and left. I didn't say anything to my brother, either. Was it a huge gesture? No. Her total was like five dollars. However, I felt that with my actions I had just said a massive "fuck you" to a guy that had just murdered a bunch of little kids.

Also, maybe this will help improve the US as a whole, and force a tighter rein on gun control and a better healthcare system which recognizes mental disabilities. I'm not saying this could have been prevented with Healthcare- clearly this dude was severely unhinged- but at least steps could have been taken and at least he could have seen a shrink or something. Apparently there were "warning signs," although emailing people and saying "yo, I'm thinking of shooting up an elementary school tomorrow; don't tell anyone" probably doesn't count as a harbinger so much as a massive fucking RED FLAG. I'm not placing immediate blame on anyone but him; however, maybe if someone had paid closer attention to his distress calls this would never have occurred.

Basically what we have to do right now is pull through this together. Attempt to stay positive and not dwell on the past. Try to return to your normal lives. Eat, sleep, watch TV, go see The Hobbit. Let out your frustrations in any way you can, if you so choose- I've obviously done this in my writing, like so many of us (two excellent examples I've found in the blogosphere of people affected by this tragedy are Christopher from Mixed Drinks & Mixed Feelings and Rainey from A Rainey Day with a Chance of Sunshine- especially poignant because Sandy Hook was her elementary school). Be thankful for what and who you have with you right now, because honestly, they may not be there when you come home tonight.

And to make us feel (marginally) better, here is a basket of tiny puppies.

Don't Dream- It's Over

Do any of you ever have really fucked-up dreams?

No, not that kind, although I'm flattered that you all know me so well (also a little nervous, but we can deal with that later). I'm not talking about the ones that take place on a remote island with purple unicorns that bring you chocolate martinis, which are then done in the form of body shots in the company of Ryan Gosling and Alexander Skarsgard. Those are perfectly normal.

What's that you say? You're also extremely fertile?

The ones that I'm thinking about are the ones that you wake up from going, "what the hell was that?"and questioning whether they even happened in the first place. They're like the plot of Vanilla Sky, only thankfully with less vocal stylings from Cameron Diaz.

When I was younger, I used to be really into dream analysis. I believed that every image that passed through my sleep patterns was a metaphor for something that was plaguing me in my waking life. This also extended to colors, numbers, letters, and the like. I had a ton of books on the subject, most notably Sigmund Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams. Then I learned that Freud did enough coke to erupt Mt. Vesuvius, so I was more than likely deluding myself. But anyway.

I am still convinced of this to a point, and still appreciate the enjoyment I get when I sit down to interpret these visuals. Some are fairly easy to figure out, and do have some bearing on my actual reality.

For example, on Wednesday, I had a dream that Coyote Tits was part of the final three, and also the Fan Favorite, on Project Runway. She had designed a collection inspired by her hair, although instead of being "red and angsty," as she put it, her clothes were silver and sparkly. This made total sense to me because we both watch that show, and the season finale was the next day. I had also just spoken to her a few hours ago, as well as put a few touches onto Tits From Last Night, so the fact that she would appear in this way seemed logical.

PS- if you type "Tits From Last Night" into Google, my page is the first term that comes up! I am so proud.

Yeah, I don't have a lot going on.

However, some of the scenarios that formulate in my head are just really fucking bizarre. There's just no other way to describe them. I'll see how much I can recall from this one:

I was sitting at a table in what seemed to be some kind of dinner theater with a friend of my dad's, my brother, Karen Gillan from Doctor Who, and Mandy Moore. After the food came, Mandy and I got on stage, picked up acoustic guitars (neither one of us plays any instruments) and performed a song for the entire audience. The tune in question was an awful piece of crap from the early 90's by Mr. Big. If you have not heard this song, and I suspect that if you are in my age range you either a) have not or b) have blocked it out, it is not good.



If they gave out Razzies for music, this would be a serious contender. BTW, why don't they do that? I say we start a movement. I'll go first.

At any rate, that's all I can nail down, but when I woke up, already fearing for my sanity, I noticed a message on my phone- Mandy had had to check into the hospital for a minor emergency surgery (she's fine now). I call this a startling coincidence; however, Coyote Tits was not shocked in the least.

When I called Mandy's boyfriend later to see how she was doing, I almost mentioned my weird dream but he already swears that we're lesbians so I decided against it. My mom thinks it's adorable that we now have a "love song," regardless of the fact that if you're brave enough to listen to the lyrics the girl it's about is kind of a desperate whore.

Maybe there is some meaning behind the speculations I concoct in my sleep. Either that, or I have uncanny psychic abilities (probably not) or I'm certifiably insane (most likely). What are some of the strangest dreams you guys have had? Do you think they have any significance? Also, Taylor Swift would totally win all the Music Razzies, right? She definitely has crazy face.

Everything You Know Is Wrong Forever

Today is a tragic day in the history of children everywhere, chronologically and otherwise:

Baby Beluga has died.

For the three of you (or, perhaps, the foreigners) who are not aware of the existence of Baby Beluga, allow me to induct you into the heartwarming world of timeless stories and songs.

I, like many of my friends, was introduced to Baby Beluga by Raffi, the singer-songwriter who touched all our hearts with joy when he sang and strummed his guitar along to "Mr. Sun," "Down By The Bay," "Willoughby Wallaby Woo" and "Bananaphone." I must have made my parents take me to see Raffi in concert at least 37 times. I also used to act out his songs in their bedroom, except when he sang about the Spider on the Floor. That was kind of fucked up, Raffi. I hate spiders.

Anyway, this morning, when I went to Entertainment Weekly's website, I was unsuspectedly greeted by this horrendous shocker, which I immediately posted on Facebook and then forwarded to everyone I knew.

I feel like half of my life has been a lie, and I've been forced to re-evaluate everything I've learned in my formative years. Everyone, and I mean everyone, loved "Wheels on the Bus."



Will I find out tomorrow that that bus got towed? I was also really into "Frere Jacques" even though I had no idea what the fuck I was saying until a few years later when I found out you had to be French to know what the lyrics meant. But since I was like five and didn't know about this whole "discrimination" concept, I really didn't care. Raffi was amazing, and his songs were captivating. Get a load of his awe-inspiring three-disc miracle here.

I remember when I was in pre-school, Baby Beluga was the greatest form of musical composition ever created. I still remember all the lyrics, and also that it was directly responsible for a time period of about two to three years where I was obsessed with whales. I also recall REALLY wanting to be "older" so I could have a banana phone. I still want, one, actually. That would be badass.

This was a pretty depressing day for my childhood, so I'll probably sit around and watch cartoons for the rest of the night. I suggest you all make yourselves a nice PB&J with the crusts cut off, and I  will sign off with this:


Stay strong.

WHAT IN THE FUCK.

Occasionally, because I hate myself, I look at videos like this one that I found on Topless Robot:



Seriously, who comes up with this shit? This is the most truly terrifying glimpse into the future I've ever experienced in my life. All of you who made fun of me for being afraid of Teddy Ruxpin now know what the fuck I was talking about.

This is worse than if Justin Bieber got elected President.

BRB, going to kill myself.

So You Have Chosen... Death

Earlier this week one of my best friends, who will heretofore be referred to as Wonder Woman, finally dumped her loser-ass boyfriend. I never approved of this guy, but in the beginning I thought that it was because I tend to be really harsh as to who I choose as suitable lifemates for my girls. I mean, one does not simply walk into Mordor.

This is what guys have to live up to when they date my friends.

Wonder Woman (the one in my life) is amazingly pretty with an epic rack, super long legs, a sense of humor that rivals only mine and a Masters degree. She can bake you a dessert that will throw her into a cosplay round with Sara Lee while explaining to you what "cosplay" means. She can throw down winning arguments about who would emerge victorious in a battle between Harry Potter and Star Wars villains. She's a devoted mom to two ferociously adorable, yet horribly behaved, mixed breed puppies. Sometimes she roots for the wrong sports teams, but that's OK because we're both ardent Jets fans (Superbowl 2013!).

The fact that this dickhole didn't wake up to her every morning and ask himself what the fuck just happened for him to deserve to see the boobs in front of his face is reason enough alone to take a torch to his balls. I was waiting for her to pull the plug on this one when she realized that he needed her to reach things on the top shelf (technically, they're the same height, but she can actually wear heels in public without having to go on RuPaul's Drag Race) and that the most he has going for him is that he can be easily killed.

For some reason, though, she really liked him, which made her reaction to their breakup all the more heart-wrenching, especially when he was such a cavalier asshat about the entire situation. She forwarded me their conversation, and I literally hope he gets kidnapped by irate, hungry mountain lions. I would throw a raw steak in that cave if I could. Also this video, just to get the party started:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bD8OP0-bIFU

Out of respect for my friend I'll leave out what went down, but suffice it to say that this dillhole is an immature baby with so many issues he could be his own magazine. Here was this girl, way out of this turd goblin's league, who was essentially laying it out on the table (not like that though, because EW), and all he had to say was, "I care about you," which apparently scared the shit out of him because he's a five year old with the emotional range of a teaspoon. When Wonder Woman finally said "FUCK NO" and canceled her subscription all of us practically threw her a party. She was pretty distraught and down on herself, so I finally sent her this text:

"Make a list of all the reasons why you're awesome. If you can't right now, I'll do it for you. Also if you keep blaming yourself I will come over there, embarrass you John Cusack in Say Anything style, and beat you to death. Love, Nugs. PS- Sharks."


I think it worked- she's already arguing with me about how much tequila I've been drinking, so that's a plus (according to her, NEVER ENOUGH. How is this girl single?).

Basically what it comes down to is this: it's understandable if you're in a relationship and you part ways because you're not on the same page- you want marriage and kids, they don't; one wants to move, the other wants to stay; they won't watch Game of Thrones with you; one of you is into dressing up sexually like Falcor from Neverending Story.

You know who you are.

However, if you know that this isn't going anywhere, don't be an asshole- have mercy and end it before someone wastes their time and really gets hurt. And by someone, I mean you, because the heels on my shoes are super pointy and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

PS- When I brilliantly came up with that Neverending Story reference, all I did was type the name "Falcor" into Google Images and that picture came up. These people actually exist. I was just kidding. WHAT IN THE NAME OF FUCK.

OF LOVE AND LOSS

This post comes to you from Amishtown, PA. For those of you that don't know Mandy Moore or the shitstorm that's taking place in her life right now, I'll keep this brief by saying that she needed me this weekend, so I'm here.

My first few weeks back East have not gone exactly the way I expected them to. The day I arrived in New York, my mom sat me down and let me know that my grandmother would be taken off life support the next morning.

I don't have the kind of extended family that relishes in each others' company- Grandma was the peacekeeper, and I knew that after the service, there were some (a lot) of people that I would likely never see again. Luckily, my mother and my brothers made the situation a little smoother- we were all trying to be strong for each other, especially my mom, who had to host the funeral at the same place her father was buried. To make things more difficult for her, her cat was put to sleep just a few days later. I assisted in most of the arrangements, although my aunt later remarked that I was falling apart more than anyone else.

I was definitely not prepared for this, and what frightened me the most was that I had no idea how to deal. I've been fortunate enough to live this long without having to cope with tragedy or loss. I never knew my mother's father, and my grandfather on my dad's side had died almost fifteen years ago. I'd buried a few pets in my lifetime, but that didn't compare to this. My grandmother had been a very special part of my life- we were extremely close, and I considered her a friend. I took the news as well as one might expect- I sat in shock for a few minutes and then spent the next week acting like a complete asshole.

What hit me the hardest was when I went to the funeral home to schedule everything and make arrangements. The director asked my mother and my aunt who should be put down as the "Next of Kin," and I realized that someday, my brothers and I would go through this process ourselves. My mom grabbed my hand, and I was unable to squeeze back.

To make the situation worse, my friends back East are- how can I put this?- unresponsive. It took them all a few days to get back to me, and I haven't heard from them again after that. I understand that everyone has their own lives, and I respect that. However, if someone you care about loses a piece of themselves, would it take that much out of you to send a text every couple of days? Especially if you have the time to post pictures of your club-hopping on Facebook (I wasn't invited, BTW)? These are people I've known for years, and I am so disappointed in their reactions.

In order to cope with my swirling emotions, I posted a thread on 20sb. This isn't like me- I'm not one to whore out my sympathy on the Internet. I didn't post my grandmother's passing on Facebook, or Twitter, or send out a mass email, or ask any of my friends to attend the service. I did call Bad Monkey, my best friend in LA, who's been corresponding with me steadily, sent my family a card and is even coming to visit me next week. She was upset that she couldn't afford to fly out sooner, but just hearing her voice has been enough for me.

My 20sb posting wasn't to garner empathy for myself or to let people know what was going on. I just had never had to deal with a sadness this heavy and I was frightened and confused by its effect. This wasn't like sadness- that I knew how to cope with. I'm sad every time the Jets lose the AFC Championship, or when my brother eats the last spoonful of mashed potatoes. Grief is a mixture of depression, nausea and fear, and it was alien to me.

I didn't want to burden my mom, who was coping with her own feelings, and my friends who lived closest to me were of no help, so I turned to the next logical candidates.

The reaction I received was overwhelming. I knew that my blogoverse friends (I'm not going to distinguish you guys from "IRL" because, and let's be honest here, most of you have already crossed that line) would offer consolation, but I had no idea that your responses would leave this much of an impact. I was offered pages of advice on how to handle my dejection and mental anguish. People I'd never even spoken to or seen before posted their condolences. Coyote Tits started a "Worship Wednesday" thread where my friends wrote hilarious epic poems on my behalf (seriously, check this shit out. It is ridiculous). Shelly took over the posting of the Movie Review Blogring for the month because I didn't want to leave my family alone to find an Internet connection. Mandy offered to come to the funeral, and Sara Nips mailed me a bouquet of lilies and a card. When I called and left her a pussy, sobbing voice mail about what an amazing person she was, Nips told me later that my phone call made her cry. Are you serious, Nips? This is why everyone loves you. If I were any more butch (and weren't into penis), I would totally force Andy into a leprechaun narwhal fight. Winner take all- I'm chivalrous, yo.

The most valuable piece of advice that I've gotten from all of this came from a bunch of my friends on 20sb, and they all told me the the same thing. I was warned that grief is a real bitch. It's going to surface when I least expect it, and it might take weeks, months, or I don't even want to think about how long. This is really fucking with my head because I have yet to experience a complete mental breakdown. I haven't cried yet, at least not fully, and I can't figure out why. I hate that I have no idea when this is going to strike, or what the trigger is going to be. Vulnerability has never been an option for me, and this is not a change I'm willing to adapt to.

I guess in order to prepare for all of this I'll have to realize that I can't prepare. I've finally decided to stop trying to "be strong" for everybody else and let myself go through the mourning process. I've spent a lot of time with my mom, looking through pictures and letting her tell stories. I spent a few nights at my brothers' house. I've been bequeathed with my grandmother's Chai, which I now wear as a charm around my neck.

I'm cognizant of the fact that grief will sneak up on me and slam my back against a wall, and when it happens, I won't argue. I'll see it as another connection to somebody everybody loved- even the maintenance men in her building, her pharmacist and her hairdresser wanted to be guests at the funeral.

I wrote this post not only as a form of therapy, but to express my gratitude to everybody who's helped me get through this past month. Thank you to those who I didn't mention by name, who took the time to leave me Facebook and Twitter messages, texts, emails, and however else you chose to convey your compassion (especially those of you who kept checking up on me for weeks after the fact). There were far too many of you to single out, and I feel terrible that I couldn't get to you all. But just know that whoever says that 20sb is not a community and that we all don't genuinely have each other's backs is getting a throat punch from me.

Thank you to those who still follow me, even though this blog fell by the wayside while I had the shit kicked out of me emotionally.

Thank you to my family, for obvious reasons. I'm a lot more solid because of your support.

And most importantly, thank you to my grandmother. She's the reason for this entire post, and she's also partly responsible for the entire foundation of my personality (Brooklynese, FTW!). Thanks Grandma, for everything I know about life, love, and most significantly, loss.

L'chaim.

BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE

Thanksgiving is over, and holy shit, am I stuffed. I anxiously wait for Turkey Day every year because A) hello, food and B) it’s the only day of the “holiday season” that I can actually share with my yule-logging friends.

My brothers, who are both in corporate retail, had to work through dinner this year. My mom thinks of this as like the Eighth Deadly Sin- somewhere between Gluttony and Sloth- (isn’t that what Thanksgiving is all about, though?) and this left she and my grandmother to pick up the cooking slack.

Let me address the prosecution by stating that I am in no way a fuck-up in the kitchen. Last year Thanksgiving was at my place, and I made pretty much everything while my brother lay on the couch and claimed that he couldn’t “reach” anything to help me (BTW, he’s 6’3).

However, no delicacy I’ve ever whipped up can compare to my mom’s culinary handiwork. Not only has she mastered the all the traditional holiday treats, but she also puts her own delicious, creative spin on everything. I lost count of how many times she threw me out of the kitchen and smacked my hands away because of excessive “nibbling.” But how will she know when the food is suitable for the belly if I don’t taste-test it first? (Shout-out to Christina for agreeing with me via the magic of Twitter.) When it comes to holiday cooking I usually let my mom do her own thing, because if I contribute anything it will definitely result in some sort of 911 call.

After I proceeded to stuff myself to the point where I had to change into stretchy pants, it was time to lounge on my grandma’s insanely comfortable sofa and watch the Jets kick the shit out of the Bengals. Once I realized that the people in the apartment across the street could totally see me doing my victory dance like a retard, I decided to scrap that and leave dirty holiday season greetings for all my friends. (“Prepping the Turkey:” innocent Thanksgiving ritual or kinky, sexual fetish? Discuss.)

While I was busy writing NSFW messages on text and Facebook (the ones between Lor and I are especially disturbing), I noticed that Rockstar had left me a wall post demanding that I consummate my annual laziness with a viewing of Thankskilling on Hulu.

This just sells itself, no?

Now, for those of you who have not yet had the honor of being introduced to this epic masterpiece, I feel very, very sorry for you. This cinematic glory was first launched into my life thanks to a hilarious review from McGriddle Pants at Serenity Now!! Insanity Later, without whom my world would be a dark and desolate place with no hope. Nothing I can say will even do this “movie” justice, so just take my advice, because in this case it’s worth more than naked pictures of Jon Hamm, and just download it.

Or just try and find the naked pics of Jon Hamm. Either way, you win.

I was also dumb enough to venture into Manhattan this weekend to window shop during the Black Friday sales. I barely escaped with all my limbs intact, because I’m stupid. And also small.

Anyway, Thanksgiving Weekend 2010 is officially over, but the holiday season is my absolute favorite time to be in New York City, and I’ll be posting about it soon over spiked hot chocolate. In the meantime, here’s a list of what I was thankful for this year:

-Naked pictures of Jon Hamm (I know they’re out there)
-Chocolate and/or milkshakes
-New York City pizza
-New York City in general
-My mom’s cooking
- Justin Bieber is not an American citizen, so there’s a chance he might be deported
- NBC decided not to cancel Chuck (SCORE!)
-The Walking Dead
-At least I have the Jets
-The Beatles are on iTunes!!!
-Bad Religion’s new album
-Nerdgasm
-Spanx
-College football!
-Words that sound dirty no matter what the context (insert, extend, hard…)
-The beautiful awful-ness of the SyFy Channel Original Movies
-You all voted me Featured Blogger on 20sb (<3 <3 <3) (PS- everyone go over there and vote for Mandy Moore for December)
-The Nip Clique
-This blog- cheaper than therapy and just as effective
-My friends (blogoverse, terrestrial, and those of you that have blended into both), family and everyone else that’s helped me through one of the most difficult and shittiest years of my life so far. I’d be a lot more fucked up if it weren’t for each and every one of you. Thank you, really. Nugs loves you.

AURAL SEX: NOVEMBER 2010 EDITION

If you’re an avid supporter of my blog you may have noticed two recurring themes: One, my constant ingenious assassination attempts against Justin Bieber; and two, my undying devotion to live music.

Since I can’t actively try to kill that little shit without drawing attention to myself and therefore creating a hefty criminal record (ha…creating. Let’s go with that), this month’s Aural Sex is focused on the healthier part of my obsession- those particular concerts that changed my life, that inspired me, or that stirred something in me I never knew I had. Here’s my list:

(Some of these aren't from the actual shows that I went to, because I couldn't find the posters for those. Obviously, they were all in the tri-state area.)


GREATEST MUSICAL O’S OF MY LIFETIME


BAD RELIGION/THE AGGROLITES/OFF WITH THEIR HEADS (2010)

I’d already seen Bad Religion at Warped Tour a billion years ago, but this show was so much better because it was their 30^th Anniversary Tour, so this one was entirely about them. They played for about an hour and a half, and while they focused mostly on this past decade, they did some of their old stuff, too. Everyone went nuts for “Los Angeles is Burning,” which is my absolute favorite BR song. Their encore was like, four songs long, also.

I’m also crazy for Off With Their Heads, a punk band from Minnesota that have a song called “Fuck This, I’m Out.” If that doesn’t make you want to at least check them out, you have failed me.


I’m most in my element when I attend punk shows, even when I go alone. Most of my friends don’t listen to the genre, so I usually have to go by myself, which gives me the opportunity to scream, jump around and act like a total lunatic. Bad Religion is arguably one of the most influential punk acts ever, so seeing them live was one of the most cathartic musical experiences of my life.

SHINY TOY GUNS (2010)

I’d been tracking this band for YEARS before I finally saw them perform this summer, and it was everything I expected. Shiny Toy Guns uses crazy visuals to amp up what are sadly under-discovered tracks that have just recently earned more of a following thanks to their advertisement deal with Lincoln.

I totally embarrassed myself at this show with my camera, but it was worth it because I finally got to see them live. They played EVERYTHING.

JOURNEY/HEART/CHEAP TRICK (2008)

I don’t give a shit what anyone says- Steve Perry is one of the most incomparable rock vocalists of all time, and Journey has some of the most superior tracks to come out of the ‘70’s and ‘80’s (“Don’t Stop Believin’” isn’t even their best song, but if it gets them the recognition they deserve, I’ll take it). Did you guys even know that lead guitarist Neal Schon played with Santana when he was only a teenager? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

I make zero apologies for my unhealthy infatuation respectful admiration for Journey.  I’m so into them that I even paid 25 bucks to see a Journey tribute band by myself and got incredibly angry when they busted out “Oh, Sherrie.” That’s not a Journey song! (When I mentioned this to my dad he got really quiet, and then suggested I “talk to somebody.”)

When I found out they were playing in 2008, I asked everyone I know to go with me and (understandably), they all turned me down. I was dating The Sexaholic at the time and he started laughing; then finished with, “Oh, you were serious? Oh. Then no.”

Luckily, my dad is a Journey fan, and he also loves Cheap Trick. He wasn’t too ecstatic about the concept of seeing Heart, but I was, because I love them, and he also can’t resist my sad puppy face (I do have the tendency to be rather adorable).

The entire show was great- Heart can still rock out, and Cheap Trick put on an absolutely stellar performance that I would have expected from artists 20 years younger. Journey was the last band on and I was the youngest one there, and I knew every word to every song. Of course, when I told this to all my friends, they all got that look on their faces.

I don’t care, dude. I would still see Journey again. I would rather see them with Steve Perry than with some guy that they found on Youtube, but at least I can say that I saw Journey live.

QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE/NINE INCH NAILS (2006)

During my first couple of years of college I interned for a guy who was a few years older than me, so our taste in music was pretty much on par.  One afternoon I was in his office, doing assistant-y stuff, when he asked me what my plans were later. Someone had given him tickets to that night’s QOTSA/NIN show, and he couldn’t make it, so he was offering them to me.

After I picked myself up off the floor, I called my brother. I knew not inviting him to a free Nine Inch Nails concert was akin to taking an aluminum bat to his car after having his best friend fuck the girl he was in love with right in front of him.

The show itself was fucking insane- I still think about it as if it happened yesterday. It’s easily in my Top 5, and even though I’m no longer at that company, that guy is hands-down one of the best bosses ever.

THE PRODIGY (2005)

I often go to concerts by myself, because my taste is radically dissimilar from that of the rest of my group, but The Prodigy is the first live show I ever saw unaccompanied. It was totally agonizing, especially because there were two couples groping each other in front of me, but that changed after about half an hour because I met a guy who I still hang out with five years later. We started chatting, exchanged email addresses, and a friendship based on an insanely nerd-tastic love of music and sci-fi developed from there. This year for my birthday he even bought me a PS3 and didn’t even laugh at me too hard when an alien ate my head.

So, thanks, D. This entire post is for you.

HOT HOT HEAT/WEEZER/FOO FIGHTERS (2005)

Actual concert ticket purchased by me. I saved it.

I actually took my dad to this show for one of his birthdays because he loves Foo Fighters and likes Weezer’s old stuff. I’m a fan of Hot Hot Heat, too, so this was a triple Music O for me.

I’ve probably seen Foo Fighters five or six times by now. Dave Grohl is a musical mastermind and every live show is completely new- it’s like how a Catholic schoolgirl feels when she walks into a sex shop for the first time. If you haven’t seen them yet, GO.

As for Weezer, I would definitely recommend their older material, although I would have to put them in the "lame" category recently. However, they do have a shout-out to Lost on their latest CD, so I might check it out.

Maybe.

THE USED (WARPED TOUR, 2003)

Besides having the distinction of being the first ever free show that I’ve attended, seeing The Used play the 2003 Warped Tour was also a bonding moment for my brother and I.

Before anyone knew who the hell The Used actually were, my brother used to hang out with them, and they invited him to watch their set at Warped. I thought that he took me along to be nice, but he later told me it was because I had a camera phone and he didn’t. Um, thanks.

Anyway, not only did I get to hang with the guys in The Used, I also met a few of the other bands and had the opportunity to lounge on the corner of the stage while they shot a video of their performance. Considering the occupation that I currently hold, that isn’t a big deal anymore, but back then, it was pretty fucking sweet.

Spending time with my brother and realizing that we shared a common interest also helped cement the relationship we have now. We go to shows together all the time, but it’s this first one that really sealed everything.

NO DOUBT (2000)

No Doubt’s Return of Saturn tour was the first one I was ever allowed to see without parental supervision. I was in high school and my best friend was the first one of us to get her license, so seven of us piled into her parents’ van and drove all the way to New Jersey. We all thought that attending a concert by ourselves and staying out past midnight made us total bad-asses (note: it did not. It wasn't even a school night).

Gwen Stefani annoys the shit out of me now, but I’ll never forget the experience of seeing her perform. I can always tell when an artist truly revels in being onstage, and she loved every minute of it. It made that particular girls’ night out that much more unforgettable.

GREEN DAY (1995)

There are two musical moments that I credit with steering me in the direction that I ultimately wound up in. One of them was when I saw Almost Famous, which I won’t go into again because you’re all probably totally sick of that by now.

The other was the release of Green Day’s Dookie in 1994 and subsequent tour. When that record came out I was really young and still poisoning my ears with Wilson Phillips and Nelson (all of you can go fuck yourselves- I already said I was really young).  Then I went to my cousin’s house and heard “Longview” blasting from his stereo, and that was it. My entire CD collection went into the trash, and my mom was horrified forever.

Dookie was the first CD I ever bought for myself, with my own money, and I played it over and over again until I wore it out. When I learned that my cousin was going to see Green Day live, I pretty much forced him to take me with him.  I’m sure he was really stoked for that one. He’s a lot older than me and I was a major cock-block, considering he brought a date with him also. In retrospect, he was pretty cool for agreeing to it. I’m not exaggerating when I say that that show completely altered my life.

Discovering Green Day totally transformed my taste in music. I became a punk addict and used my love for the band to spin-off into the mid-nineties So-Cal scene and artists that dominated the grunge genre. While all of my friends were collecting NSYNC and Britney Spears albums, I was filling my CD booklets with Rancid and The Offspring. Later on I fell in love with The Clash, The Ramones, and the pioneers of the '70's New York and UK punk scenes as well.

My love for Green Day has died down considerably since then, especially after “Time of Your Life” came out and pansy-ass twelve year olds pretended that they loved the band when they had NO idea what else had been previously released. However, no one can argue that Green Day is a fucking powerhouse and that American Idiot is already considered a classic. I would absolutely see them again- but only if they played their old stuff.

THE BANGLES (1980-something)

This was the very first concert I ever went to. I don’t remember what year it was, but I think I was like three. My parents say that Susanna Hoffs looked at me when they did “Walk Like An Egyptian,” and this is most likely why I’m so involved with music now. Foreshadowing, yo.

OK, probably not. But I still listen to The Bangles today. Seriously, “Eternal Flame” is one of the best songs written about love in the eighties.

Here’s a weird fact: Hoffs is married to the guy that directed the Austin Powers movies. Turn that one around for a while.

FUTURE AMAZINGLY EPIC SHOW THAT IS GUARANTEED TO MAKE MY HEAD EXPLODE:


SOCIAL DISTORTION (2011)

A few months ago I found out that Social Distortion, who I’ve been stalking not at all frighteningly consumed with for almost 15 years, was embarking on a double-legged US tour. First I was totally bummed out because they were coming nowhere near LA. I even wrote a post pleading with them to play there. I promised to degrade myself for tickets, and it was extremely humiliating. Then I almost wet myself when I realized that we were going to be in New York at exactly the same time, but the tickets were 50 bucks and I’m broke as hell.

I told my dad over the phone and he was all, “oh, sorry, that sucks.” Then a few days later he dropped the bomb that he’d looked up Social Distortion’s tour dates and found out that they’re coming to Los Angeles a couple of weeks after my birthday, and he’d gotten me two tickets as a present.

I was speechless on the other end for so long that I think my dad thought I was clinically dead. I don’t know whether he’d had the tickets all along and wanted to surprise me, or he decided to get them for me after that first call, but I think he just won some sort of Award for Dads that hasn’t yet been invented. Social Distortion is one of my all-time favorite bands that NEVER tours, and I’m pretty sure that I’ll cream myself at the show, if I even make it there. I might die from delirium first.

BTW, if anyone EVER wants to get me Radiohead tickets, I can’t pay you or anything. However, I do have an interestingly shaped tongue and tiny yet dexterous fingers. Just saying.

GINN AND JEW(S)

It’s been a long-ass time since I checked my wallet and realized that I was stupidly low on cash. So of course I decided to take a weekend road trip (HOORAY FOR POVERTY!). I commissioned Ginntastic and let her know I was in dire need of some toxic refreshments, and it took her all of two seconds to give me a when and where.

I got in on Friday, and our Vodkatronic weekend took effect immediately. Ginntastic and her cousin Ale-xis took me to Dick’s, a seafood place where the waitresses make fun of you and make you wear penis hats. I should totally work there.

The best part about Dick’s (besides the moniker, of course), was that the guy performing the awful Dave Matthews covers was seriously loaded.

PS- not to get all dramatic and mushy on you guys, because I’m so not like that, but Fanueil Hall is beautiful at night. If you haven’t been there, you really should go.

So, yeah. We also met this guy who was in totally in love with Ale-xis and followed her so closely all night she could feel his breath on her face. Not cool, A-hole. He looked like the Mad Magazine guy on a three-day coke bender if he’d just run a marathon. Try to picture that without dry-heaving.

So that was my low-key Friday. Saturday was spent pretending we were back in college, and by that I mean sleeping 'til three, having pizza for “breakfast,” and not going to class. Ginntastic introduced me to Boston’s Channel 38, which plays a spectacular array of food porn. I swear that you have never seen cakes that look as amazing as the shit I saw on those shows. We stared slackjawed at the TV until it was time to get ready to go out with Ale-xis and a couple of her ridiculously hot and awesome friends.

I don’t remember shit about Saturday night as a whole (haha… “hole”), but there’s some funny stuff that went down that’s forever sealed in my brain thanks to Facebook. I do remember that we bar-hopped until last call and that the pictures that I have show us getting progressively more hammered as the night wore on. Probably because we had Ben & Jerry's milkshakes for dinner. YES.

Classy as shit, yo.

PS- Check out Gin’s “come over here” face.

The Harvard bar we started out at was actually a lot cooler than I expected. First of all, I didn’t think people at Harvard actually ventured off campus, but most of them were wasted (and, like, 11 years old. Am I really that ancient? I guess so, because I was ready for feetie pajamas at around 1am). Wouldn’t it be hilarious if I asked them to do math problems or something while they were drunk? “Add the shots in this drink! HAHAHA!”

All the specialty drinks were named after awesome songs, like the Sex Pistols’ “Pretty Vacant,” and since we knew all this (or because we were taking semi-pornographic shots with my camera), the bartender was pretty into us. So, sobriety… that was an interesting concept.

Bartender of the Year? Perhaps.

In between downing shots and Facebook sexting with Mandy Moore, we did manage to meet a copious amount of tools. One of the guys that came over to talk to me mentioned that he loved live music, so I gave him my card and told him I know when a lot of shows are. This guy had NO shot with me or any of my friends, but I figured I would network. At 2am, I got a call from this tool accusing me of having a fake number. Uh, you’re actually talking to me, and I gave you my fucking business card, so how about you’re retarded? Also, you look like a rabbit on steroids. FAIL.

BTW, I have never heard so many Boston accents in my life as I did at that bar- and I’ve been to Red Sox games. It was hilarious.

After our 3am snack of- what else?- CRUNCHY NUGGETS!- we finally hit the sack.

Only the finest white meat...

I got super excited and a little turned on when I woke up later and there was a tiny hand on my boob, but it turned out it was just her cat. The last time I felt a nose on my leg was like, a year and a half ago, though, so I'll take it.

When Gin dropped me off at the bus on Sunday it was fucking nuts how sad I was to leave. When I do eventually have to go back to LA I’m going to be totally devastated, but let’s not think about that right now.

BTW, Ale-xis recently started a blog herself. She’s a little nervous about how she’ll be received because she’s dyslexic and her grammatical skills aren’t great, but to those that have the nerve to say anything, Go Fuck Yourself. Her blog actually has the word "dyslexic" in the title, which makes anyone who comments on her mistakes an idiot. The only reason I’m not going to link to it here is because she has pictures up from this weekend, and I’m still pretending I’m totally anonymous and not friends with 2/3 of you on Facebook, but I really admire her for putting herself out there on the Interwebs. Actually, I’m considering having her guest post for me.  I’m in your corner, Dude!

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

Despite the Monty Python reference, I'm actually not going to be that funny today. I know, you're all in shock. But lately I've been inspired by the fact that I really haven't been that inspired by much at all.

Don't give me that bullshit. I'm allowed to be serious sometimes. If you don't want to hear a depressing rant, come back in a few days.

Don't think I'm lame, but I really miss my family back East. I talk to my mom every day like a fucking pussy, and my brothers and I text a lot (usually about baseball, but still). We have one of those typical sibling relationships where we kicked each others' asses when we were kids, but we all get along really well now (my brothers even live together, which is pretty cool). It probably helps that I like all this guy-related stuff- sports, action movies, graphic novels, etc. God, I'm a loser.

I'm naked without this.

This job hunt is really knocking me out, too. California is one of the states with the worst unemployment rates in the US, and NO ONE is hiring. I even considered going back to cocktailing, which I did like eight years ago and was really fucking degrading, but not even the bars here need any more employees, so I'm stuck doing absolutely nothing. It's really frustrating, and at this point I'd consider whoring myself out to Burger King. That, or an actual whoring out. At least it's money.

Besides that, it really isn't helping that I keep seeing all this New York City-related stuff all over the place. A lot of food places in LA have the audacity to call themselves "New York Style (fill in the blank here)." That's a pretty steep fucking claim that usually turns out to be unbelievably false. The pizza here, for the most part, is laughable, and I can't find a decent black-and-white cookie or bagel anywhere. You're also not supposed to drink the tap water. I can't even believe that! They have to make special "drinking water" containers. Well, excuse the fuck out of me.

They've been showing a lot of "New York City" specials on TV, too. Way to drive the stake through my head, cable. Fuck you, too.



At least I've been getting life updates from home. Two of my friends from the Blogoverse have actually started dating in real life, and while I won't disclose who they are, I will congratulate them here. L'chaim, guys! If your birth control ever fails, that is going to be one hilarious, creative as hell kid who will probably be hot because I at least know what the mom looks like. Their whole story is kind of like a Meg Ryan movie, only a lot less retarded.

While I am really happy for the two of them, though, this does remind me that all my friends and my mom are always trying to set me up or make me join one of those ridiculous dating websites. I don't really care about finding someone to mooch child support payments from, but it does kind of suck feeling like you're the last single person left on the planet. Yes, I know this is an exaggeration, but considering my outstanding track record with those that have called themselves "men," it's getting kind of hard to keep holding my breath.

BTW, the blogging community really is a community. Some of the writers on my blogroll have left incredibly supportive comments reminding me that while LA does bite dick, I have to keep trying to get back East, and when I do, we're definitely going to party. I seriously <3 you all. I won't single you out, but you know who you are, and while this might sound really gay, it has helped to keep me upbeat. Note: you can read some of the comments on my posts.

 

The rest of my inner circle keeps posting these amazing Facebook updates about what's going on with them: vacations, dinners out, promotions, engagements, general hangouts. While I know it's totally unfair to expect the people in my life to just sit around in a dark room waiting for me to return (there can be a light switch in there if they so choose, I guess), it really is sobering to remember that life does go on with or without me.

I did try to tie up as much as I could before I went away, but there were some things that were left unfinished. There was stuff I could have handled differently, and some people I wish I could have fit in the time to visit, but couldn't. I even left some of them on a bad note, and I found out the hard way that putting their Facebook status on hide, or deleting them altogether, doesn't make you think about them any less. When you're forced to leave your hometown, the place you grew up in, there are people that stay on your mind even though you know they shouldn't, even though you're 99% positive they're not even remotely thinking about you, and it sucks.

Anyway, sorry to shit on you guys, but I figure one of these serious Prozac-inducers every six months is enough. The me that you're used to will be back shortly, after I take a nap, get a massage and stop being such a whiny little bitch.

Love You... Seriously.