The Miss E Of Worlds Most Hated (E's for Eerie, not Elated)

So Chris will be posting a video about the first half of our strip club adventure soon but I want to beat him to the punch and I am so deliriously tired right now that if I sleep, I will forget everything that happened.

So I have never been to a strip club in my actual life. I've been to live sex shows several times while in A-Dam but I've never actually seen girls just take their tops of and shake their very expensive, man-made sweater cows at horny old business men before. Lindsay, being a stripper, found this pretty much morally outrageous. And unlike every other person who has ever promised to take my shy ass to a strip club, bitch delivered! (Did I mention that Chris's girlfriend might actually be the raddest fucking person on the face of the planet? And I thought this before she bought me a lap dance, too.)

I went home and, once my nap got fucked by a continuing fuck-up at work (which has managed to ruin my Sunday AND my Monday and will likely ruin my Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday as well), I said "screw" and took Meghan to get Chris and Lindsay. We begged, berated, and otherwise bribed Mad Real Rachel to come out with us despite the fact that she had just gotten off a plane from England. (15 hours flight? Fuck that noise.)

I'm so dancing in my chair to Wired All Wrong and taking off my hoodie like I'm a stripper. Hang on. ::jigglejiggle:: Okay. Continue.

I want a pole in my bedroom, yo. Or my living room. Jeffree will work that shit, you know he will.

AHEM! ANYWAY. Back to the strippers. We decide to go to Jumbo's Clown Room which is this SKETCHY motherfucking strip club down in the ghetto side of Hollywood. Uh... the more ghetto side of Hollywood. This whole fucking berg is one giant goddamn disaster.

Fuck, I'm tired.

Okay. So we search for parking forever before we say "fuck it" and valet the car. Now Jumbo's is in this shitty little strip mall next to a Korean convenience store with posters for lychee ice cream in the window so old they have been bleached blue and white by the sun. We show our IDs and walk inside they place that looks exactly like a strip club should. Stage with a pole and white christmas tube lights wrapped around the rail that enclosed it. There were barely any people there. Lindsay is telling us what etiquette is proper in a strip club and asking the waitress what the rules are for things like lap dances. I am fucking telling you, if you have never gone to a strip club, go with a stripper. Because she knew exactly what we were supposed to do and didn't front unlike my shy ass who was trying to burrow under Meghan and Chris in sheer terror of the girl on the stage in her bikini.

Jumbo's is no nude at all. Not topless or anything. Just tattooed chicks in their bikinis. Jumbo's is know for having midgets (little people), amputees (appendage-challenged), and other non-standard human beings (freaky weirdos). We're down for freaky weirdos, being freaky weirdos ourselves. The girls tonight were all of standard height and had the usual amount of arms and legs but they had tattoos and danced to Nine Inch Nails and Depeche Mode. As soon as we sit down and settle in, Lindsay is giving me dollars and walking me down to the stage. She taught me how to appropriately hang my dollar bills on the rail and nicely sat with me as some girl jiggled her butt in our direction. Now, I'm totally down with stripping. I think that it can either be trashy or empowering - its what you do with it. I don't find it dehumanizing in and of itself. It depends on the club, the crowd, and the girls. Personally, if I could do it without it ruining my career thanks to the wonderful double standards of this industry, I'd strip at least once for that feeling of power. I even wanted to be a Suicide Girl before that site turned into total trash and the exploitation of the girls became apparent because I really like the idea of powerful, beautiful, non-normal women as sex symbols as opposed to sex objects.

I could have a whole tirade about sexual injustice but I am trying desperately not to rant, ramble, soap box, or side track any more than is absolutely possible because my ass NEEDS SLEEP. There are nifty colored trails all over my vision. Fun. Did I mention I fainted and threw up today because I'm so exhausted? YAY! I'm so not editing this. This is true stream of consciousness. Dude, Wired All Wrong is so good. You're freakin me out, girllll!

Ok, where was I? Allow me to scroll up? Ah yes. Okay, so i sit there watching this chick jiggle and I'm all 'where do I look? Is it politer to look these chicks in the eyes or the vajayjay or the boobs or just a generic body part? Do I smile if I catch her eye?" And Lindsay has gone back to Chris and Meghan and I'm sitting here trying to figure out how not to offend this girl and how to communicate that I respect what she is doing and don't see her as trashy and I'm not there to perv out I'm just curious about the whole experience while awkwardly fidgeting with my measly two dollars that I now feel is a total insult from woman to woman and I'm just like overthinking because I do that and then its over and I can run back to my crew and hide.

Yeah, Lindsay is so not having that. This girl named Capri comes up after she gets off stage. She's pretty in a bookish way from the neck up, with emo glasses and bottle black hair and a face that is more sweet than sexy. From the neck down, though, she's actually kinda bangin. She's certainly got a way better body than I do (except my tits are bigger but I got everyone beat in that department) and she walks up and sticks her hand out and says hi. And I shake her hand because I wasn't raised in a barn and Lindsay is like "Up. you're getting a lap dance. This girl was nice and introduced herself. Come on." And I'm doing my best impression of a deer in headlights so Lindsay offers to go with me because we all know there is not a snowballs chance in hell my scared ass is getting a lap dance alone.

We go off into a little booth 5 feet from where we were. It has its own pole and Lindsay and Capri talk about how lap dance rooms with poles are such a better vibe and the perils of dancing in heels and other things in the same kind of all-business way I get around other engineers when we ramble about DSP or expanding our chassis. She tells me how to hold my legs and the accepted places to put my hands, which I shove nervously under my thighs. So the song starts and Capri starts dancing. And I still don't know where to look so I'm staring at her belly button, contemplating how she is lucky enough to have the right anatomy to have a top and bottom belly button rings because my belly button doesn't have a full ridge all the way around which bums me out because I really want to do a quad then she grabs my fucking hair and makes me look at her boobs and I'm totally trying not to grin because holy crap this is fucking Awkward City and I have just been elected mayor. I get my lap dance and Lindsay makes me send Chris over. Chris doesn't want a lap dance from Capri because there is this banging blond chick on stage who can work the pole like its old news but Capri was nice and she told us that she was lucky if she'd make $30 that night and so he goes to get his lap dance too.

I sit with Meghan and watch the blond girl, who can fucking actually crucify herself on the pole then spin down it like something that spins gracefully down poles. I'm feeling a little more comfortable with all of this, now that I've had some other girl's boobs in my face so I walk down and sit in the front and stick some money on the rail. And again, its hella awkward. Every time this girl and I catch eyes we smile and laugh a little. I follow her shoes because I'm trying to figure out how the hell she does all this without kicking herself in the foot - which she proceeds to do at the end of the set and we both laugh to each other. Its actually a really comfortable kind of vibe. It's sexual but not really. I mean, the girls don't really take anything off, the music rules, and it's just downhome in this really sleazy kinda way. Like a seedy bar that you're a regular at kinda feeling. It's a shithole but they know your name.


Bitch can work the pole, I swear

But its also kinda boring. We wanted midgets and amputees and to see a bar fight. Capri peaces out after thanking us for making her night because she made more off of us than she would have dancing on the stage all night and doesn't have to stay thanks to Lindsay's generous tipping. So we leave shortly thereafter, rerouting poor Rachel to meet us at Crazy Girls, which then proved to be closed. We moved everyone to the parking lot at the Standard for bathroom pictures and a short video before peacing. We walk next door to the Body Shop, which is full nude and at first I'm excited. I'm like "hell yeah, pervy weird shit!" But the vibe just sucks. We hadn't even sat down yet before the "ANYBODY WANT A DAAAAANCE" stripper from South Park comes over and asks us if we want... a dance. Lindsay politely says not just yet, we wanted to get settled in first. She says "oh. Well, you're a group of girls. You don't buy dances anyway." She walks away before Lindsay can leap over the table and pop her EEE fake ones. A big girl comes over to ask us if we want a dance too but has the unfortunate timing to do it as we're getting our drinks (non-alcoholic as full nudes can't serve liquor) and slinks away.



The vibe blows. On the real, it blows. All the girls are ugly and desperate. The first girl slams her heels together loud enough you can hear it over the music (which isn't up too loud) and then fingers herself. The dim lights are cut through with strobes and black light but nothing can disguise the smell of cleaning products and sheer desperation. It's a bumout.

The next girl who comes on stage is the big girl. At first, we thought she was just chunky but we realize she has no cellulite and that fat is all baby fat. This girl is maybe 19, with bleached platinum hair and a face like a young Anna Nicole. Its a major, major bumout. She sucks at stripping and its obvious she's new. We're sure the other girls are hella mean to her. After she gets on stage and starts wandering around, asking everyone if they want dances, Lindsay gets up and runs after her. She saves her from a 20 minute conversation with some dude who was never going to buy a lap dance and brings her over. I make Meghan come with me because I'm so not getting a lap dance alone, dude. No way. We go in this mirrored room in the back and the bouncer doesn't even know this girl's name, she is so new. He tells her she was supposed to turn our chairs the other direction but it was okay for now. So we sit there awkwardly, trying not to grin at the sheer weirdness off it as she dances badly in front of us. She walks into the mirror at one point and laughs mirthlessly at her own clumsiness. Its weird. She's so nervous we can literally hear her heartbeat and we're trying to make her feel better by giving off a sort of comforting silence. We give her money after, making sure to tip well, and Meghan asks if she's new. "Yeah," she says. "Can you really tell?"

"A little," says Meghan. "But you did really good."

"Thank you," I add nervously right as she says the same. We all smile at each other and she stays behind to talk to the bouncer about proper lap dance protocol.

After that, we're like the stripper good karma patrol. The girls who are nice, who obviously don't make a lot of money, we're sitting up front tipping. It's amature night and we meet a girl who drove up all the way from Orange County to compete. She's only 19 and she can only strip at full-nudes since full-nudes don't serve liquor. So she is competing at Amature Nights until she is 21 so she doesn't have to work at a club. Her name is Persia and we promise to remember it and root for her so she can win $1000 dollars.

This one crazy, crazy dancer gets on stage and she is getting hella nasty. So, giggling, we encourage Chris to ggo sit up with the bevy of dudes at the end of the stage. He lays down his dollar bills on the stage and in short order, this girl is writhing in front of him, knuckle deep in her own orifices. Then, with cheetah-like speed, her legs snap out and wrap around the back of his head. She jerks her legs and his face flies directly into what is colloquially known as her "pussy" and grinds on his face. We all laugh, faces half hidden behind our hands. When the song ends, Chris jumps up and runs back to us, wiping off his ear with a napkin.

Oh. These girls didn't clean the pole between dancers. EW. Also, Lindsay and Meghan lured these drunk dudes inside when Meghan went outside to smoke long enough that they club could get door fee and two-drink minimum out of them before kicking them out for being too drunk. Take that, horny morons!

So wanting to do our final act of good stripper karma/total debauchery, Lindsay gives Chris money for a lap dance. He wanted this total sorority looking chick but she disappeared into the champagne room to do one can only guess what so we debated the relative merits of the others - who was nice, who was cunty, who was making good tips, who had the energy. He eventually went with this possibly-coked-out hippie girl who had danced without shoes. He disappeared with her then she reemerged without him after a time. You should all mock him for going into the bathroom and jerking off even though he'll deny he did such a thing.

After that, it was pretty much time to bounce. I'd gotten to see what a strip club was actually like and curried good favor with whatever gods watch over the Vixens of the Pole. I even got a lesson about what strippers who walk out of a club still in their heels are going to do.

Goodbyes were said, which was a total bummout but promises were made for more hangs soon. These will be upheld or Chicago will be razed by my army of totally oiled, bare-chested Spartans in nifty leather diapers. I mean it!

And that, ladies and worms, was my night at the strip club. Now I am going to strip off all my clothing and pole-dance my way into naptime. Night!

Stuff happened at the shows. I will discuss it later for I need to sleep. However, two things need to be made abundantly clear with all due haste.

First of all, you don't see many tours like this anymore. Big production, pyro, lighting... this tour is so expensive. If they break even on this tour, it'll be a miracle. Like, no joke, they are probably going to end up in the hole. Why don't you have great rock tours like this anymore? Because there is no money to put them on. Rock is the most downloaded genre of music. Rock is the genre with the lowest record sales. So most bands can't afford to have a huge tour like this. Its not the 80s anymore. No more GNR explosionfests. So when people say "downloading just hurts big labels and fuck them anyway" there is another example of how it actually hurts music fans and bands of all sizes. I'd LOVE to see more tours like this. Too bad that MCR and Fall Out Boy are the only rock acts that could afford to do it. The best AFI could do was trees. A7X? Smog machine. This is why I buy music even though I can get pretty much any CD I want for free. Because I want Jeffree to be able to afford pink glitter cannons.

Secondly, anyone who says MCR doesn't do enough for their fans can pretty much blow me. Last night, I saw the guys for literally long enough to get a hug and say 'good show'. Tonight, I sat backstage waiting after the show for 2 hours and didn't even get that. Why? Because they were doing meet and greets and then signing stuff. They are so good to their fans to the point where they are literally drained and don't have anything left for even their families. They just go home and go to sleep. No partying, no hanging out, nothing. Then they get up at fuck off early in the morning to do it all over again. At places like LA where there are SO many fans in the meet and greets and so many people waiting... they just don't have the time for their friends because they've given all their time to their fans. So anyone, anyone who says they don't care about their fans and don't give to their fans and don't do enough for their fans can take a long walk off a very, very short pier.

I am so proud of those boys. Seriously.

Before I even talk about the show, let me take it back to the first time I ever heard of My Chem. Some kid left me a comment or something on myspace and I think I was going to his page to block him. He had the video for "I'm not okay" on his page and I was like "what is this movie with hot freaky boys getting picked on? I want to see it." I sat through the whole video thinking it was a trailer for a movie. When I realized it was a music video, my jaw fell open. "This is the best music video ever made," I said to myself. "Because it does what a video is supposed to do. It makes you watch the whole thing and remember the band." I bookmarked the kids page and played the video for every single person in the studio that night, insisting that this band was going to be the biggest thing ever.

Flash forward to Taste of Chaos and watching FUSE's coverage while closing at my old studio. 3am and they're interviewing MCR. "They're total nerds," I said to my coworkers. "They seem like sweet dudes. Good for them, kicking ass and rolling dice."

Flash forward to Warped Tour (my first Warped) and standing in the heat, squashed up against the barricade, happily singing my heart out in between taking pictures with my sidekick. "They're blowing up!" I told everyone. "How rad."



Flash forward to Warped on the East Coast, the anniversary show in my home state. MCR closed it out and it was magical, standing in the mud, in the rain, crushed against the sound board. I saw a girl with way rad hair and snapped picture of her with my kick, wanting to try and steal her hair later. She came over to me when she saw I had a kick. "Are you getting any service?" she asked. "Not much," I replied. "Lame. Kick's just don't work out here. You're the first person not on the tour I've seen with one all day," she said. "I'm from LA," I said and we both laughed. "I'm Eliza. Nice to meet you." We smiled at each other and that was that. I talked about her rad hair about every twenty minutes for the rest of the show.



Flash forward. MCR and this arena tour. I take my three best friends. I rock fankid makeup because I wish I had Frank's X eyes idea before he did. We meet some sketchy dude walking to the arena who fakes like he works for the band and compliments our tattoos. He seems rad and he's like "oh, I'll get you passes and introduce you to the band." I regret wearing fangirl makeup and spend the next hour trying to take it off. Dude never gets us passes. We run inside 2 songs into the set. Its okay. We have a hugging party in the mosh pit. I feel loved.



Flash forward. Halloween. The G7SD boys decided to have a lead singer party. Who should I be? I have the jacket. I have the wig. I have the velvet pants. All I need is a tie from Hot Topic. You best believe I make a fierce Gerard.



Another flash forward. I've gotten a Big Kid Job! I'm a studio manager now, not just a runner. To celebrate, I decide to take my best friends to do MCR like real members of this industry. I fly us all out to Vancouver. Limo, hotel, champagne, the whole nine. I had arranged passed from my new friend at Warner. He set up a meet and greet just for us. The poor boys (except Bob) had to come out and sign stuff for us. Gerard and Mikey might be more scared of us than we are of them but its a close thing as I am terrified of both of them. I talk to Ray about Quantum Physics and we promise to keep each others planes in the air. For the first time flying on a plane, I feel safe. I keep looking at the picture we took with the guys, feeling like I had actually come into my own in this industry. I felt so powerful, being able to do this for my friends. I felt grown up and happy to be so. Look at my face - you can see this is one of the happiest moments of my life.



Flash forward the beginning of a time that was both dark and light. Eric and I had been hanging out every day because all of our other friends lived 30 minutes away. He lives in a shitty apartment in Hollywood that is always dirty and filled with empty beer cans. We got to shows as much as we can just to get out. He meets Meghan, who I know through a band but am fucking terrified of. She seems mean and makes me want to cry. But she has a crush on Eric and he's in love with this band, Valentine. We go see them play downstairs at the Viper. Meghan and I have a conversation about Eric via my sidekick. She is with a girl with dark hair who also looks mean and scares me. But once we go outside and get to talking, she's super nice. I like her more than Meghan. They talk about the pictures of Pete Wentz that got leaked the day before. "He's in a band, yeah?" I say. They look at me like I'm from Mars. I feel dumb. I hide behind Eric. I complain on the way home that Meghan hates me and only talks to him because she likes Eric.

Flash. Moving forward but not far. A few days later is Saint Patrick's day. Somehow, we end up picking up Mehgan and Alicia from up the street even though I am convinced Meghan pretty much thinks I'm the biggest loser on the face of planet Earth. I talk to Alicia all night long. We don't shut up. Eric teases me the next day. "I thought you were scared of them," he said. "I was," I admit. "But I have a lot in common with Alicia. She's so motivated. I adore her. But Meghan still hates me." "Oh no she doesn't," scoffed Eric. "You're just shy."



Let's flash again, to Sarah coming home from tour. I've gotten comfortable with Meghan by now but I'm still petrified of Sarah. We've been playing each other in Navy Commander but I still think she hates me. Please god, don't let them find out I'm a nerd.

Another flash. They know I'm a nerd. They love me anyway. Life is good. Playing video games on Sarah's floor is better.

Flash. What do you mean Alicia is engaged to Mikey from My Chemical Romance? I feel awkward. He shows up at Sarah's house. I am petrified of him. I stare at my shoes a lot because I am afraid to meet his eyes. Suddenly, this is awkward. I mean, I have your poster on my wall, bro. I kinda don't want to be his friend because I don't want him to think I want to be his friend because I like his band. I kinda resent him for hanging out. I really, really like Alicia, Sarah, and Meghan and we hang out all the time. Is this going to make it weird? I resolve to not talk to Mikey as I am scared shitless of him.



Flash to Taste of Chaos again. We don't go. Eliza steals a ride from some psycho to come have dinner with us. "I think I know you from somewhere," we say to each other.

Flash. Internet shitstorm begins. I'm confused. Other my chem fans are treating me weird. Can't we just all talk about Harry Potter? I babble like normal in my LJ about how weird this sudden burst of lurking is. The hate club hates me. There is a hate club?

Another flash forward. I've always wanted a surprise party. Always. ALWAYS. What do I want for my birthday? A surprise party. Its not my long standing biffles who pull it together. It's the "Fatty Crew." They even blindfolded me. I feel very loved... and a little tipsy.



Flash. Am I more scared of Chris or Mikey? The world may never know.

Flash. Damnit. I forgot my commitment to just not talk to Mikey or talk to him as little as possible for he is rad and funny. Instead, I forget he is in a band I love. This is awkward when we get in the car and his songs come on the my mix cds. Must. Remember. To Skip. Hit Single. Oh, whatever, deal with it, listen to your own music. I like your band. Let's go get a kitten! OHMYGODISAWTHEBESTCOMICBOOKTODAYEVER!



Flash. VEGAS!!!!!!! Rollin in the convertible, yo! I hate this city but I love the company. Can we keep Eliza forever and a day? Like, seriously. "PS E Cuts, I remember how I know you. I lurked you on Warped Tour in Boston because I loved your hair. I even took a picture," I said. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA THAT RIPS!" she laughed.



Flash. "I can't wait until you hear the new record," said Mikey as we came down the urine-smelling stairs from Sarah's apartment. He pointed at me, between Sarah and Meghan. "You especially. Because I know you're a fan. And I think you'll appreciate it." Thanks, homie. Now I don't feel so weird about digging your band and being your friend. And hearing your plans for the record and tour - a totally new band, a giant parade in the streets for the record release, explosions on stage. You're a dreamer, Mister Way. That sounds so rad but... in this industry, in the current climate... are you really going to throw your fans a Black Parade? I am dubious.

Flash. Brainwave! We now have all sorts of kids who are super rad to us. Meghan wants to start a news website. But who is really gonna care? Oh yeah. Our kids. Let's make something rad for them instead of just news, where we can put all of our questions in one place and besides news articles we can interview our friend's bands and maybe expose some rad music and art or some comedy clubs or something. All the things we're passionate about. Think Chris might help a little? Alicia, Meghan, and I feverishly sketch out ideas for the site and argue about the best layout. Sarah checks her myspace.

A flash. I fly home for Warped and get to see Chris? Still scared of him? Yup. Still scared of him. It takes until day two, in Jersey, that I feel comfortable around him. Possibly because he's dangling lobsters in my face. Also, since when do people bring me presents? HOLY CRAP THOSE TSHIRTS RULE! Thanks guys! I show them to my mother when I get home. "That's very strange," she says. "I hope those people don't think you're important." "No way, Mom," I say. "They totally know I'm a nerd." I talk about it with Leigh the entire way to Jersey. I have fans? I don't want "fans". They aren't "fans". They're friends. I talk to them every day on livejournal! Are they fans? They're not fans. What is a fan? I'm still a fan of MCr but they're my friends. Am I a fan? Can I be a fan? Now I'm having an existential crisis. Great.



Let's flash forward. The summer is over. No more laying around the apartment. The band is going on tour. Alicia and Eliza are going home. If I say I hate MCR and refuse to by the record will you guys stay in LA and we can keep playing Warcraft until 5am? I mean, really. I'm not joking. I like my homegirls and homeboy way more than I'll like any damn record. Seriously. Guys. I hate your band now. Really. Now put down my godkitten and let's watch Last Bride Standing.

Flash again. The Black Parade is totally a side project between the guys in the Red Chord and the dude from the Cure.

I'm flashing you like a streaker. The website is open. I think this is rad. MCR is in town for Halloween and I get to see my friends again. I think this is radder. Standing up in the balcony, watching the show, I remember the year before I was dressed up as Gerard, watching the little band I produced play the Hard Rock. Is this ironic? I can't tell. Meghan, is my neck still wet?



Another flash. It's the holidays. That means driving 6 hours from Vegas after Jeffree played a show to San Diego just to go see our friends. Isn't that the definition of the holidays? I don't know anymore. I'm tired. I want to go to sleep. Is taking a nap on Sarah's shoulder while the band plays rude? I struggle to stay upright. Hey its Skatekwondo and Martini_Romance aka Tess and Lindsay! You guys aren't just user icons! Give me hugs. I hope security gets crabs. Fuckin' A. Alicia, Mikey, I love you but seriously? I need a nap. Get in the goddamn car.



Surprise! Its a flash! Alicia and Eliza visit a lot. Not nearly enough. Why does everyone live so far away? This sucks so bad. I haven't seen heads or tails of Mikey in months. Fifteen minutes of warcraft gabbing outside a hotel? Lame. Lame. Lamelamelame. LAME. I'm supposed to be a fan of this band, right? Well, fuck you, Black Parade! I'm not an MCR fan anymore! I quit! I want my friends back. Here are all my posters and my cds. Gimme my friends back. Okay, except I need my CDs because I love listening to them. And those posters are part of what makes my room feel like home. So... okay. Fine. I'm still a fan. Just... have a good tour and let my friends come play my city so I can see them soon. ::sigh::




Flash. Tonight. Am I more excited to see my friends or to see what I have been told is a great show? Eliza! Hug! Alicia! Hug! Mommy and Daddy Cuts! Hug! Mikey and Gerard! Hug! I feel content. We get to sit on a platform behind the stage and watch what is a truly great show. I feel excited. We get mobbed by people wanting Jeffree's picture after. I feel normal. I get a few people who want my picture. I feel like I want a hug too and a review of the concert and to not feel like I'm any different from them because I'm not.

Because I'm not.

Because I'm still a fan. Because MCR still excites me and lifts my spirits and makes me smile. Because I am absolutely and unapologetically a fan of this band. Because I am proud to know that I was right - that this band would be the biggest thing to hit rock and roll since electricity and that these boys are some of the sweetest, kindest, appreciative giant fucking nerdboys on the planet. Because they know I'm a fan and they're happy I am. Because they only person who ever made me feel weird about being a fan and a friend was me (and judgemental internet stalkers who are reading this and seething. Hi!). Because I came by all of this honestly, awkwardly, and through a lot of questioning. Because I'm proud that I can still be a fan, that I can still watch the show and know every word and sing every line. Because, at the end of the day, its still about the music. At the end of the day, being a fan of MCR has brought me what I hope it will bring every one of its fans - a group of solid friends who care about me, understand me, appreciate me, and love me despite all my flaws and the fact that I am a painfully shy nerd with a penchant for run-on LJ entries. Who they are, in the scheme of famousness, doesn't matter. That is who they are to the world. That is not who that are to me. They are a brown boy with a big mouth, a yellow girl with a good eye, a newlywed with a good heart, a scorpio with the best sense of humor, a farm gal who is always there to listen, and a sweet little dude who can run his mouth about gaming or books or half a dozen other things that make me go "OHMYHOGBLAHBLAHBLAHRANT!" I hope that everyone has a group of friends like that. I'm in my mid-20s and I appreciate how lucky I am to have stumbled into all of these people.

So I want to say thanks to MCR, as a fan, for helping unite me with 6 other people that I deeply love and adore. I want to say thank you for being music that has underscored some of the best and worst times in my life. Thank you for putting on some of the best concerts I've ever seen and giving me some of the best days of my life. Thank you, most of all, for proving me right and becoming everything I thought you'd be as both a band and as people.

I'm proud to say that I am a fan of My Chemical Romance. It's a dirty word nowadays but I'll wear it with pride.

I will always, always, always be a music fan.

So this is my response to Fawna's writing challenge which was "A husband and wife are meeting in a restaurant to finalize the terms of their impending divorce. Write the scene from the point of view of a busboy snorting cocaine in the restroom." I didn't really proof it so it may have some grammar problems (a plethora of commas, for example) but this is me just writing for fun. So, yeah.

PS, if you want to DO the writing challenge with me and Fawna, go ahead. You can take her challenge to me (above) or mine to her which was "On top of a lonely little hill on the outskirts of a lonely little town is a lonely little house. Tell me the story of this house from the houses perspective." Or just write whatever.

Yay writing!



Letters and Sounds

Snick, snick, snick, went the razor. Snick, snick, snick – over and over again until everything was pure and white and even. Snick, snick, snick then it was scraping and forming and portioning out my meal.

FFFFFFFFF – all the letters in a row make the same sound. Say it out loud. FFFFFFFFFFF. That sound ran up into my nose, burned down my throat, and started buzzing around in my brain. It mixed in with the other buzzings rolling in through my ears. Just outside the bathroom, a whole room of people chattering and gossiping and flirting and arguing and deciding if they want to pay an extra five bucks for Filet or if a New York Strip is fine. Filtered through the door, it all sounds like consonants running together.

Except this one couple in the shit seat. The shit seat is the table by the bathroom. You probably figured that out, don’t know why I told you. Sorry, not supposed to break the fourth wall and all. Let’s just forget I ever addressed you. I was never good at telling stories.

So there is this couple in the shit seat, table by the bathroom, blah blah. And this couple, I hear the vowels and the consonants and the words they are saying. Not clearly, only a word here, a phrase there. This couple, they are getting divorced, it sounds like. The woman is talking fast, steamrolling over the man whom I picture to be skinny and meek. You know the type – oversized horn-rimmed glasses, thin tie with penguins on it, stains he can’t wash out of his cheap white button up. Brown pants. Loafers. You know this guy. You’ve seen him in the movies or maybe you picked on a younger him in high school or maybe you are him, crouching down low over your keyboard at work, poppoppop at the keys, wiping your nose on the back of your hand.

Fourth wall, right, sorry, got it. Just think of that last paragraph as my buzz back through the bathroom door. All consonants. You can’t understand it. It’s just noise.

Right, ok. This woman, right? Talking away, knocking down poor meek little man she’s divorcing, prattling on about kids and homes and cars and money. She has it all planned out, it seems. When he is scheduled to pay child support and what weekends he can visit and who is going to get the rug Aunt Selma brought back from Germany that little Billy took his first steps on.

I made up the bit about the rug. She didn’t talk about a rug, Not that I could hear, anyway, but maybe she did. I couldn’t hear it all. Only phrases.

Anyway, this fat bitch, right - because you know she is both overweight and overbearing to be carrying on like this - she is just laying into this little man, laying out his life for him. Bam! Fifty grand a month. Bam! Kids on alternate weekends. Bam! Bam! NO house. NO dog. Bam! Like a boxer, just taking this guy’s life away.

This little guy is just thinking – I mean, I don’t know what he’s thinking because I’m not a psychic but you know when you see or hear something like this you just know what the guys thinking – this guy, he’s thinking ‘man, I still have to pay for your house and your clothes and the kids you wanted so you put a hole in your diaphragm to get and that ugly SUV and the platinum AMEX… and what do I get? No house, no car, no wife to cook me food or wash the skid marks out of my undies. Just a hole in my wallet and a gold-plated ring to remember you by.’

That’s what I’d be thinking. I’d flip the table and yell ‘Bitch, you don’t get my mon-aaaaaaaay!’ I mean, you can’t flip the tables here – they’re bolted to the floor – but I could maybe throw a plate or something. It’s the yelling that matters. So the whole place can hear every letter.

Snick, snick, snick, I can’t hear them over the razor and so I lose the thread of their conversation for a while. But I know what they are saying. Who gets what, when, and for how long and how much. Every story is the same. The only people who ever sit at that table are divorcees. They are the only people who book a reservation three days in advance on the busiest night at the busiest hour. We know, when they call, and we put them in the shit seat.

When their phrases return, the fat bitch is crying. She didn’t want to do this and he made her and he cheated and the same damn laundry list of excuses I’ve heard every time I decide to take my 15 in the ‘family bathroom’ where I get a whole room to myself instead of hiding in a stall like a cow awaiting slaughter.

My dad, he owned a steer farm, see? Liked to fight, too. Army guy. But this isn’t about me. Sorry. Nevermind. My mom was a MILF, though. The original. Just sayin’.

So she’s crying -‘wah wah’ and whatnot - and the FFFFFFs are dancing around in my brain some more. And then the crying gets closer - ‘wah wah you don’t love me’ - and I’m laughing to myself, picturing heifer snot and her little hand-wringing husband, and then the goddamn down is open-shut-snick! Snick for a lock sound not snick for a razor sound this time and I’m standing there ‘shit-shit-shit’.

And the fat bitch, she’s 5’2”. She’s got the Hillary Clinton hair cut and a little WASPy waist under this drab brown dress and she’s actually pretty trim. One of those cardio soccer moms, I’m thinking, and I’m holding out the plate of coke just hoping this bitch doesn’t scream for the police. I’ve been up the river once on a drug count but I did my time and got out.

Sorry, I’m talking about me again and you don’t care about… oh and now I’m talking to you again. Sorry, sorry. I just forget. Its just letters, just consonants, blah blah, ignore me.

I’m standing here, holding the plate and the razor and she’s looking at me then the plate then the razor then she’s over next to me, FFFFFFFFing up my dinner into her nose. But, shit, so long as she doesn’t roll on me to the cops or the management, she can do all the consonants she wants.

“Could you hear us?” she asked, rubbing the bottom of her nose nervously.

“Nyah. Just noise through the door,” I say.

“Ahhh,” she replies and snorts thoughtfully. “Can anyone hear us?”

“Nyah.”

“Good.” And then she is on me and my skinny white butt is up against the bathroom tiles next to the baby changing station. The koala is watching us make vowel sounds since we snorted up all the consonants and she’s saying ‘EEEEEE’ and I’m ‘OOOOOOO’ and the koala is silent because he’s seen it before.

So we do it fast then she snorts up what’s left of my blow – FFFFF – and then she is straightening her panties and trying to tell me her life story. And I listen until my watch beeps and tell her I got to go back on shift now.

When I come by to bus her table, she squares her shoulders and ignores me, reaching out to take her husband’s hand and say maybe they should talk this out, maybe they are moving too fast, that she still loves him, that all of this was a mistake. I know. Every soon-to-be ex-wife I’ve ever fucked in that stall, every time they sit back down in the shit seat, they get back with their man. And every man, looking at that wife-shaped hole in his wallet, he takes them back. No costly therapy, no lawyers. I think of it as my duty to humanity, keeping moms and dads together so their kids don’t grow up all dysfunctional. That’s a job I’ve done for years. Centuries, maybe. But it’s a new era, this ain’t Rome, and even Cupid has to pay the rent. So I take her empty plate with a wink and go back to fill up mine, snick, snick, snick.

What you need to understand is, I like to speed. Not like, really... more like need. I need to speed. I'm what you can an "expedient" driver. I have many a time crammed my foot, encased in some fully fabulous shoe of course, all the way down to the floorboards while happily butchering Xtina at the top of my lungs. Or the Spice Girls. I'm really good a ruining the Spice Girls. I mean like professionally good.

Ahem... so Jeffree and I are also professionally fashionably late. We don't mean to be. (Well, not always, but I have actually uttered "well, the party starts at nine so we shouldn't get there until at least 10. Maybe 11." And was being dead serious, too.) It just takes us a fair bit of time to get ready and we have a tendency to lounge like lounging things until too close to zero hour. After primping and preening, we were a little later than we needed to be. So I drove like a demon, further ruining my poor hands which are still swollen today. The wind cresting the mountains going into the Grapevine didn't have quite the push as the night before but coupled with the steep gradient and curving blacktop, it was rather harrowing.

Not that we noticed.

Although my iPod adapter did not want to cooperate and kept trying to drown our dance party in static, we boogied our little hips all the way to Bakersfield. (Miles: 100. Time: 1 hour. DO NOT DRIVE LIKE ME. My dash lights are dead so I can't tell how fast I'm going.) We had to park in buttfuck nowhere again because I couldn't figure out where the fuck artist parking was. We hurried in and got our passes from Will Call. In a marked change from the night before, security was none too nice to us. Usually, we just carry our passes instead of sticking them on. I'm the most paranoid person ever and if I have to put a sticky pass on me, I'm constantly touching it, terrified it has fallen off. (Because a lot of them do.) So when we flashed out passes, security was like "you have to put them on." "Can I put it on my purse?" asked Jeffree. "You can put it on your per...son," the guard responded. I had some trouble getting the backing off mine. It didn't want to peel off and kept shredding into paper instead of exposing the adhesive. "Is that a fake?" asked the guard, reaching out to paw me. I managed to get the backing off just then and put the pass on and he grabbed my breast, "looking" at my pass. I was unamused. So we finally get past those guys and we're trying to figure out where the dressing room is. We pass a guard and he grabs my wrist and goes "what color are your passes? What is the date on them? What are you doing back here? Lemme see your passes!" And we're like "chill bro, we're friends of the band. He's doing make up." So I get groped AGAIN and I'm thinking I should move my passes back to my jeans but they have glitter pinstripes painted on and the pass won't stay.

We get glared at and questioned by another 5 security guards until we finally hit the dressing rooms for hugs and relaxation. Ben from Scarlet Grey (check them out) was there, who is one of the sweetest people ever. We got to chatting and discovered he lives literally 3 blocks from my place. Joy! Jen also came, who is likewise great and working on a new musical project that I will wise you all up to when it comes out.

I just discovered two stuck pixels on my screen! Motherfucker.

Anyway. We went and stood by the sidestage for a while and it was like FLASHFLASHFLASHJEFFREEEEEEE! Kids came running down to the railing to get stuff signed. Ben was a little shocked by it but I've gone enough places to with Jeffree that it now doesn't phase me. J* and I went upstairs so he could sign more stuff and take pictures and we had yet another conversation about approachable celebrity. People like him and me and people like us because we're approachable. You know J* runs his myspace whereas AFI doesn't. He may, off chance, read your message or comment you. And he can and will be places and make himself available for pictures and a chance to talk to him and such which most band members can't do. It's cool for fans. Its a different marketing model for business nerds like me and its effective. And more than anything, its a business model that I enjoy being a part of. I'd rather get to see kids faces, close up, squealing with joy and shaking with nerves at meeting him than sit in a stupid office and plug in sales figures and try to figure out what market would receive him the best. Fuck that. I want to watch someone's entire face light up. I want to forget, for a minute, that this is a business at all.

Although, it's still weird when people recognize me. There were a few people who did, most notable this adorable pair of girls who were literally shaking from head to toe. I gave them french fries and talked with them (Miss E's patented calming strategy - give food, discuss neutral topic) but they were so overexcited that they couldn't stop shaking like leaves and jumping up and down and talking too loud. It was honest to god the sweetest thing ever. I love kids like that, who don't push or get crazy, but are still SOOOOOO excited that it can't help but melt your heart to watch.

There were a lot of kids like that which helped balance out how continually shitty security was. All the kids were really polite and well-mannered but still trembling like over-stimulated puppies. A lot of them didn't have cameras or paper to get signed so I was taking pics with my kick and doling out pieces of paper for them so they could have something to take with them. It felt good to watch what would have been tossed in a trashcan by me become something that really made someone's night.

With that reflection in my heart, we went back down to the dressing rooms until it was show time. We stood by the side of the stage for a while, our view blocked by a smiley face balloon that Nils had to nearly curbstomp to get it to stay out of our line of site. We stayed there for a few songs, reveling in having a PA aimed toward us this time so it didn't sound like utter shit. But the lure of the floor drew us in and Jeffree and I went out to watch a few songs from the back of the venue. And as we walked back and forth from the stage to the floor and back, kids were crying for Jeffree and when he stopped to sign stuff and give one girl a birthday hug, they freaked out. I don't know, just watching their reactions just made me sosososo happy. I always feel weeeeeird standing side stage and singing along (not that it stops me) because we're supposed to be all VIP and professional and crap. I'll be professional when the band is offstage. But when I'm at a show, no matter who it is, I want to scream and cry and sing and let my makeup run too. Watching fans, good fans, do that is a similar sort of catharsis for me now.

So I stood, dancing subtly with Jeffree and singing quietly and appreciating the behind-the-scenes. I was thinking a lot about being a fan and growing up into "an industry person" this weekend while I was at these shows. I had a conversation with Ben about it. He has been an AFI fan for YEARS and now he is friends with the band. Its a little strange because you don't really think of "Band Member" as a Member of This Band. They're just this dude or chick you know. You're not their friends because of the band and so that fades into the background, like anyone else's job. So when you step back and realize it, its a little strange. And then you feel kind of weird that you were (and remain) a fan. Its a hard line to walk, mentally, some times. Can you still be a fan? There is no answer.


And I'm thinking about all of this, about who I was at 15, sweating in the pit, and who I am now at 25, standing backstage. And it made me smile. I think who I was then would be proud of who I am now. And I'm certainly proud of who I was then. And I'm thinking all of this and I'm noticing things like behind the WALL of white marshall amps... there is a single cab that is micced. I'm noticing Jade and Hunter's subtle and not so subtle hand motions to the side stage sound man (he is the one who controls the monitors they hear on stage). I'm watching him and I'm watching the board and I'm catching the technical glitches. I'm watching the lights and the back drop and I think I missed two whole songs just really falling into the production and the behind the scenes secret life that keeps the show going. Watching the roadies scuttle across the stage to reset cables or untangle Hunter from Davey's mic cable... it was like rediscovering something that I'd started to take for granted a little.

And godDAMNIT, I got to see Davey godwalk. See, I always end up having a shitty view when he does it. I'm either side stage and the PA blocks my view or I have run to the back of the venue but then he's this little thing on some other little things. So Jeffree had ducked out to go to the bathroom and I slid to the side so I could watch him vault the barricade. Then I went quickly down the avenue between the seats and the actual floor so I was maybe 6 rows of people back and could see perfectly as kids crowd surfed up to sing with him. I bounced back over to sing "Hey Jeffree Star, can I?" as they closed then helped him sign more stuff, first when the kids ran down the stairs to us, then leading him out onto the floor, then taking him upstairs. By the end of that, I was pretty much elated. I'd contented both my fan side and my pro side and gotten completion and catharsis from a show like I wanted to and could let all of that go and go back to see my friends and forget all about music all together.

Its only now, getting all reflective while writing this that I can appreciate how cool that is.

We said our goodbyes and got our hugs then walked out back to the car, stopping for pictures again. (I don't kid when I say that I can't take him anywhere. But now I'm used to it and it was jazzing me up so much to watch so I kinda love it.) There was some local band that had myspaced him whom we met up with momentarily before heading back over the hills, down the freeway, through the wind, and home into our little bed to slumber away peacefully for the first time in days.

All in all, a good weekend. A weekend spent most certainly inside my head over thinking the deeper life meaning of things like lighting and mic placement but that is who I am, after all. The girl who thinks too much and makes little tiny things into overarching metaphors for a fabricated reality and is obsessed with both art and commerce. I tend to get out of balance, thinking so much about all these intangibles and this weekend helped bring me back to a place of peace, a place of appreciation, a place that I constantly wander away from. I got to satisfy being a fan, being a friend, and being a "word that starts with F for business professional." So thanks to the band and the fans, not that either will likely ever see this, and to Jeffree, of course, who is nice enough to take me to all this nonsense and let me have all these ridiculous moments of epiphany and rumination and reverie when I probably should just be enjoying a good ol' 4 on the floor.

I think what I mean to say in all of this is that I had a good time.

The AFI show was good, as I was sure it was going to be. It was at some college basketball stadium and was sold out so yay boys! The wind on the freeway getting there was shoving the car around to the point that Jeffree and I were screaming and I was holding the wheel so hard my knuckles actually dislocated (I have this problem a lot) and are swollen and bruised as I type. Does this keep me off the internet? Well, does having a dislocated jaw keep me from talking? Srsly.

So, we run through the blustering wind to the venue. And we're treated like gold. The girl at will call is like "Jeffree, everyone knows who you are. You need an escort." Davey had already sent us someone and she walked us backstage. Not gonna lie, that was a new level and it was kinda neat. Creepy but neat.

However, you can't keep us backstage. Pssh eff that. We walked back for a second to say hi to Smuff, Nillah, and RDub (as they are colloquially known) then we were out so J* could take pics with kids and we could go get water. And out of nowhere is our bodyguard who is like "If you wanted something, I would have just sent one of our runners!" And we're baffled by this. Trust and know, we can walk through a crowd of people and get a bottle of water on our own. I mean, we're self-important assholes but we're not THAT bad.

So we shot some silly vids then went back to the side of the stage as AFI went on. They were stellar, which surprises no one. But I was standing there, feeling kind of jaded and annoyed. Sound backstage at an arena is fucking atrocious. And backstage I feel all awkward singing at the top of my lungs and dancing like a jackass. So I'm just standing there feeling really weird and uncomfortable and I'm thinking of what I'm going to write on LJ later and how no matter what I say, some shitty asshole is going to decide I'm bragging or not appreciating what they'd kill for or I'm trying to start drama somehow and I'm just BUMMIN on fans and music and over-thinking my entire life, as I tend to do sometimes. And all of a sudden, without a word or a note of prompting from the band, the entire place started screaming "THROUGH OUR BLEEDING, WE ARE ONE!" And it just lit up my entire life. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter who is banging who and who is gonna talk shit about it and really, really doesn't matter if people who don't know me love me or hate me. It matters that I am there and that I am in love with the music and I am doing what I would have killed for and I got to it honestly and I know that. So I listened to the crowd screaming and let it wash over me and felt regenerated and a little less jaded, for I have been getting fucking jaded recently. The kids who sit on the internet all the time (myself most CERTAINLY included) are such a small part of the overall fan community for any band. Hearing people singing, screaming, being a part of this moment in music together yet each experiencing it individually - that is the 'fandom' I want to be a part of.

Jeffree is kind of the same way as me and after a few songs we were like "fuck this" and went out into the crowd to watch the show. And we wrapped our arms around each other and we sung our little black hearts out and I danced like a jackass by some 13 year old girls and we grinned at each other and put our fists in the air and I enjoyed myself. So thank you, crowd of people I'll likely never see again and band I will see tomorrow, because I really needed that.

After the set closed, we walked back so I could get a cigarette then went back out so J* could take more pictures. I talked with security and shot the shit with them quite enjoyably until they had to bounce all the kids that were with us. We went back to AFI's dressing room and Davey is all "uhhhh my ride bounced on me." After some deliberation as to whether we should take him to his friend's house or our place (as his friend's house was an hour out of our way), I went off to retrieve the car and bring it to artist parking. I ended up getting fucking totally lost, wandering around in the godawful wind, asking security how the fuck I was supposed to get my car up a one way street and a sidewalk to get back to artist. They unblock a route for me and I retrieve Jeffree and Davey. The latter has to duck down while we drive by everyone waiting by the back gate while the former rolls down the fucking window and yells hi. He enjoys giving me mini-heart attacks.

So, we got directions from one of the crew guys and he insisted we go 15 s to 215 n... which we do... and end up in fucking BARSTOW. If you want to find out how fucking far out of the way we went, mapquest Los Angeles and Barstow. Yeah. YEAH. YEAH. I suck. And the BEST part was when, in my totally dark dash as Davey had to point out, the fucking gas light came on. In the middle of the desert. With NOTHING for 25 miles in either direction. Davey is like "uh, if we run out of gas, what exactly are we going to do?" And I'm all "uh, freeze to death, bro." His response, "Cool." Luckily, as my car was seconds away from giving up the ghost we hit "bat country" and a gas station or 12. So yeah, when J* and Davey's video FINALLY uploads to Buzznet and you get to see it - that was shot in a gas station 100 miles in the wrong fucking direction of where we needed to go. Yup. I RULE! This is why we let me drive everywhere!

Oh wait. No. Its because I'm the only one with a fucking car.

Gah.

Anyway, so we are now way the fuck in the wrong way. But whatever. We turn around and keep babbling at each other. Long car rides are kinda the rule when you barely get to see someone. You get forever and a day to talk. I think I was more bummed on the fact that we went the wrong way than anyone else since my fucking hands hurt from all the wind-white-knuckle shit. Davey and Jeffree were kinda totally oblivious to the additional 2 hours of drive time and it actually passed really fast, which shocked me because the ride from Barstow usually sucks so hard its unbelievable.

I managed to only kinda get us lost the rest of the way. Which is to say that I went the wrong way 3 more times. Yup. I did. Not gonna lie. I SUCK at directions tonight.

And now it is 5 am and change. I had my Lullaby time so I'm tired but Jeffree and I are sitting on opposite computers, shouting curse words at each other and dancing in our chairs to Gwen Stefani so sleep may just continue to elude. Oh, also it must be noted that we had a goth dance party on the way there and a rap-off on the way back. BALLIN!!!!!

Naptime. Night!

So, I had dinner with my favorite Buzznet rapscallions, Steve and Karen last night to talk about how to make my little part of the site better and give more cool stuff to you guys. And well... I'm not a model, yo. I'm not trying to be. I'm not a photographer and I'm not trying to be. I'm not a writer either but I do like to write and I think that what I have to say is way more interesting than crappy sidekick pictures of my dinner. So I'm going to start blogging over here just like I've been doing on my LJ for years. They're gonna be long and wordy and about as deep as a puddle but hey - it's only the internet. Read 'em if you like. Skip 'em if you like. I'll still be posting as many ridiculous pictures as ever. So I hope you enjoy the new blogs AND the pictures. And thank you, seriously, for taking the time and effort to wander over to my corner of the internet and see what I'm posting, whatever it is. Thank you.

- Miss E