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

I am a pacifist. Not because I have any major heartfelt opposition to violence but because, in all honesty, I am a total pussy. I do not like pain and because of certain things that happened in my childhood, I actually have very, very extreme panic attacks when confronted with in-the-flesh violence. This is not to say I haven't been in a handful of fights in my life but I avoid them when at all possible. I've learned that acting crazy and being all "BITCH I WILL SLIT YOUR THROAT AND SHIT DOWN YOUR NECK" works well because I look the part. I've gotten out of hundreds of fights this way.

But not last night.

We went to Moscow after Jeffree's rehearsal. I'm not entirely sure what possessed us to do such a thing. Possibly it was my joy over my totally awesome new hoodie. We got there around 12:15, after the list was closed. I ended up forgetting my wallet with my ID but the owner of the club walked me in so I didn't have to worry about it. Its not like I'm not there all the time. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

As we were walking up the street, some kid starts yelling "Jeffree! Jeffree!" This is very par for the course so we just kept walking. We saw Keith and Daniel and stepped between some parked cars to get to them. As I stepped off the sidewalk, something hit me and I tripped into the back of a car. Joel had to pull me upright. When I looked up, this horribly attired scene boy was grabbing Jeffree's arm and screaming "Jeffree! Jeffree!" despite being 6 inches away from him. Jeffree yanked out of his grip and said "don't touch me." This kid starts going off about how Jeffree is pretending to be a bitch and not know him. He keeps getting close and grabbing Jeffree, to the point where I have an arm out between the two and I'm warning the kid in my most growly voice to back the fuck up.

Since he won't leave us alone, we get to Keith as fast as we can. We're standing in the street talking to him when I hear "rustlerustleTHUD". When I look over to see what is going on, this kid is laying on the street. Apparently, he tried to air kick Jeffree, missed, and fell on his ass because he was so drunk. He jumped up and started grabbing at him and Jeffree shoved him away. A few more people got in between us and him and he still kept yelling and lunging at Jeffree. It was so ridiculous that Keith actually thought he was with us because who fucking acts like that except a friend that is joking around. We got our crew and got the hell inside.

Apparently, this kid tried to follow us inside and attacked Daniel and/or the bouncers. I'm not entirely sure as I didn't see it but I do know he got banned from Moscow.

Inside, we wandered and idled and people watched but for some reason none of the regulars were there and we bailed after an hour or so. As we were walking back to my car, someone stars yelling "FUCKING TRANNY! FUCKING FAGGOT!" The usual. We laugh about it to our friends from out of town and say "welcome to Hollywood" and get in the car. I start to back up but I see someone running towards the car and I stop so I don't hit anyone. The drunk scene boy from earlier slams into my driver's side window at top speed, hitting it over and over with first the flat of his hand then his fist and I'm afraid he is going to break it. "Get the fuck off my car!" I yell and he hits my window so hard it shakes. I roll it down quickly because I don't want him to break it, not thinking this will give him access to me. "Back the fuck off my car, dude! Go the fuck away!" I yell. He reached into my window and grabs my hair, yanking me into the doorframe and spitting at me. I get caught on my seatbelt but he gets my head out of the car a bit. I throw down my sidekick and shove his hands so he hits the car on the other side of us. He steps back and pulls open my door and I feel that familiar rising wave of panic starting to bubble up within me. But I know if I freeze up this kid is gonna hurt me badly because he's drunk and he's mad and he's crazy so I step out of the car because I don't want to be pinned. There is no way I can drive away because we can't back up without hitting this kid. Somehow, I manage to get the car in park and take my seatbelt off in all of this. He opens my door but I step out under my own power.

I'm a pacifist. I'm a pussy. I don't want to get in a fight. So I get out of the car with the same sort of tact that has gotten me out of a million fights before - the Angry Voice. "Get the fuck away from us!" I yell, thinking 'okay, so yeah this kid has already attacked me but maybe the angry voice and some jaw clenching will make him leave'. Its worked on dudes twice his size. I square my shoulders and point away from the car. Think mean, Miss E. Think mean!

Yeah, no. The kid hits me in the face. I do not like being hit in the face. It hurts and it messes up my make up and it took me a fucking hour to figure out how to put on fake lashes without Jeffree's help. I turn to the side and bend over so he can't get my face again, putting my arms up. I'm not fighting yet because I can't. My limbs are heavy and I feel like you're in those horrid dreams where you're running from a monster but you're moving through molasses. Everything is seizing up around me and my vision is going black. (I told you, I have a really, really extreme panic reaction to fighting. Like, bad news bears.) But I'm thinking to myself that I have to do something to defend myself because he just hit me on the back of my neck now and it's pushing me towards the ground and I see Jeffree getting out of the car to defend me but if I just totally freeze up, I'm gonna get hurt bad. So I hit him in the stomach, more of a shove than a punch. He grabs the banana clip in my hair and pulls. It yanks for a second then the clip comes loose and he stumbles, surprised. I'm turning to get up and I use the force of my spin to sock him in the shoulder. Great, now he's coming at me again and my fist hurts. Lovely. He jumps on me and his fingers touch my neck, trying to squeeze. His nails scrabble against my skin and my vision whites out. I was once choked and beaten as a kid (have I yet mentioned the childhood trauma and the panic disorder?). I lash out instinctively and I think I got him in the face. Even though my eyes were open, I couldn't see anything. My vision had whited out completely. I hit something but it may have been Jeffree, who had run around the car to pull this kid off me. His hands tighten around my throat for a second then he's away and Jeffree is shoving him back, yelling something at him to try and make him leave.

But, like my Angry Voice, it has no effect and this kid goes after Jeffree now. My vision gets all crystal clean and slow-mo and I watch this kid try to kick my roommate. He has Jeffree by arm and I remember thinking that I hope he didn't scratch his new tattoo. I also remember being impressed by Jeffree's ability to balance on his stilettos with some drunken psychopath yanking on his arm.

The door to my backseat fairly explodes and our friend Billy leaps out of the car. Before Jeffree can do much more than pull the kid off me, Billy has the guy around the waist. His speed knocks them both a few steps away from Jeffree and I. The kid is like freaking out at this point a hits Billy and they scrap a little. Billy manages to get the kid by his arms and get behind him, pinning him so he can't fight. He's kicking and yelling but it's sort of useless at this point. And I'm thinking "yay, fight over."

It bears noting that this kid attacked us repeatedly and we only defended ourselves and each other. When Jeffree pulled him off me, he didn't hit him, just pulled him away until the kid hit him first. When Billy yanked him off Jeffree, he didn't use fists until after the kid had hit him a few times. As soon as Billy had him pinned, Jeffree backed down and checked on me. None of us went after him nor did we ever tag team him. We weren't trying to hurt him, merely get him to stop hurting us. This was probably a good thing because if Jeffree or Billy actually cut loose, we'd probably be in jail.

So, as I was saying, Billy is holding this kid pinned so he can't keep fighting. He's still trying to kick and bite and thrash but Billy is a strong dude. But this kid has a friend who was down at the other end of the parking lot and he has been running down towards us. He jumps on Billy's back and hits him in the back of the head. Billy let's the drunk kid go to defend himself and the drunk kid turns with this like Mortal Kombat yell and attacks him. So now Billy is scrapping with two dudes.

Jeffree and I look at each other. "Hold mah grill, girl," he says and I want to start laughing because its the most absurd thing that could happen in this situation. He gives me his grill, his purse, and his shoe. The crazy drunk kid breaks away from Billy and brandishes a fist with brass knuckles. He runs at Jeffree, who still has one shoe in his hand, in the middle of giving it to me. The kid's swings and misses then his arms close around Jeffree's waist and slam them both into the car beside us. Jeffree bonks him over the head with a heel. The kid bites Jeffree's stomach and Jeffree hits him again and gets him off. Not liking being whacked with a blunt object, he lunged at me again. Cute, right? Go after the girl with her hands full of shit who really can't defend herself. So he goes for me and I swing and hit him with Jeffree's brand new Tarina purse. Way to ruin our accessories, man. I know I should drop everything but I'm holding Jeffree's phone and I don't want to break it. This is all I can think - if I drop the phone, its going to explode all over the ground and little springs and gears are going to go rolling everywhere and he's gonna be really mad at me. I skitter backwards but this kid has me trapped against the car and I have nowhere to go. I'm watching his fist with the shiny brass knuckles and I'm thinking 'don't drop the phone. Don't drop the phone. Don't drop the phone.' He swings and I block him with Jeffree's purse. His fist hits the car beside my head and dents it. There is a white scrape in the paint and I'm still thinking 'don't drop the phone.' His fist slides along the car and grazes into my hip and I whack him with the purse again. I hop to the side as he grabs around my waist. I can hear his teeth snap shut with a click, feel his lips touch me shirt as he tries to bite my side. I bop him over the head with the hand that is holding the phone and Jeffree's grills. They dig into my hand and I nearly drop the phone I've been so focused on this entire time. He tightens his arms and slams me into the car again so I hit him on the head with the phone once more. His arms loosen but so does my grip on the phone and I'm screaming in my head 'don't drop it, don't drop it, don't drop it!' I can't think about the kid attached to my waist. I can only think about the stupid cell phone.

Jeffree grabs the kid by the shoulder and practically throws him away from me like we're in the WWE. He gets between me and the kid and very calmly stands there. I watch him tuck an errant piece of hair behind his ear like this is no big deal and its hilarious to me. The Drunk Kid runs back at us, swinging and screaming "KILL YOOOOOOU!!!" Bonk! goes Jeffree's shoe on his head. Thankfully, this kid is drunk enough that he is trying to grapple and bite instead of punch because those brass knuckles were no joke. He grabs the back of Jeffree's shirt and they're spinning around in this circle, the kid gnawing on his tshirt and Jeffree hitting him over the head with his shoe. "Don't hurt him," I yell and Jeffree actually pauses and gives me a disparaging look, nonplussed that his shirt was now covered in drool and stretched out by this kid tugging on it. How he keeps his poise in such situations, I'll never know. He's not even really trying to fight this kid, just keep him away from me since I'm trapped. They continue to spin, Jeffree bonking him over the head in a bored manner as this kid kept biting and clawing at his sides. I don't think he was really taking this seriously since he never once bothered to punch the kid just whack him like you would a dog that is being naughty.

All of a sudden, Billy grabs the kid and tosses him away from us. His friend has backed up and is yelling "what the fuck man, what the fuck!" Billy puts his fists up and steps between us and them, not attacking but looking menacing. "Leave us the fuck alone. Get the fuck away from our car and leave us the fuck alone," he spits. Does crazy drunk kid lunge for him again? You bet. But his friend grabs him and Jeffree takes Billy's arm before he can really hurt someone. "Get in the car," he says calmly. So we all pile in to the car and I back out and we leave. The kid breaks away from his friend and hits the trunk of my car with his fist but I'm out of the box of cars at this point and he is behind me not beside me so I can actually just get the fuck out of there. Jeffree and Billy are opening their doors to go back and beat the hell out of him but I just speed up so they can't get out of the car.

The best part is that all of this happened in full view of the cops, who didn't do anything. They didn't even stop me when I left.

We check to make sure each one of us is okay. Billy somehow managed to take his plugs out while he was fighting and tuck them in his pocket. He has a big scratch on his back like he'd been having rough sex. Jeffree checks his makeup in his compact like some crazy dude with brass knuckles didn't just try to cause us grevious bodily harm. He sprays perfume on himself and then on me and grins at me. "Did you have fun, angel?" he says and winks at me.

I just start laughing because, really, did this actually just happen? Like, really? Jeffree grins at me and we turn up the radio en route to Swingers. Jeffree puts his shoes back on and helps me clip up my hair again. Billy laments that the kids stretched out his shirt. I giggle as the last of the panic attack rolls away. Apparently, that really did just happen.

And best of all, I didn't drop the phone.

((written yesterday afternoon in the car. I didn't post when I tried before. wah.))

I apologize for what is about to be an atrocious amount of spelling and grammatical errors but I'm tirrrrrrrred.

So we left for SF 28 hours ago. I'm currently sitting in the front seat of our rented and dented land yacht, feeling the A/C chill the damp spots in the only pair of jeans I brought. Fuck you, precipitation.

Ok, I just turned my side of the dual climate control up to 74. Jeffree cooed at me since that's what his is set at. We are total faggots, in case you might be wondering. I'm still amazed we can live together and jaunt off in tiny confined spaces with each other for long hours and only rarely feel compelled to stab each other to death with our phone chargers.

We galloped up here in record time, being that I drive like I'm running from the law at all times. Chalk it up to watching Worlds Wildest Police Videos every time I have lunch.

Oh god, 2 hours from home. I can't begin to explain to you how much I hate any place that isn't LA. When you have somewhere that feels like home, even when it hurts the worst, every other place is just aggravating and irritating. But that is why I tour - to go other places and come back to LA and fall back in love with her. Seeing other places reminds me of what I might otherwise take for granted. My city, my genie, my granter of wishes.

I'll say it again - I love LA.

And I fucking HATE San Francisco. Hate it. Hate. HATE. Goddamn hippies. Cartman ain't got nuthin on me, boo.

Before we even left, we got lunch at a little jewish deli in our neighborhood. The husband and wife that owned it were hilarious. They asked us if we'd ever been to the Bunny Ranch (google it) and gave Jeffree his new name - Jeffree Star aka 47. We about died laughing. Aside from me puking, it was a good note to leave on.

About 150 miles from SF, J* had a horrid realization. We'd remembered the limited edition merch, the tennis shoes for driving, the heels for the show, the back up tracks in multiple formats. But we forgot one thing in our rush - Jeffree's makeup.

After banging our heads against the dashboard, we got into problem solving mode. I went fast enough that we made it to Berkeley in four and a half hours. (Don't drive like me. Seriously.) We checked in to the hotel then ran to 4th street. We found the MAC store there and explained our dilemma to the girls working there. Luckily for us, they were really, really nice and let us use their demo make up so j* could get ready. So he did his makeup is about 25 minutes, which is 20 less than his most rushed time.

When we got outside, it was starting to rain. We hurried to the Gilman for load in and set up all the merch that had been drop shipped there. We left Michael there, who had nicely offered to do merch for us. I took Johnny and Jeffree back to the hotel to get ready and get the limited edition merch we'd shoved into my suitcase. In the hour we were gone, Michael was mobbed and was very harried by the time we came back. We sorted out his cash so he had enough fives to make change as the kids ran over to get pictures.

I had to keep moving Jeffree around the club just because so many kids crowded around that it became impossible to move. We couldn't get the kids that had already gotten a picture out to get new ones in because everyone pressed in from all directions. Every time this happened, I had to grab poor Jeffree and drag him somewhere else so this cycle could start again.

For those of you who don't know, 924 Gilman is one of the most legendary clubs on the west coast. Its our CBGBs. Its totally volunteer run and where bands like AFI and Green Day got their start. However, those bands can't play there any more. The Gilman is punk rock is the best way. You're signed? Fuck you. They only book bands without deals.

And they take care of them. The painted the entire stage and back wall pink for us. It was rad. However, there is no backstage, no vip, no artist parking or headliner bathroom. So we have to be in the crowd of kids the whole time. This became a real problem because the crowd of kids locked down whatever area we were in. Merch - no merch sales. DJ booth - staff can't move. Back or front door - fire hazard because no one can get in or out.

At an hour to showtime, I pulled Jeffree out completely and we went across the street to some crappy alehouse. We killed time with some friends before returning to the madness. I hopped up into the sound booth to take care of business.

I'll let you all in on a secret. When we do one offs, we don't always have a band. If you've seen us live, you may notice the music just mysteriously emanates from Jeffree's body... otherwise known as, I hit play on the iPod or CD player. And I really hate it. As much as there are more things that can go wrong with a live band, it is easier to cover up if someone breaks a string or an amp explodes or someone starts playing the wrong song. Its only one part of the music going wrong. If anything at all happens to the CD player, all the music stops at once.

Now, we burned a quick CD just in case the Gilman couldn't DI our iPod. This was, in fact, the case and we had to go off CD. I copied down the setlist off the iPod onto my kick, thinking all would be well.

We played the intro song and I leaned over the wall to shout to Jeffree and Johnny when it was go time. They barely made it to the stage, through the crowd. All was well until the 4th song, when Eyelash Curlers started playing. Jeffree looked a little confused to me but rolled with it expertly. I, however, panicked. The song was 5 earlier than it should be. This was problematic for me as I now could not be sure if any of the rest of the songs were in the order they were supposed to be in and because the club only had one CD player, I couldn't pop it out while J* talked and check. Normally, it'd be no big deal but we were cutting one song and pulling up guest vocalists for a song.

I hit talkback and warned Jeffree that we may have to do I Hate Music. God LOVE that boy because when it played he goes "this is a new one called I Hate Music... wait. Wait. I'm just not feeling it. Let's here one you all know." And I skipped forward to Louis Vuitton. I don't care if you don't like his music, boy knows how to bring it and roll with mistakes live.

After that was supposed to be Eyelash Curlers and I bit my lip. I couldn't even see how many tracks were on the CD so I couldn't guess if we'd somehow put it on the CD twice or what. While Jeffree was talking, I jacked the CD faders down in the house and jammed in headphones. The next song was Negative Creep.

"Negative Creep is next," I buzzed through talkback. "Bring the guys up."

"Eyelash Curlers," Jeffreee said, his own faux lashes becoming dark black lines as he glared in the darkness back at me.

"You already played it," I said.

"No I didn't." His pink mouth scowled at me. "Hit it."

So I backed up the CD player and played it again. Kids went WIIIIIIILD for it all over again. No one seemed to notice that we'd already done it except for this one dirty punk dude in the back who was yelling insults. But hey, so long as the rest of the crowd was happy, who gave a damn? They just get a longer set and more time for people to hop up on stage. So hey, the Gilman got a longer set than I think we've ever played before, even though we had actually planned on cutting it down to 30 minutes.

My favorite part of the set was Negative Creep. Jeffree brought Carlos and Billy on stage, who are maaaad hardcore. They screamed the entire song and the entire crew in the sound booth was screaming along back at him, jumping up and down with each other. Side note - the staff at the Gilman fucking rules. Anyway, I don't know if J*'s fans know how amazing of a death metal growl my boy in a dress has going on. Despite the no stage diving plaques, Billy and Carlos jumped off the stage and pitted with the kids. It was AWESOME and a good break from the electro for a place so down and dirty as the Gilman. I mean, for a club that is so legendary and a show that I, personally, have been looking forward to since the day we booked it... we kinda had to go above and beyond our normal show and I'm glad we did. And despite what was almost a near fatal error, when the lead sound girl for the Gilman reached to eject out CD to put in the house music before J* was done playing but caught herself at the last second, when the last note rung out, it was drowned out by people screaming and I couldn't even hear Jeffree on the PA as he thanked everyone.

By the time the set ended, the entire room felt wet and warm with sweat and excitement in the way I remember good shows feeling when I was a teenager. That disgusting smell of bodies pressed together for too long, the sound of voices hoarse from cheering now figuring out plans for the next step, the knot of kids that clogged up the venue even more than before to get pictures... this to me meant that we might have played the best show in our touring career. (Well, we nothing. I hit play. Jeffree played the best show of his career. So props to him because, really, he is the one who pulls all this off.)

I got up on the wall of the sound booth to jump down into our merch area but saw Jeffree was going an entirely different way. So I jumped the wall on the other side, only to find he'd gone to where I was originally figuring he'd go. The crowd of kids was so thick that I couldn't get through. So I ran out the back door and in the front door, ducking through the crowd on the other side to get to him. Part of my job is to be body guard and crowd control, which means I'm the poor sucker telling kids that they have to leave after they've gotten a picture so others can get through or the one yelling at the crowd to all take one step back so the don't crush each other and, worst of all, the one who takes Jeffree away before the last autograph is signed if there are too many people and the venue security is ushering us away. Basically, I'm responsible for crushing kids hopes and dreams (Okay, that's melodramatic - taking away what might be the highlight of their night. But I like the sound of 'crushing hopes and dreams' better.) It kinda sucks because I feel bad but its what has to be done.

Again, the press of fans got too bad inside and I pulled Jeffree outside again. The thinking was that having only one wall meant kids wouldn't be caught by the small spaces and we'd be able to more efficiently get kids in and out so everyone could have an autograph and a picture before we had to clear the area because of the noise ordinances that are still threatening to shut down the Gilman. This did not so much work as kids closed in on all sides and pinned us against the wall so the kids in the front who were getting pictures and autographs couldn't (and wouldn't) get out and no one else could get close the get their own. I had to keep yelling at kids to back up because I was pushed against the wall so hard it hurt, nevermind anyone else. It was crazy on a whole new level.

It finally calms a little as a few kids force their way in and out of the crowd and it thins a bit. I left Jeffree with Joel as I had to go to payout. I wasn't happy about this, as I am a nazi control freak but payout couldn't really wait on us. The Gilman does payout differently from most other venues. Normally payout is simple. You get a guarantee - for example $2000 - which you will get no matter how many kids show up. You get half before the date to lock in that you are going and half after the show, plus a predetermined cut of the door, say 20%. (These are just numbers for easy math so don't show up to your local venue and demand them when you book a show, PS.) Some venues only give you a guarantee, some only give you a cut of the door... there are many different variations.

The thing that makes the Gilman different is that in most other venues, these percentages or guarantees are set prior to the show. You know you're making X% of the door or X amount of money. The Gilman doesn't do that. What they do is pile up all the money, take out whatever they need to pay their bills and give the rest to the bands and let us decide for ourselves who should get what. Its very hippie happy commie punk rock. The night was very draw heavy, being that about 80% of the kids were there for us which lends us credence to have the lions share of the pot. But I'm also not a total bitch so I gave some of our money back to the other bands, making sure the band that made the least got the most of the money I put back in to the pot. So it was cool, being a part of something that was, yeah, for profit but not with a profiteering mindset. At the end of the day, everyone got taken care of. Everyone had enough money for food and gas and per diems and still made a profit, even the tiniest band on the bill who otherwise wouldn't have made much on the gig. We all left the office happy.

I was NOT happy went I went to get the car so we could load out. It was literally SHITTING rain. Buckets and buckets and buckets of rain slamming down on me like I had forgotten happened. What we consider a torrential downpour in LA is what is considered in the rest of the country to be "oh? It's raining?" So I was totally unamused. By the time I walked across the parking lot to the car, I was wet. But with trying to figure out how to arrange all the merch boxes in the trunk so they'd fit, by the time we all finally left, I was soaked to the skin. I got to the hotel and stripped. I'd only brought one pair of jeans so I ended up sitting in my panties and a lacy black tank top in the hotel room like we were shooting a porno. Most of our friends headed out to some party but Johnny and I elected to stay in and sleep because I really couldn't roll out nude from thigh to ankle.

I woke up this morning with a raging migraine that I dosed out of existence with Excedrin. We walked around Telegraph in what passes for sunshine in the morning, turning up our noses at the tye dye and pachouli. I nearly got into a fight with a tshirt because I can't stand snooty, faux-anarchist and anti-capitalist slogans BEING SOLD FOR PROFIT IN A STORE! The next 'sunshine and light, peace and clean air' granola crunchy hippie I see is going to get a beating, I swear to god. I hate that whole "lets pretend like we care" activist college vibe. I grew up with it and it is just as a disingenuous an affectation as uber-vain scene kids or ohsoelite hipsters. But something about faking that you give a goddamn about sweat shop workers so you buy organic coffee offends me WAY more than buying only MAC makeup. Maybe its that hollow gestures that don't actually benefit the world enacted by people who do not truly live by the ideals they self-righteously shove in others faces at every opportunity annoys me senseless because I grew up with it. Maybe its just that I hate hippies. But I'll save my fifty cent word ridden condemnations of Intellegensia hypocrisy for another time.

Since I can't keep my trap shut about how much hippies piss me off and how badly I want to burn Berkeley to the ground, we decided to pile into the car and get the hell out of there. We stopped at a bathroom in a gas station on the way out where there was literally a chunk of bloody fetus on the floor. I am not even for a second joking. I hate, hate, hate San Francisco. Hate it. HATE.

So now we're cruising through the mountains and the clouds are so low that mist caps the mountains like snow. If we pulled over, a 20 minute hike up the green expanse would have me dancing in a cloud. The light is surreal, gray yet bright. Everything is in high contrast - the rocks a deep smoke, the grass like a field of emeralds cut through by an angry coal road. The clouds are soft and I wish we could stop. Its been rainy on and off all the way down, only for a few seconds at most. We're on the edge of the storm.

"Is it raining in LA?" Johnny just asked.

The question answers itself as we come over the hill. In the distance, between a part of the mountains, there is a bright patch of sunlight like a flower in the middle of the heather gray skies. Little tiny tract houses just look like brown smears but I know what it is. Its sunny in LA. Down in the bottom of the valley, out of the shaded mountains and the creamy clouds, there is a filthy little wasteland that is my paradise. Seeing it glowing like some dumb ending to a movie makes me giggle. It fills me with this sense of joy, of strength, of credits-rolling, hero-got-the-girl, the-world-is-safe elation like I cannot describe. My heart is swelling in my chest and unless it is something to do with the change in altitude then I might be happy right now. Happy we did good, happy the kids love the show, happy to come home, happy to turn up the radio and sing along until we get home and I can fall into bed and sleep.

A picture may be worth a thousand words but my camera on my kick won't load so you'll just have to trust me when I say that little flower of sunlight is my home. And now matter how tempestuous my life, now matter how unsettled I am right now, no matter how badly I crave a semblance of stability, I wouldn't give up what I got. My home makes me so happy that the city itself glows with my joy to welcome me home. Hi honey! I'm back! Did you miss me. I missed you too.

Even if you hate where you live, go outside and take another look around. Why do you hate it? I didn't just hate Boston because I was a whiny teenager who wanted to be free from my parents. I hated Boston because it was a lie, the same reason I hate San Francisco - an illusion of intellectualism and compassion to conceal the truth that the city was bigoted and greedy and lived in fear of the poor. I love LA because I actually feel like were are more honest. We're the first in line to make fun of ourselves. We're the first in line to say this city is a pretty cesspool were people will fuck you over on the idea of a dollar. We say 'it's all about image' and 'spend money to make money' and 'good marketing is better than good sex.' But saying it means setting those myths aside. I'm not Jeffree - I am not good hair and better makeup and a perfect body. Am I still accepted, by him and by my city for exactly who I present myself to be? (Because I can't expect anyone to know the real me unless I give that to them.) Hell yes I am. When we aren't being Jeffree Star and Miss E, do Elissa and Jeffree still get along? Hell yeah. Does Elissa and Jeffree sit around under the covers and watch TV instead of going out to Red Carpets? Yeah, once a week or more. Could I have ever turned off the "Elissa, queen of wit and paragon of knowledge" in Boston and gotten the same acceptance? Fuck no. If I segwayed from dissecting the social impact of advertising cheese in India to, say, how I'm stoked that Jael got kicked of ANTM without giving it some redeemingly intellectual spin then everyone would have been horrified. I'm not bookish or highbrow all the time. Neither am I always shallow or unaware. I'm a mix of the extremes, as is everyone else. Where did moderation and tolerance get lost?

I'm getting unnecessarily introspective. I can't help it. Its the light - all ethereal and serene. I'm going to ponder the last of the rainclouds to the strains of Puffy and Xtina. Pretty little rain clouds, lets have a sing along. I'm going home.

I logged onto my myspace and I've noticed a bunch of bands have put the VT with the black ribbon somewhere in their default image. And it really, really offends me. 'Why?' you might wonder, though not if you know me well. 'Think about it,' I reply. Why would a bunch of people who spend their days spamming our myspace with show flyers every other minute suddenly care about a bunch of dead college kids? Do some of them truly care? Did some of them probably lose friends and family? Absolutely. But I'm going to go ahead and say that a lot of them put that logo up there at least in part because it makes them appear sympathetic and can help market their shitty music.

And this disgusts and enrages me. Like the Duke rape case - the media was SO STOKED on destroying the lives of these boys and when the charges were dropped, what did they do? They attacked the girl who brought the charges and are dragging her name through the mud. Its like 2 days after 9/11 when people were standing in the center of Boston Common with 'Never Forget' or '9/11 we support NY' shirts. They weren't out there because they were going to sell those shirts and give the money to the victims families or the city. They were out there to make a quick buck.

I have a scarf I bought maybe a week after 9/11. It has bold black and red stripes and I'd been meaning to pick up a gothy scarf like that for a while. So when I was looking at it, in this shady little street cart in Downtown Crossing, I noticed the thing that made me buy it. Embroidered in the bottom it read 'I love America?' Now, I'm sure the guy had meant for it to be an exclamation mark but was he was foreign so I don't think he understood what the question mark did to the sentence. I bought it because it was such an amazing way to sum up all the ways we went wrong as a nation after 9/11 and it reminds me, whenever I riffle through my closet and come across it, of that moment of realization.

Tragedy sells. The DAY Anna Nicole died, CNN did a segment on how the tabloids were pissed off that she died on a Thursday because its the worst possible day for a breaking news story for them. They've already gone to press or something like that and they will be behind the online and tv gossip rags until the next week and would be stuck doing tribute issues instead of breaking news which sells more. THE DAY SHE DIED! I was dumbfounded when I watched that. And now, making her into a saint and making a movie? It is profiteering off tragedy once more. Make her likably hated while she is alive and a saint when she's dead and you'll sell, sell, sell.

But I'm taking this rant out on the news media so let me bring it back to my own industry. Remember every country star putting out 'lets kick osama in the balls' songs? Remember Marilyn Manson getting crucified for Columbine then mentioning it every 15 seconds until, um, now? Its marketing! It sells records! And it drives me crazy! Is some of it genuine? Sure. I'm sure Manson was pissed he got fucked because of some crazy psychos who didn't even like his music. I'm sure those country singers were just as horrified about 9/11 as the rest of the nation. But I don't think I have to illustrate to anyone just how it went from genuine concern to a profiteering mindset in 2.2 seconds.

Be honest with me for a minute. Did you giggle about this shooting? For some reason, it didn't seem like this one got taken seriously like Columbine did but perhaps this is a function of observing how keyboard cowboys reacted to this. Personally, how do I feel about it? I think it is a senseless loss of life. But am I going to pretend like my heart is torn apart and I'm oh so sad about it? No. I don't know anyone who goes to school there or lived in that community. I have no business being all "woe is me" when it actually didn't cause me any sort of personal pain. I feel for the families and I feel for the school community, especially because they won't be left alone to grieve. I almost jumped through my tv and slapped some anchor on CNN when he kept trying to push some girl who had lost her friend in the shooting to condemn the school for not doing enough to protect them when she said she actually thought they did a great job. And now the shooting is going to be used to push through ridiculous legislation and used as a way to sell candidates since next year is a big election year.

Remember Hurricane Katrina?

Yeah, our government and media won't for another..... probably eight or nine months when we start really getting into the race to the presidency.

So I'm not going to make another commentary on the shooting save for this. Its a tragedy but one that didn't touch my life except through my television. I don't really have any business getting all teary eyed and pretending like I care because I don't. Like I said, I feel for the families and the community and I'm angry about how this is going to get exploited but I'm not sitting in my office bawling my eyes out because of this. And I know that its not the only tragedy that occurred in the world today. Gang members mowed each other down a few miles away from me. Many women were raped across the globe. Children were murdered. People were tortured. In war zones across the planet, innocent civilians died. Do you see me standing here bawling my eyes out of any of them? Are you? No, not unless you know them or people who live there. And there is nothing wrong with that, either.

So lets set aside the fake boo-hoo-hooing for attention or instant agreement to whatever we're selling, be it band or point of view, and do the right thing for once. If you truly feel compassion for the people who lost family or friends then donate or volunteer with a charity. Two charities have already stepped up and are getting involved in counseling kids and parents about school violence - http://www.kidspeace.org/ and http://www.teencentral.net/. Volunteering or donating to groups that counsel troubled teens, such as the Boys and Girls Clubs of America is a step in the right direction and takes just as much time as googling some shitty ribbon and sticking it on your myspace. That ribbon is meaningless. It does not do anything to help the victims or decrease the chance of another school shooting occurring. 'Its to show support, Miss E.' No, its not. If you truly, truly want to support the people that have been hurt by this, you'd do more than chuck some shitty pixels on your myspace for a week and a half.

Have I donated to all three of those charities? Yes, I have. Will I keep my eyes and ears open for more direct charities that will help victims who have survived with their medical bills? Yes, because I think that is very important. Do I have a ton of money to give? No. I put about $25 into each because that is all I can afford. But if every jackass band on myspace donated the same or better yet played a charity event where one dollar from every ticket sold went to a charity to help stop school violence... well, think of what that can accomplish.

I challenge you - all of you, whether you hate me or you like me because you're still here reading this - to actually do something to change the things you feel strongly about. You hate WMHC? Then make your own fucking band or your own studio or whatever and eclipse us. You love Alicia? Get involved with The American Thyroid Association to help find a cure for her thyroid problems or donate money if you don't have time. MCR saved your life from bulimia and depression? Then do for others what they did for you and get involved in organizations that address these issues. And if you have any shred of decency as a human being, don't put that goddamn VT ribbon on a single thing you own without actually doing something to help the people who are represented by it.

Put your money where your mouth is or just don't speak.

So, what the hell did I do for my birthday? Well, if you're afraid of bare nipples, e coli, narcotics, italian stereotypes, or extreme narcissism, quit reading.

Also, this is not as cleverly written as usual but I am fucking drained. So deal with it.

We left LA after a brief jaunt to Pinkberry. Now, a very important part to this story is cash. I don't use it. I don't like it. I'm always afraid I'll lose it and I keep as little of it on me as possible. However, some entrepreneur decided to steal my debit card numbers last week and go to Vegas with them. They didn't get any money in the end but I did have to turn my debit card off and get issued a new one. It was assuredly not what I needed since I had to take out cash from the bank and deal with the eternal going in to the gas station and paying and running out of cash RIGHT as the bank closed, etc, etc, etc. But with this minor annoyance, I was set to have a good time.

I did the whole 6 hour drive myself, having so much fun singing and dancing in my seat with Jeffree and Raquel that it felt like we'd just gotten in the car. The venue put us all up in the Hotel Adagio which was quite beautiful. Hotels in SF are HELLA expensive so J* playing a show meant that all of our transportation and lodging expenses were covered. There is definitely nothing better than a free trip so we were all pretty stoked.

We took a brief nap before Reno showed up to escort us to lunch. Now, for some reason that escapes me, we all decided greasy diner food was what we wanted and required. So instead of going to a nice restaurant, we hopped over to Lauri's diner and instantly regretted it. The food sucked and was, well, diner food.

Upon returning to the hotel to get ready, we were joined by Dirty Diana who was going to photograph the show. We went outside to hail a cab and we stopped by an independent limo driver who said he'd drive us for "just a fat tip." Knowing this had to be some sort of scam, we got in anyway. And it was well worth it. This guy was CRAAAAAAZY. Diana got some of it on video so bitch, post that shit! He was hitting on Diana, talking about how he loved her "big nose" and how he needed a woman "18 to 35". Diana offered to hook him up with her mother but he was like "no mothers, no aunts. I want a girl, 18 to 35." And every time we paused, he was like "ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, GODDAMNIT?!?!?!" He had this thick Italian accent and tried to make his voice all sexy, which just made it funnier. Jeffree tried to be outrageous but nothing was going to detract this guy from getting a girl. 18 to 35, of course.

We got out of the limo and the dude tried to hustle us for a bunch of money, like we knew he would. Since he pulled up to the front of the club, I had to have security escort us all inside and upstairs to our dressing room. Details about the show had gotten misrelayed and we were all set to do 7 songs. To our dismay, the club only wanted us to play 3. We cut our intro and over half our set. I was left upstairs in the sound booth with an ipod, trying to hustle the set list into order at the zero hour. I had no way to talk to or even see Jeffree and the mics in the booth were turned down so I couldn't hear when he was ready to start the first song. I just kind of guessed. And because the sound guy wouldn't get out of the way and let me run the board myself, I couldn't dial up or down anything - not the tracks, the mics, the sound in the booth so I could hear. The DJ was like "well, shit, I don't have to spin" so he turned off the sound in the booth so I was going off of what I could hear over the roar of the crowd. Needless to say, none of us were really happy with how the performance turned out.

Despite that, we had fun. We hung out with the kids at the club then decided to go down to the tenderloin to a strip club. The tenderloin is SCARY and as we were parking the car we witnessed two dudes holding back their raging friend who was trying to jump into a cab and beat the cab driver. I clung onto our newlyfound male companions because even gay boys can still fight better than I can and allowed myself to be dragged into what is affectionately known as a "Tittie Bar." Some of the guys we were with knew the owner so we were given a booth in the back. I was instructed to pick out the 'hottest one' so I could get a lap dance. At first, there were no prospects but then a lovely brunette wandered on stage. Diana and I, giggling, went and sat up front. Diana made an arrow out of dollar bills pointing to me and I hid nervously. The girl came over and danced in front of us. "Hi," she said, smiling.

"Uh, hi," I mumbled.

"It's her birthday!" hooted Diana.

"Really? Gimme your hands?" I nervously extended them and the girl grabbed them and rubbed them over her bare breasts and stomach. My first thought was 'wow, her skin is really soft. I'll have to ask her what kind of moisturizer she uses.' She rubbed her breasts across my face then did some pole work in front of us.

"Um, thank you?" I said as she walked off, because I can't not say something totally lame after an experience like that.

We giggled through her three songs then Diana chased after her to ask her if we could have a lap dance when she had a minute. Thinking back to my lecture on proper strip club etiquette, I sat patiently and pondered if maybe strippers were like band members and we should have left her alone until she was out of the dressing room or if that was considered a compliment or what. She came over eventually and we chatted. At first, Diana and I were going to go but we couldn't find an empty VIP room. So she came back and talked to us more and pretty much fell in love with Jeffree. So he brought his friend Billy and the 3 of us got a lap dance. We ended up talking to this girl for a while and she was really nice, if a bit on the crazy side. But so are we so we totally dug her. She was really sweet and was like "yeah, I try only work when I need to. I don't really like it." We invited her to come see us at the Gilman next week and hang out. I forgot to ask her about the moisturizer.

We got led up to a VIP room upstairs. Jeffree, Raquel, and I played with the pole for a while before we all headed out... and back to the goddamn diner. It was fun, just fucking off and talking, but it had been a long day and we were excited to get some sleep.

In the morning, we made the executive decision to go back down to LA that night since I wanted to see the Almost for my birthday. We drove to MAC in Union Square then over to Haight Street to shop. Waiting for Jeffree's friends turned into a 6 hour process so we got our nails did and our shop on. In a break from conventional stereo types, the over the top drag queen and loud mouthed native went down to the beach to take in the relaxing sites while the two sistahs that love sunshine and waves stayed shopping. It was nice, bonding with Raquel in between stoners and rockabilly shops. We gaggled and bought little toys and had fun.

Finally, it was time to go and despite Jeffree's reluctance to leave his friends (and mine to say bye to Diana for a week), we piled into the car. Driving at night has never been my strong suit so we all traded off. Raquel hasn't driven in 2 years so letting her drive my car in galeforce winds at 100 miles an hour was a test of friendship.

Except that bit where they didn't go 100 miles an hour. I got up to do the last hundred miles and we made it home in an hour because I am an evil driver of speedy driviness. Exhausted, we collapsed into bed.

In the morning, I was given lots of hugs then taken to be fed at the Grand Luxe. It was definitely a church day and there were lots of women with crazy hats hating on the weirdos in the corner. We ate fast, running late, and rushed home to get ready. Despite having been to the Glass House 82390583490634 times, J* couldn't figure out how to get there from LA and not the OC so we ended up catching only the last 3 songs. This just put us in a "not in the mood" mood and we ended up wandering outside the venue and down to Starbucks. We came i for the end of Say Anything's set then went backstage and just stood in a bathroom talking. Once we all figured out we were all on the same page, we packed back into the car and went to see Disturbia. Its nice that we can be honest with each other and leave if we're not having any fun instead of staying because we feel like we should or we have to. The show was great and the bands were amazing but we were all so tired after driving so much and performing that we needed something much chiller.

So we met up with Clint and caught Disturbia, which was great, then went home to relax. Raquel left us Sunday morning and Jeffree and I spent the rest of the night watching OZ and all the TV we had missed like proper lazy bitches. It was nice and calming and what I needed. It was mildly crazy and mostly cool. Most importantly, it wasn't awful which all even numbered birthdays have been for me. So ra ra ra me and one year until the Dead At 27 Club.

Amen.

I'd like to be in love.

This may come as a shock to anyone who knows me, seeing as I am outright hostile to anyone who so much as compliments me and I turn up my nose disdainfully at the idea of coupledom at every turn. But I am hopeless romantic, deep down in that icy little ball that is my heart. (Funny side note - I totally just typed 'licy'. My heart has lice. This might explain a few things, like why my lungs itch. All this time, I thought it was huffing asbestos...) Every hopeless romantic )pretty much anyone with double X chromosomes) wants a love story. I want the Prince with the white horse and the castle and the fighting with dragons and the epic poems and royal wedding with red roses and the ball and the uncomfortable shoes and the fairy godmothers and the transfigured mice and the cloyingly named little people.

Especially the bit with the dragons and the shoes.

Thing is, I'm not ready for it. I know what keeps me from "falling in love" is me. I had a totally rad dude who will remain nameless. Said Dude is very handsome, incredibly intelligent, unfailingly well-mannered, and a friend of a number of years so I know his character well. What is more, he has his life together, owns his own company that is doing really well, and understands being a workaholic yet doesn't work in the entertainment industry at all. (Finding someone who understands my lifestyle who isn't in entertainment is next to impossible.) He's like a dream come true. Do I want to date him? OH FUCK NO!

Why? Well, because he's perfect. (Okay, he isn't but we're going to say he is just because it makes my rant all the more dramatic. Ignore this parenthetical aside. It did not happen. I erase your memory of it.) And every girl wants a bad boy. The Prince needs a Harley next to the white charger and on the weekends he needs to be able to toss of that armor and pull on a leather jacket. Who wants the perfect guy? I'm a chick, I want to fix dudes and mold them into my design of the Perfect Dude. Every girl does it, at least to some extent. Even I, the self-actualized woman, do it. And the funny thing is we don't know what we want and what we do want is two conflicting ideas so we just end up with a mess on our hands and taking up half the bed and all of the blankets.

Okay, I'm not being honest. If I met someone who met my utterly unrealistic standards and they happened to catch me when I was in a receptive mood to their advances (which will occur the next time Haley's comet comes around) and they pursued me but not too aggressively and they were perfectly maintained yet not obsessed with their own beauty and they had a dialog with me about our common interests that must include the following; an unhealthy-near-fetishistic obsession with Severus Snape, the invalidity of NeoCon ideals, random object collections, the works of Milton and Zelazny interpreted as body art, the defense of Elitism, the defense of Anarchism, the defense of Atheism, 1960s Batman, and the 100 most important things we would do as Evil Overlords then I would TOTALLY start dating. DUH! Its not me at all.

Despite the fact that I'm content being single, there is still a part of my heart that wants a dude who will call me "Snuffie Wugs" and whom I can be all starry eyed over until our respective groups of friends throw burlap sacks over our bodies and beat us to death with shovels because they can't stand the baby talk. Who doesn't want that? Everyone does.

Everyone wants to be so cute their friends just fucking hate them. It's like wanting food and shelter and faux-chanel. Its basic human biology. The only more noble death for a Spartan than dying in combat was to be bludgeoned to death by sacred rocks from the bosom of Greece herself after repeatedly professing your love for your 'Pookios Bearios LoveiosFace'at every public occasion between the Feast of Hermes and the Hunt of Artemis. Its in the directors cut of 300, if you don't believe me.

Through all of history, people have wanted to be 'in love' in the outrageously trite and unrealistic manner portrayed by the movies. (Further in the future, someone will go back in time to show our ancestors 'Sleepless in Seattle.' They will be clubbed to death with Woolly Mammoth bones for infecting our culture with that tripe. That movie sucks.) And don't even get me started on what disgusting mutations of the human psyche came about when the entire palaeolithic continent of Gondwana (google it) was rounded up and made to watch 'All My Children.' Oh, the horror!

Possibly, I have gotten off topic. I think my original point was that I'd love to be in love and truly, I would. I really do believe that by bumbling around, actually living my life, I'll meet the right guy (TO MOLD AND SHAPE MWAHAHAHAHAHA..... goddamnyou XX chromosome...) and fall madly in love. I really do believe this. I could spend my days searching for the right dude but then what am I bringing to the table? Desperation and someone who has been so focused on finding their 'other half' that they don't know themselves.

I probably take this to an extreme - being that I am celibate and I don't date if I can't see it going somewhere serious with a dude. I'm sorry but I don't want to waste me time. Sex is easy, boring, and meaningless. So it Warcraft and I can have Multi-Person Online Gaming with as many people as I want on unsecured servers without risk of getting AIDS. Harddrive failure? Whatever. I do monthly backups. Until I can clone myself, I can't backup my body. Hell, I can even pay some one $20 to get my character to level 20 just because I wanted another blood elf but I was too lazy to go through all the beginning quests in Eversong Woods. Not that I'd ever do anything like that.

I could very easily have sex with a whole ton of super hot and out-of-my-league-looking dudes in small to middling rock bands who were just using me for free studio time and connections. See, in any other town in the world, guys would just be using me for my phenomenal tits but since everyone in LA has a boob job and we're all obsessed with 'making it' LA hookups go above and beyond the usual 'take advantage of warm, willing hole.' Now, since I'd never stoop so low as to being a warm, willing hole and I'd really never be a warm, willing hole with financial benefits, I don't bother having meaningless hookups, one-night stands, or any sort of 'relations' with LA dudes just looking for a good time and a record contract. Granted, I could hook up with any number of hot dudes who aren't trying to use me for my connections but I'm just sayin... I could nail some hella, hella hot dudes just because of my business cards. I mean, WOW, hot. I mean like WOW.

No matter how hot the dude, if its not for lurrrrrrve, I'm not about it. (But I mean, seriously, WOW hot.) But clearly, I'm not in a position in my life where I'm going to find love. Also, my cynical nature and black-and-white viewpoint that there is no middle ground between pointless fucking and True Love doesn't really facilitate me breaking from that viewpoint to see if it is actually a correct one. But I'm herpes-free so I'll stick to it, thanks.

This brings me back to 'looking for love.' I could roam around like a cock-hungry queen or desperate spinster, trying desperately to find some guy that I could convince myself is my One Twu Luv but that's fucking pathetic and I'm above that. I really, truly believe that not looking is the only way to find the real deal. When you look for something intangible, you never find it. You can't search under rocks and in beds for happiness like a set of keys you lost. You can only work towards it. So how do you work towards love? By working on yourself. By being someone that you love and respect so when someone else sees you, they love and respect you, too. I'm always working to be the person that I want to be and you know, I woke up this morning not liking myself in a lot of ways, so that is my new focus of what I am going to improve. I am ever-evolving, ever-analyzing, ever-scrutinizing and adapting and taking strides towards who I want to be. I don't do this for a dude. I don't do this to attract a dude. I don't do it for anyone but myself because I'm the person I go to sleep with and I'm the person that I wake up with. I have to live with myself. I am not perfect nor will I ever be but I am relentlessly self-improving.

I'm a hopeless romantic, at heart. I truly am. I look at all of my friends who are happy in love and I'm happy seeing them. (And knowing that I get to stick them in burlap sacks and beat them with shovels if they get much cuter.) And I want that but the only way to have it is to have it on my own terms. My terms are unconditional (void where prohibited) and even if I wanted to, I could not bend or break them. I can't be in love with Said Dude because I'm not in love with Said Dude. He just doesn't make my heart go pitter patter. No amount of dating dudes or fucking dudes or chasing dudes around trying to find the dude of my dreams is going to make the Perfect Dude appear. That isn't how life works and I don't get why other people pretend it is otherwise. Or maybe it does happen that way for other people. Who am I to judge? All I know is, no matter how much my heart wants to be in love, that stubborn organ hasn't found anyone to be in love with. And I am not a person who is run by their heart but I am a person who listens to their heart. If there was someone whose name echoed there with every heartbeat, I'd go after him. (Er, well, no I wouldn't because I've asked out every dude I have ever dated because apparently I'm intimidating and I've resolved not to do that anymore but YOU GET MY POINT.) But the fact of the matter is that what I want, I want intellectually. I remember what being in a real relationship felt like and it was wonderful. It was solid and comforting and stable and supportive - and that is something I need right now because my life is chaotic and uncertain. While my friends are the best I could ask for and provide unwaivering support and understanding there is just something about having a boy kiss your watery eyes and say "Babe, I love you. It'll all be okay somehow." Yes, yes, ball of testosterone, it will! Our luv will see us through!

Oh please.

Someday my prince will come, and all that jazz, but until then I got moves to make, earth to shake, a cake to bake, and lives to take. Ninja!

Out the door like a cheating boyfriend,
    Miss E