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

My exhaustion knows no bounds. The subtle hint of it invades every fiber of my being. My eyes are swimming, I slur and stumble. It is because the only drugs I ever take, I take to get on planes. Damnable bouts of terror planes cause me...although up until this very last plane flight, I thought my fears were over. I was actually enjoying flying despite Jeffree scaring the living daylights out of me as we were taxing down the runway on the plane we nearly missed and saying "we're not supposed to be doing this," in a serious tone.

He was mocking the lady behind us who had hit my seat when I cocked it back while we were parked at the gate and snapped "not until ten thousand feet." But holy FUCK, did he scare me. I'm not religious but I have superstitions and mathematics. Its the same thing.

Whether we were supposed to do it or not, we did it. My weekend was hopefully to consist of hawking a plethora of pink tshirts to eager fans with money burning a hole in their pockets, flicking faders and tweaking pots for maximum clarity and volume,  and selecting the most artfully costumed homosexuals for a personal appraisal by my august roommate.  Actually, Jeffree isn't a fan of uberqueer fan boys and doesn't really hit on people at his shows but goddamn if I didn't get some rad word use out in that sentence. How I spent my weekend was mobbed by kids who literally wanted to touch me because I knew Jeffree. They asked the same five questions, all of which I thought were common knowledge.

1) What is his favorite color? (Pink.)
2) Does he like boys or girls? (He loves dick like Anna Nicole loves TrimSpa.)
3) Does he wear a lot of makeup? (Look at him and answer your own question.)
4) Is he hot without makeup? (He looks like Tom Cruise except, you know, attractive.)
5) How did he get so famous? (He's good at marketing.)

Now, I'm used to people going crazy for him, even to heights of screaming and general fannishness that is usually reserved for fans of bands with a heavy rotation video or radio single. But Alaska was like an N*Sync reunion. People just parked it by my merch table (we didn't fly out Michael Merch for this but he'll be at Cindi Lauper, don't you worry!) and fired off questions with the tone of aspiring journalists in between repeating "you actually KNOW him?" with such wide eyed wonderment that I started to wonder if we were talking about the same person. I mean, Jeffree is mad cool and I love him to little bits and pieces but I don't think any one person is so cool that coolness just slides off their bodies and envelopes their friends in a aura of cool so massive to that every 10th girl asked "can I touch you?"in the hopes that the coolness might be third party transferable. But I have been wrong before.

I know it was more the excitement at seeing someone in a place that so rarely get shows than any sort of super-coolness on either of our parts but it was still really overwhelming. It was like a hint of what is to come, as his career continues climbing to heights we've both barely imagined. It was both extremely endearing and really annoying because I had a hard time actually doing my job with so many people crowding around just to talk to me. One girl even followed me to the sound booth and was trying to ask me more questions about Jeffree's make up preferences (MAC) and gloomy v. hello kitty preferences (not a clue) while I was trying to run the extremely glitchy board. No matter how many times I told her I'd be happy to finish our conversation after the show, she wouldn't leave and watch the very show she came to see.

And trust and know, the sound was a near thing. When we don't have a full band, the sound comes off of a CD, which I think I have expounded upon before. I stand around and hit pause and play, occasionally leaping for a fader or EQ pot but mostly just watching Jeffree and the crowd. Prerecorded tracks are hella easy on an engineer, though something always goes wrong somehow anyway. Well, at this show, we didn't have a CD player. So we hooked up the sound guys laptop but the outputs on the sides were shot. We didn't get a chance to sound check because we got there so late so we're panicking because the sound keeps cutting in and out as we're trying to set up. Then its only going up in the left channel. We finally get it all to go but its only in mono and if anyone so much as breathes wrong on this cord, the sound is going to go out, period. I have to set up a bunch of chairs to block people from getting close to the booth so no one hits the fucking cord. The entire show, the sound guy and I are watching the cord and shaking, trying to EQ the vocals and get enough gain on the track that the CD is loud and blended without feeding back. I don't think I've ever had to EQ so much at a Jeffree Star show in my life. But we worked it out and it all sounded fine. And the second day we used my laptop so all was well.

I didn't get to meet any of the dudes from Deadliest Catch (boo) because when we weren't at the show, we were pretty much sleeping. It was weird. It was light until midnight, then dark for 2 hours, then super bright again. It was pretty and there was snow on the mountains and yada yada but we all know I'm not one for vacationing or admiring the view. I want to work and move on to the next show. Relaxing is the least relaxing thing I can possibly do. We did, however, drive around and take in the view. I spent the time taking pictures for all of ya'll on Buzznet and advancing the date for the Arizona shows.

Alaska is quiet and pretty and filled with a lot of really kind people, one of whom even gave me a back rub before I went to bed both nights, which really endears me to a location. Al and Cole from Bitoz were especially awesome and rather amazing cooks. Feeding me is always a way to really endear me to a place. But no matter how lovely, I'm glad to be back to work. I have a month left at the studio, officially, so I have to make sure everything here is totally solid, assist my boss in finding my replacement, and train whomever replaces me. Its both very sad and very freeing. I've committed myself to change, for better or worse. It is what I most fear but I have made myself take action.

I'm committed to my own uncertainty. Just like that cable, it could go out or go perfect. It all depends on me watching over it and making the right moves and tweaks at the right time. I'm a smart girl and I'm good at making moves. Let's see if I'm worth all I think I am.

My life is filled with infinite highs and unfathomable lows, usually occurring simultaneously. And I would never, ever have it any other way. Chris says "live deliberate." I say that is impossible because you can't plan for what life will throw at you. (I also say you should still read his new book because even though we don't always agree, I respect the man's point of view.) I say nothing that can be a catch phrase or a fortune cookie. I like big, long statements made in run-on sentences. I say what I say with my actions and I live chaotically. And even in the deepest sorrow, the hardest moments, the most difficult of decisions, I am content with the purity of my heart. You can't imitate me nor I, you. So don't imitate - surpass or get out of my way.

As much as I'm not sleeping, as I lay awake crying, as I shake with dread and doubt and uncertainty... I am happy with my life. Fuck, I'm exuberant, in a most melancholy way. I just poured liquid eraser on my entire future. I chose, at 14, with no knowledge of the music industry past a Metallica video, to be a studio rat because its what I thought I wanted. Years later, I found out this isn't the truth. Do I love music or do I love engineering? The answer is music and the answer is doing what I think is hardest and the answer is I am not content sitting in one place anymore. The answer is you can try to tear me down, lie to me, lie about me, but absolutely nothing will stop me. And if you think you know what I'm saying, you don't.

I'm saying I quit my job, which is an agonizing decision that I've been weighing for months now. I am giving a month's notice to a boss who has been nothing but wonderful to me. He hired on a 24 year old girl whose farthest advancement in the music industry was fetching cheeseburgers, cleaning toilets, and occasionally getting a second to push a button or two for records that would sell millions of copies that I'd never see a dime from. He hired me over women with 15 or 20 years experience in studios, making me the youngest manager of a major recording studio in Los Angeles. He believed in me and through him, I've had the opportunity to work with some of my absolute idols, like Nine Inch Nails and Timbaland. In the year and change I've been with him, I've advanced to heights in my career that I couldn't have dreamed of.

But I'm not satisfied. I don't want my pinnacle to be a manager of a studio, no matter how impressive a studio and a title and how much my mother likes to brag to the other old ladies in her aqua aerobics class about me. So I'm taking what is actually a career and respect step backwards to try a new path - touring. And with the help once again of people who love and, more importantly, respect me like Jeffree and Angela, I've taken some strides. But did I quit without anything locked in to place? Yes, to give my boss more than ample time to find a good replacement for me, because that is the right thing to do. Is quitting my job without a solid job to jump to smart? Fuck no. FUCK NO. I may have just fucked my entire life up. But this is how I live my life - anything but deliberately but totally honestly.

I'm scared. I'm up all night crying. I mean shaking, waking up every twenty minutes, having panic attacks until I'm sick. I am scared. Terrified. But that's real. This is my life. Mine, how I made it, and no matter how rushed the construction of this bed that I made, I will lay in it proudly and purely.

I'm in a place my parents have never been. I don't know anyone besides Jeffree and National Product who has ever been to Alaska. And it is beautiful. And I am in love with my life again. Fuck, I never stopped being in love with life. No matter the difficult decisions I have found myself needing to make, I am in love with my life.

And this is what I challenge you all to do. Love your life when its shitty, when its difficult, when its not what you want and you're standing alone and no one believes you can do it. Believe in yourself because you can't count on anyone else to ever stand by you. Live deliberate, if that's your choice, or live chaotic or anything in between. Just fucking live it and love it and be goddamn proud of it. Because no matter how much you bitch and moan and envy and imitate or work and inspire and encourage and admire - your life is your life. No amount of anything will make your life anything more or less than yours.

I am not better than you. I am not worse. I'm scared and I'm unsure and I'm often times unhappy. But even unhappy, I'm happy. That's the challenge - to find joy in sorrow.

I am scared. I am shaking. I want to start bawling in the middle of Denny's. But no matter what - I'm proud of myself. And I love my chaotic, crazy, uncertain life.

Like the good man says, live long and prosper.

- E

Its 87 degrees in my apartment and it smells like gas. Gotta call the gas company in the AM and make them come fix that. Note to self: no smoking.

My apartment is a mess. I meant to clean before I left but ran out of time. Whatevs. I put up my newest additions to my weird model chair Japanese collection. Kinda like Jeffree and his Gloomy Bears, this is my new obsession. I have 4 and I love them. Who the fuck collects models of designer chairs? The same chick who collects Jesus action figures, I guess.

We're lucky to be home. I mean, REALLY. Ben came 90 minutes late to get our merch. With traffic going into the city, we were really late. Then the gas light came on and our GPS misdirected us 329052489642 through red lights for 45 minutes until I found the only gas station in Queens. Then Jeffree distracted me while I was doing 90 on an offramp. When I looked up, the car in front of us had stopped. I hit the breaks and cut the wheel and came so close to their car that I moved them just with the force of the wind of my car without actually hitting them. We're LUCKY.

We got to JFK with 30 minutes to spare. We got on the plane juuuuust barely and ran from gate to gate. Lo and behold, we're home safe and so is our luggage. Ima roll over and contemplate unpacking while my biffle sits in traffic on his way down for 10 minutes of hugs. Tomorrow is catch up day at the studio. Being gone for 9 days is gonna be hell on my paperwork.

Even hotter than a lakeside condo in hell, I'm happy to be home. But for the first time... I want to be back out on the road now too. :-( Oh, my poor little anxious heart...

If you were wondering about the rest of last night, I didn't end up magically loving New York. We pretty much played the worst set of our lives and were not happy about it. The only good thing about it was that I got to be a DJ at a really hot nightclub in New York. (Don't get me wrong, Snitch is a fucking awesome club. It just sucks for us because 21+ is not our draw.) I had the head phones on only one ear and I even took the cd and scratched it a little bit. Other than that, there was pretty much nothing redeeming about that night.

Today, we had to go back into NYC to get Raquel's wallet then bust ass to Hartford to meet my mom for lunch. We chilled with her for way too short a time then went to the Underground to load in. It was a down and dirty rock club and I was totally all about it. I was obsessed with all the graffiti bands left all over the underground dressing rooms.

The vibe was really bummed. Its the last day and we'd had a lot of fun and everyone was tired. Jeffree and Raquel slept while I watched drunk 13 year olds get kicked out. But by showtime, we all got energy back and the set went down pretty much perfectly. Of course. We hit our stride right when the tour ends. Fuck you, mini-tour.

Now we're back at the hotel in Jersey and Ben is coming at 9am to get our unsold merch (in 3 shows, we sold 13 of 19 boxes. Go team us!) I'm passing the fuck out. Think safe plane thoughts for me tomorrow. I hate flying even more than I hate New York.

Well, I suppose now is as good a time as ever to update on today.

I'm currently sitting in Snitch, which is literally on the corner of 21st st and 6th ave. We nave a booth in vip so I'm literally sitting on the corner, looking out the window onto the street. This sounds really effing cool but is really just fucking cold.

I just can't get past my loathing of and all that goes with it. Its lamesauce.

So, we checked out of one hotel in jersey and into another closer to an hour later. The new one is shitty and sketchy and lame but whatever. What band on tour stays in a hotel every night? We ditched our shit then busted into the city to get lunch and shop with Eliza. We were all kinda pissy and tired and over taking 183843828 cabs. We're just so sick of . Raquel lives here, Jeffree was here 18 times on business last year, and I've never liked it so we're just done.

As we're walking around, we get a call. Sarah is sick and Ultraviolet might cancel the show. And we flip out like "are we still playing? Should ultraviolet come out as our band without sarah or what?" so we're panicing, doing damage control, making sure we still are playing no matter what.

We drove all the way back through the Lincoln tunnel, got ready so fast it aint funny, then busted back to Snitch just in time. We have to pay $53 to park the fucking van and our "merch booth" is literally the space between 2 amps. I am not kidding. We had to downgrade to 2 boxes of merch. We've sold like 6 hoodies. 21+ crowds are shitty for us. Older fans never buy merch because they're to cool for school and most of our fans are younger so its questionable if we'll sell out. Tonight, shit is packed to the walls but that's about the only upside, in terms of making money on this night.

Now, we didn't book this show. Ultraviolet did. So we didn't get a deal memo. I've been trying to get info all day. We get here and find out that not only is our dressing room a kitchen but we're not getting paid since its a no cover show.

Really? Really, right now?

Whatever. We have important people coming, ultraviolet are our bros, the club is good to us, and they are playing one decent song as I type this. (The Cure.)

Yesterday I got so old, it made me want to cry...

Ahem. Anyway. So we suck it up because we got some major heavyweights to come out and see us tonight. Jen from Kittie is here and we just talked about throwing a huge all ages bash when we next return. And this place is hella nice. They moved us up to VIP and are feeding our whole entourage drinks. So they're all hella happy.

I'm just antisocial tonight. I'm not in the mood to chit chat and small talk. I'm saving myself for the important people because I have very little in me to give to other people in the flesh. Especially drunk nyc "scene" boys. Not my scene, so to speak.

There are just some nights when I'm just not in the mood to have hella fun. 21+ crowds are often these nights. I don't like drunks when I need to work.

Sarah is powering through this set, which is what matters. Go girl!

I'm just tired. I get to see my mom tomorrow. I get to get out of tomorrow. Any place that charges $53 to park should be slapped in the mouth.

Ug, I'm just in a pissy mood. We all are. But you gotta do what you gotta do. There will be many nights that I'm not in the mood or the show isn't what we thought... bumps in the road, water under the bridge. My bad mood can't hold me back from doing my job.

Fuck it. I'm gonna have fun, goddamnit.

, I'm gonna like you tonight.

I feel like Episode One of Queer as Folk - "what you have to understand is - its all about sex." Except sex, in the festival world, equates to backstage passes. Backstage passes get slutty girls (and guys) backstage to bang bangs and nonslutty girls (and guys) backstage to work for them. In the glory days of the 1980s, when rock still made money, bands like Poison and Motley Crew had special "groupie" passes that they would just give to their security with orders to find hot chicks and give them passes. This may have also occurred in the 1970s but everything before 1980 was totally lame and stupid except for the summer of punk in 1977 and October 20, 1854 – November 10, 1891 when Arthur Rimbaud was alive.

If you were wondering, this blog is LONG.

I hurt. Like, my bones hurt. HURT.

The Tale of Missing Merch and the Famous For Nothings

A day off on tour is not really a day off.

I'm so close to my friends and family. I mean, I'm a few hours from home and a few minutes from my friends in NY/NJ area. Have I been able to see anyone? Nope. We're so busy and I'm responsible for keeping us all on track so I can't just dart off to see my friends. I feel bad but c'est la vie.

I am at my happiest when I am hard at work. I think we've established this previously. But this whole time, I've been on my kick emailing promoters and our agents and calling publicists and setting up interviews and getting us to places and handling money and basically just going nonstop. I love it. I mean, I LOVE it. Sightseeing? Homie, fuck you directly, sightseeing. Get out of my way and let me work.

I was thinking, when I was in the shower. I don't think I've done a lot. I really don't. But I was washing my hair and my thoughts went like this: "Age 16/17-music and broadcast director of my high school radio station, dj o said radio station, promotions director for a local label I helped found. Age 18-dj on my college radio station, founding member of college record label. Age 19-engineered my first band, produced my first record, director of recording for record label, DJ. Age 20-apprenticing at largest recording studio in Boston, DJ, still recording director at label. Age 21-took my first band to radio/major labels, president of record label, 3.8 GPA college graduate. Age 22/23-Intern at 10 room recording studio, asked to assistant engineer for paying clients (which interns DO NOT do), hired at most profitable recording studio in the world. Age 24/26-Hired to manage my old studio's direct competition, youngest studio manager of major recording studio in Los Angeles, manager for 2 bands, tour manager for 1 band."

It hit me in the shower and I had to sit down. I actually really do have a career doing what I love. That's... huge. I say all that above not to brag but to be real with myself. Because I really, truly feel that I haven't accomplished that much. I'm not rich by any stretch of the imagination. I am financially independent but there have certainly been times I've had to call my parents and very humbly ask to borrow money to pay for my car insurance or the dentist or whatever until I got enough to pay them back. I can't afford real Chanel bags so I have to buy knock offs. I don't yet own my own home, not even a condo, and while my apartment is pretty goddamn rad, its not my parent's amazing house.

That is what it is, to be in your twenties. You are used to the house you grew up in, the lifestyle. And there is this strange pressure on us that somehow makes us all think we should have a 401K (not that we know what that is) and a house and everything figured out overnight. Raquel turned 19 two days before me and she and I have been talking about how we both feel like we're too late and too old and have accomplished too little. Its this weird delusion that grips your senses and makes you feel so... insignificant? Unaccomplished? Incomplete? I can't even explain it. But if you're in your twenties, you know. I thought being a teenager sucked and was filled with depression and despair. Well, nothing compares to the feeling of directionlessness and ennui and fear that its all going to collapse when you've just barely gotten on your feet that comes with being in your twenties. I'd take feeling isolated and picked on but safe than feeling unstable yet being faux-cool any day.

Well, not any day. Some days, I'd never give this up for the world. Fuck, all days, I'd never give this up. I love where I am in my life. Its so... new. Anything is possible. But with that uncharted wilderness of my life comes with it unseen pitfalls and unimaginable pains. And that is frightening to me. I can't stand that unknown.

I'm not saying this to make you tell me how great I am or how in awe you are of what I've done so please spare me those comments. No amount of "you're amazing, you're my hero" will make me feel any more accomplished nor will any "you're just a dumb bitch who wants to be efamous" make me feel any less valid. What I think of myself, in my heart of hearts, is dictated soley by my perception of myself. Why I say all this is because, well, this is my goddamn journal and its where I record what I'm thinking. But I know I have an audience and I know that this audience is comprised mainly of people my age who are struggling with the same feeling or people a little younger who will soon be exposed to these feelings and the wash of confusion that I felt. The fact of the matter is, you don't get what you want or even what you need overnight. You work and you work and you work more and you're still struggling and striving and you have to decide if you want that $5.99 mascara or you want to be able to eat something other than ramen noodles for dinner. People tell me fairly frequently that they are in awe of me or whatever and... and don't be. Seriously. Because until I have my mansion off Fountain and Laurel (it will be mine), I will think I haven't done enough. Fuck, probably even then. Please have the realization that I did in the shower; that you've accomplished more than you think you have. Wherever you are in your life, that is where you are. You can work to change it or it will change without your control. So yeah, look to me now and again if you need inspiration or a kick in the ass or someone to look down upon or whatever you need to advance yourself. But don't stop and look at me. No matter what, keep running in that race. I sincerely hope a bunch of you beat me to the finish line.

Whoa, totally got off track. Sorry. I had a nice, introspective shower. Okay, where was I? Oh yeah. New York.

Driving in this city is like playing Frogger for real. Jeffree and I left in a rush, late to his meeting with Kid Robot. We got the car and I barreled down the avenues and streets and broad ways of the 'Big Apple' to Kid Robot headquarters. Holy FUCK, if I could have an office in NYC, that would be it. First of all, it was floor to ceiling KR toys and hoodies and stuff just EVERYWHERE, arranged in eye-pleasing ways. We sat on giant smoking labits to wait for our contacts and marveled at all the new shit that is coming out. It is so fucking cool, I cannot even begin to explain to you. So fucking cool. I couldn't take pictures but damn, I wanted to.

We met with their contact person who was amazing. We basically sat and just shot the shit for an hour, occasionally mentioning business but mostly just talking. She played us some Lilly Allen and told us about how much she loves Too Short. This girl actually ruled. In between the super good hangs, she confirmed Jeffree as a model for Kid Robot's brand new designs. They are unlike anything KR has done before so you will all have to be on the lookout for it at the end of the summer. He's so pumped on it and I'm pretty much floored for him.

Afterwards, she brought us downstairs to the room where they actually make all the product demos and showed us a bunch more new stuff that is coming out. It was so cool to be right where they created things that I adore so much. She told us to take anything we wanted. I shuffled my feet and hesitantly looked around but she was having none of it. She made sure I left with 2 hoodies and 2 tshirts and Jeffree left with 2 hoodies, a tshirt, and a track jacket. Like, really? Wow. Thanks. Just based on their generosity alone, I'm amped on Kid Robot. They didn't have to give me shit. The meeting was with Jeffree, not me. Hell, Jeffree didn't even have to bring my ass. So I'm stoked on life about it. Like, for real. And they invited us to something I will have to reveal later which was also totally rad of them because, again, they could have just invited Jeffree and not me. So we left feeling pretty goddamn good about ourselves and even better when we got outside and found the car hadn't been towed.

We drove across town to Jeffree's booking agents office where we had to carry down 19 fucking boxes of merch and shove it into our illegally parked car. It is impossible to see out the back windows of the SUV and only 1 other person besides me fits in it now. So tomorrow, I have to take Michael to the venue and unload and he has to count in 1000 items then I have to go back and get Jeffree and Raquel. I can't even think about tomorrow. It is gonna be the funnest hell imaginable.

After we packed in our merch, we ditched the car and darted into the bank to deposit our tour money and the apple store because... I need it in my life. Jeffree does MAC makeup. I do Mac computers.

After that, we dashed back to the hotel to retrieve everyone else then it was back to Cafeteria for dinner. My choice of eating the veggie burger was an unwise one, as it was more rice than burger but it was still good. The mashed potatoes were better.

Now, its closing in fast on midnight and I need to sleep even though I am so not tired. Wish me luck for tomorrow. I'll need it. Hell, wish us all good luck and a good show.

See you on the flip side of Bamboozle. And if you're going, we play at 7:30 on the pass the mic right stage. We're closing it out! I'm kinda stoked about that. So props to Jeffree because, motherfuckers, we're still DIY. We still do this tour business off our own bank accounts and pay ourselves back once we get the guarantees. We don't have shadow investors or hidden record labels. You want punk rock DIY, we are punk rock DIY in a little, glamorous package.

And that is something that still makes me smile and makes me proud every time I realize it. No matter what, we're doing something. 

I am over driving that fucking SUV. It shakes, it doesn't steer well... we have almost died because of that goddamn SUV and the trucks roaring down the highway at -20 miles per hour countless times over the past few days. The worst. Hate it. Hate.

We (meaning I) drove the 6 hours back to NYC today. There is nothing worse than piloting a big car you don't know well that has shitty steering through a city populated entirely by complete idiots. (AKA Yankees fans. If you like the Yankees, get the fuck off my blog.) Jeffree hung out the windows in an earnest attempt to get himself lynched while I made my way, cursing and screeching, in between yellow cabs and those that yearned to commit suicide under my tires. We found pinkberry because, goddamnit, its been days. I had to stay in the car where some valet tried to convince me that I wanted to park my car elsewhere. I didn't want to park my car elsewhere and, in true New York fashion, I kept him there arguing long enough for everyone to get pickberry and get back in the car. We said goodbye to Asher, which broke my little emo heart as he is my fellow audio geek, and drove to our hotel.

We're staying in this suuuuuuuuper nice huuuuuuge hotel. It is 15 floors and we have the penthouse. Its incredible. All glittery and steel and glass. Very post modern. I'm happily running around, taking pictures, when I stop to take in the view out the bedroom window.

Its a big hole with some steel beams. Construction.

And the words "the hotel is in the World Financial Center" hit home very hard.

"Is this... is this Ground Zero?" I ask.

"Yup," says Jack. "They're rebuilding." He starts getting into what a nightmare the construction has been to travel around the city. And I'm just standing there, whitefaced.

"Is there a problem?" Jeffree says, with the scorn so characteristic to his voice when I am being melodramatic over something silly.

"Nothing. I just lost friends." And I sit down and get on my kick. Everyone lets the subject the hell go, which is a first because we usually rag on each other about everything.

I won't go in the bedroom. I don't want to look at it. As far as I'm concerned, we're staying in Times Square. Or in Brooklyn, wherever that is. Or in the Statue of Liberty's fucking torch. We're not... where we are. Not where planes hit and people died and my greatest fear came true. No plane crashes, mind you, though that is high on the list. Since I was a very, very young girl I have been terrified of war. I used to wish upon stars, countless stars, every night that I would never live to see a war in my lifetime. And I was little, too. Maybe six or seven. I didn't wish for a pony. I wished for peace... no, that is a lie. I wished for no war. Peace and no war are two very, very different things.

We took two cabs to dinner and driving past the construction... its unreal. I watched it roll by the window in silent horror. Michael got me talking about my future plans after a while but being here... I don't like it.

Dinner was had at Cafeteria, which is this intensely rad joint on the corner of something and something else. The Naked Chef from the food network set up the menu and its all shit like mac n cheese and meatloaf but its helllllla good. We all munched away in silence, all on our kicks. We're all a little stressed and tired from traveling, I think, and we were running late to the movie. Its hard, being trapped in little spaces together, because we're all strong personalities and everything is very last minute. Fuck, I JUST booked our Bamboozle hotel now. We don't have the full details on everything from our meetings to our merch so its all last minute, all seat-of-the-pants, all 'lets do it' and its stressful. Fun but stressful. A vacation, this is not.

Good, because I fucking HATE to vacation.

We caught a cab up to 84th and Broadway (or something to that effect) to take in the midnight showing of Spiderman 3. Ben (from Dillinger Escape Plan and Jeffree's manager, if ya'll didn't know) and his lady friend joined us. It was very New York crowd. There was a little bit of talking at the screen but nothing too bad. I actually enjoyed it more because of the crowd than anything else, although when Spidey gets all Pete Wentz when he first gets the symbiote suit was fucking awesome and godDAMN, I want to be Venom. GNARRAWRETC!

We hopped a cab back to the hotel and crawled into bed. We just had an hour long powwow about Bamboo and the rest of the tour, etc. Tomorrow, we take some meetings and get our merch and then its go go go. We play Saturday, do sooooooooomething at Bamboo (shhhhh) Sunday, play NYC Monday, Hartford Tuesday, then fly the fuck home to LA.

Time for some serious shut eye.

I wish for a night without nightmares as I slumber next to the place that redefined 'terror' and its usage in our daily lives.

More than ever, I wish for peace. But as I have said a hundred times, don't just wish for peace - work for peace.

Peace,
   E

Holy fuck, I'm tired. You best feel loved, that I take time when I should be sleeping to write long as blogs about the fucking ghey nonsense we did.

Okay, so we finished out the drive to Pittsburg. We very, very, VERY nearly died. A truck switched into our lane and we had to swing into the shoulder. Like, really almost died. I got around him  and Jefffree threw a coffee at him. Our gps brought us into this residential neighborhood where we stopped at the worst fucking nail salon ever. Jeffree and Raquel's nails.... unspeakable. Michael, Asher, and I left them too it and wandered down the street. We found a gaming store where I bought $400 worth of 2nd edition White Wolf books and every copy of Mind's Eye Theater ever made. Um, boo yah? Boo yah. Can I get a boo yah? BOO YAH! We wandered, trying to find cigarettes. None were to be discovered but we did find a botox salon. Amazing.

I want you to yell that out loud at your computers right now. Do it. Frighten your mothers.

Jeffree is fucking right now. I'd just like to say that for the record. A really, really, really hot dude too. God, love my life. If I can't be a gay man, I can live vicariously through Jeffree.

I mean REALLY hot.

Anyway, I caught a fish. Like my segway from fucking to fishing? Meh. Its all the same. There was this little stream in front of the nail salon and after wandering about, I decided it was time to fish. I clambered down the bank and waited with my hand in the water until a little minnow swam over. I nabbed that little fucker... for half a second. I got him out of the water for 15 seconds so motherfuckers, that counts.

We piled into the car and drove to the WRONG 400 Lincoln Avenue. Fuck you, GPS. We reprogrammed and got to the venue by 5:15. We were supposed t get there between 5 and 5:30 so yay us. We loaded in to this beautiful converted church that was fucking huge. Stained glass windows and two floors for our dressing rooms. We had a piano and a bathtub and all this crazy shit. Stoked on life. We brought everything in and I crawled into the tub to take a bubble bath. It was kinda amazing.

However, Ultraviolet was like helllllllla late. They had touched base with me earlier in the day to let me know they wouldn't be there by sound check. They were supposed to be there by 6:30, which was doors. They got so lost they didn't arrive until 8:30. It was nearly a disaster but they arrived with 45 minutes to their set time, which gave them just enough time to set up.

As ever, I ran "sound" - otherwise known as hitting play/pause. For the first time, there were no disasters on my end. Jeffree and Raquel, however, fucked up the words about 129589302240 times and the show was all the better for it, to be honest. Fucking up broke them out of the box you sometimes get in while performing and got them to interact with the crowd more.

In between songs, I showed Asher how to work the console, et al. I want him to come out as our sound guy so we gotta get him up to speed. When the front of house guy figured out that I knew what I was doing he was like "why don't you do this?" I was like "bitch, please, I'm on vacation." Turns out he has a cd from Prime Rib, one of the bands I produced way back in the day, and was like way into them so we had a cool chat about Emerson Records and the aritst commune I used ot be in and all this shit. It was intense.

After the show, we brought Jeffree out to do his signing and there were literally 200 kids waiting for his autograph. We had to make them line up and take pictures. The venue wanted us to do it in 20 minutes so I had to start hustling kids through, making them only take one picture and not allowing autographs. It sucked because no one got to spend time with him but it was more important to me that everyone at least got a picture than the first 20 people who were in line got to spend quality time with him.

One fucking bitch almost got her teeth knocked out, please fucking believe. I got so intense with her that the entire room of people went silent. "What did she say to you?" people asked after that. "Well, I don't kno what words came out of her mouth but what I heard was 'Miss E, please beat my ass,'" I replied.

Aside from that, it ruled. Everyone at the venue was super amazing. The security was sooooo good to us, the promoter ruled... I mean, it was pretty much a dream. The only thing that sucked was not having our fucking merch drop shipped so we sold out within 15 minutes. Ghey.

After the signing, we piled back into the SUV and drove. It took us 2 hours to get out of pittsburg because I got lost 29823869043869043 times trying to find an open gas station. The road in Pittsburgh suck dick. Like, for real. We had to keep flagging down cops and asking where a gas station was then getting lost all over again. Even with GPS! Motherfucker.

And now we're in the exact same hotel as last night, one room from the one we stayed in, and I'm going to sleep.

Night, hos.

Okay. Put on your tl;dr hats, kids.

First of all, my itinerary for today is: wake up, wake up Jeffree, get him to do a phoner (call-in interview) with some local radio station, rouse everyone else, check out, drive the remaining hour and a half (or less :-D) to Pittsburg, find the venue, load-in, soundcheck, make sure merch is perfect, run sound and generally run around for the show, oversee his signing, load-out, hustle everyone back into the car, drive back to NYC.

"Why is there a cut off finger in the bath? So weird." - Jeffree

This is what is happening around me as I type.

So, we booked out tickets super last minute. I HATE HATE HATE to fly so we tried something new to keep me calmer - connections. I've never been on anything that wasn't a direct flight before. We took a smaller plane (but not a puddle jumper) from LA to Vegas (40 minutes), a 757 from Vegas to Charlotte (4 hours), and another smaller plane from Charlotte to NYC (1 hour 20 minutes). On our first plane, we made our bitchy queen of a stewardess give Jeffree's makeup case its own seat. Our only layover was in Charlotte for 2 hours, which gave us time to unwind and talk to some LA-native who had been transplanted to North Carolina... and purchase body butter from the body shop because we needed fucking lotion.

All the other flights were fine but the plane from Charlotte to NYC sucked. There ain't no first class on a plane that small, kids. We sat all the way in the back which meant our seats didn't recline at all. Sheer exhaustion and pilled-out comas overtook us and we slept, crumpled over our tray tables like burnouts in high school chem class. It was not thrilling.

We landed in NYC and met up with Michael Merch. I have just informed him that this is his new name. If you come up to our merch booth at any of the east coast dates, please say hi to him as Michael Merch. He also accepts tips and phone numbers. "Because that's what I want to do for the next nine days," he grumbles. "Call fourteen years olds."

We piled all of our luggage, which actually is not a lot for us, onto a cart and went to rent a car. It took them 2 and a half hours to sort it all out. Jeffree was not thrilled because they didn't have a car that was appropriately 'niggery'. No Hummers or Escalades. We rented the biggest SUV they had, making sure it came with GPS. At first, I hated the GPS but having some annoying voice to guide me through the madness of New York, especially because it tells me where to turn so I can put my full attention on the assholes around me who can't drive or who think walking in front of cars is fun.

I'm really glad we decided to rent an SUV instead of getting a tour bus. At first, I was skeptical because it leaves me to do the bulk (likely all as I am the road trip champion) of the driving but if we had a bus we couldn't just up and go everywhere we want. This way, we can fly by the seat of our pants and do whatever, which I dig.

We drove into New York and parked over by Saint Mark's, waiting for Raquel to come home. We were supposed to go to Sandi's and sleep but her flooded apartment made this an impossibility. We milled up and down the street, shopping a little aimlessly. I got to go the Trash and Vaudeville, which was the fucking disappointment of the century. My kick kept dying because I was dealing with the venue tomorrow and every other goddamn thing. We had to stop by the tmobile store so I could charge it for five minutes and arrange all these fucking interviews, etc. We ended up in an Afghani restaurant known as Khaiber Pass, sprawled out on their pillows in the window, smoking hookah. Jeffree's friend Asher joined us and the two of us went into audiogeek mode as he wants to do live sound. With any luck, he'll be coming out with us during a much longer tour that I can't yet reveal.

Raquel eventually wandered her black ass down the street and gave us hugs. We shopped a bit more and got dinner at A7. We talked Asher into coming with us to Pittsburg. He ran off to hang with his family for a hot minute before coming back, Raquel and Jeffree went to get their hair done, and Michael and I crawled up into the loft and passed the fuck out. We left the car on the street, praying that it didn't get towed, booted, ticketed, stolen, or broken into since all of our stuff was in it.

In the middle of dinner, Jeffree's manager called. A problem? On tour? Really? That never happens. The merch was supposed to be drop shipped to Pittsburg. Yeah. That didn't happen. Thank GOD we decided to bring an extra suitcase with our merch left over from the Gilman. Otherwise, we'd be fucked. Like, really fucked. FUCKED. But we have merch and we arranged to have the merch for Bamboo sent to the office on the 4th so all will be well... er, hopefully.

I have to help Michael sort 14 boxes of merch the day before Bamboozle. WAAAAH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Anyway....We slept until 1AM. I had to get the fucking xanax out of my system before I had to drive. I was rough and starting to sway from side to side. I woke up all sweaty and gross but drug-free. Everyone else kinda slept in the car and I floored it through the rain and over the mountains, et cetera, until it hit 5:15 AM and we were an hour from Pittsburg. (Mapquest the distance and do the math. DO NOT DRIVE LIKE ME.) We found some silly motel in the middle of fucking nowhere and checked in. When we were checking in, all the truckers were having breakfast and checking out and they were not amused with the freak show. We all went down in our panties and shook our la-la-la-labia before passing the fuck out.

I woke awoken by my alarm screeching, so I shook Jeffree awake so he could do his interview and now we're slowly getting ready.

"It looks like a pile of 9/11." - Asher, on the hotel next door.

Yeah, the flight 93 stuff is totally not offensive or creepy in anyway. (There are pre-printed directions to the Flight 93 crash site at the desk of the hotel where we're staying.) Profiting off a national tragedy? My nation would never do anything like that.

See you in Pittsburg!