Last Saturday was such a day of highs and lows that I have been putting off even summarizing it because I get so angry and then happy and then angry and do you see how this is a cycle!? But here it goes.
- It started out on a high. I woke up and listened to music, which is my favorite thing to do. Weekend music is the best because I’m not in a rush trying to get ready for work or whatever, so I can just be LEISURELY with it and really hear it. We listened to the new Saosin record, and by we I mean me and Drew. Drew loves the record player.
- And then came a low! One of my friends on Facebook posted about the Hamilton/Mike Pence debacle. I commented, saying something about how Trump’s tweet regarding it was probably the funniest thing I’ll read all day, and there were maybe two or other people who commented as well. No one was particularly heated with their words. But then, THANK GOD, some dude rolled up and started off his comment with: “I only see women commenting here, so I as a man shall interject.” He went to essentially offer nothing of importance or value, but thanks man, for reminding me that my vagina renders my opinion useless! Seriously, what the fuck is wrong people. My friend’s post had literally nothing to do with gender. NOTHING. I am so easily ruffled anymore that this actually came close to making me grab a hammer and go hogwild on gender barriers. I started to reply to this asshole’s comment, but then stopped and asked myself: “Is this worth it? Do you really want a bunch of Facebook notifications ruining your evening?” No. No, I didn’t want that. So I closed out of Facebook and Henry gave me a hug and muttered something about “Please don’t lop off my penis, please remember I’m not one of the bad guys. I am a feminist. I PAY MY DUES EVERY DAY BY LIVING IN THIS HOUSE WITH YOU.”
- Henry and I met Blake and Haley at the Smiling Moose for dinner. This is one of my favorite places, with some really grade A company, so this automatically goes into the “high” column. I was still kind of simmering over the mansplaining incident, so I had TWO BEERS and if you know me, you know that I’m not much of a drinker anymore (drinking made me fat as fuck in my 20s). I had two pumpkin beers because I’m still taking baby steps. However, I finally had Pumpking after years of being told that, as someone who can barely gag down a Summer Shandy, I wouldn’t like it. WELL JOKE’S ON YOU FOOLS BECAUSE I DID! It also made me pretty drunk, though. And also if you know me, you know that me being drunk can go one of two ways: adorably precocious or FUCKING BELLIGERENT BIOTCH.
- Which leads me to the ultimate low of the day: the Hands Like Houses show at Diesel, where I was a FUCKING BELLIGERENT BIOTCH. Now let me make some excuses for myself here, because I truly believe that my environment had a lot to do with my intolerance for humanity. Diesel sucks as a music venue. It’s a nightclub and should only be used as such. I had one good experience there and it was last June when I was at a show with only 20 other people. It was chill as fuck. This show was way too crowded for this venue, and also it started an HOUR EARLY with NO NOTICE, so by the time we got there, not only did we miss the first band (Out Came the Wolves) but all the decent spots were taken. Also, since the show was on a Saturday night, this brought out all the fair-weathered concert goers who were mostly there to party and get drunk, and apparently Diesel wasn’t relegating the drinkers to the upstairs area like most clubs do. Nope, they were ALL AROUND ME, sloshing their Bud Light around and putting my surly face in the background of all of their salacious Snaps. By the time The Color Morale came on, I was so angry that I was shouting at people and making angry, intense eye contact at the Tallest Guy In the Room who felt compelled to STAND ON A PLATFORM in front of me. I HOPE HE THOUGHT I WAS A WICCAN BECAUSE THAT’S THE VIBE I WAS GOING FOR WITH MY WITCHCRAFT GLARE. And then it was time for co-headliner Our Last Night, who I have seen twice before and they do nothing for me, and by this time, it was so crowded that I couldn’t breathe and so many people were scream-talking around me and I just kept running my mouth, and running it and running it and running it, and Henry was giving me the “Please, not here, not now. Please don’t make me take a punch for you. I only LOOK rugged, but 16 years with you has turned me into a pile of buttercream and craft patterns, PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME BE A MAN.” I knew that I had to leave. I love Hands Like Houses, but I was honestly losing my fucking mind, standing in that sleazy pit of Big Night Out yinzers and so I looked at Henry and said, “We need to leave. Like, now.” And Henry did a little twirl before happily leading me out of Diesel, but not before I loudly scoffed, “THIS VENUE SUCKS” as we walked past the asshole in charge, who apparently admitted that he knew for hours that the show’s time was pushed ahead but was “too busy” to update the Facebook event page. Fucking amateur.
- Two small highs happened though, one was the numerous times I got to see my Aussie baes in HLH milling about behind the scenes and I got all day-dreamy thinking about them taking me home to Canberra with them, where I could relive the week I spent there in 2000. And the second was when Garrett Rapp from A Color Morale was being accosted by fan-bros right behind Henry, and I tried to push Henry into him while shouting, “HENRY THERE HE IS! TELL HIM WHAT YOUR FAVORITE SONG IS!” And Henry’s frown grew so large that he was able to step into it like a pair of pants and disappeared into the world of Leave Me Alone.
- On the way back to the car, we past the old Schwartz Market, which was full of art now. I slowed down a little to get a better look, at which point some hippie woman smoking in the doorway said, “Come on in!” and grabbed me by the arm and led me through the door, at which point Henry was like, “Yeah, I’m good” and stood outside by himself while I was given a cup of HOT APPLE CIDER and a delicious vegan pumpkin pastry while learning all about the For One Peace Cooperative, a group of amazing creative-types who hang out and make art while also doing things to bring the community together, like organizing coat drives for the homeless, etc. I was in the for about 30 minutes I guess, talking to Joe—he appeared to be the leader, and he showed me a watercolor technique using coffee filters, because he has multiple sclerosis and it’s difficult for him to hold paint brushes. I told him about the horrible experience I had down the street at Diesel, and he said, “Everyone stumbles in here for a reason.” I’ll say. It happened so fast that I can’t even remember now how I went from casually looking in the window to eating their food. And then, as I was signing up to be a part of their group, Joe excitedly told me that soon they’ll be cleaning up litter by the river. “Women are getting jumped by the river,” some guy mumbled around bites of vegan food. “Yeah, that’s fucked up,” Joe murmured, looking at the ground. “But, we’re not sending her to the river alone!” And then looking back at me, Joe reiterated, “We’re not sending you to the river alone. We”ll be in groups, and it will be during the day, of course!” And I just laughed because I already loved my new crew. When I met up with Henry and excitedly recounted all of this to him, he just frowned and muttered something about a cult. “You wouldn’t understand, Henry. You had to be there,” I said dismissively. “It’s about community.” Henry looked at me, all aghast, and cried, “You don’t even like community!” Yeah, that was the OLD Erin. But now I’ve been saved now I have a crew. I even let Joe hug me and I liked it. I’m basically a hippie now.
After I got my tattoo Wednesday night, I was walking down Carson Street waiting for Henry the Chauffeur to pick me up, and one of the guys I met from the co-op walked by. “Hello!” he said cheerfully, and I was like, “OMG HI YOU REMEMBER ME!” because I have this complex where I’m certain no one ever remembers me, even less than a week later. I was so excited to tell Henry when I got in the car!
“Who!?” Henry asked. And then, “Oh.” Whatever Henry. He’s just allergic to tie-dye, I guess