Christina’s glasses arrived, packaged safely in an empty box of sympathy cards. Unfortunately, she must have near-perfect vision because when I put them on, it’s like looking through lens-less frames.
I asked Henry if we can just pass his glasses back and forth tonight at the Armor For Sleep show, maybe make all the scene kids think it’s the new drug of 2008. "What, you didn’t know we were getting high back there? It’s the new freebasing, ya’ll."
I’m a little annoyed because I’ve been trying to see this band for the past three years, but there’s always something in the way: a test, being extremely pregnant, work. I listened to their second album repeatedly for the better part of 2005. It was all about being dead, about someone who kills themself and then is like, "Oh shit," which appeals to me. I taped the singer’s face over top of Henry’s face in the family picture I have on my desk at work. Not so much because I’m all, "OMG Ben Jorgenson is so hawttttt" but just because he’s way more awesome than Henry will ever be.
At least I still have my hearing. Kind of.