I almost didn’t get to go see The Get Up Kids & Saves the Day last Sunday. Henry was being a tightwad as usual, tossing in some guilt about how buying tickets was like taking food from our child’s mouth. But then, much to Henry’s chagrin, I won two tickets through the promoter’s Facebook page. I never win tickets! The last tickets I won was to a sneak preview of “The Substitute” in 1996. Included in that was a poster and the soundtrack, which I actually played the fuck out of it because it was all rap and I was deep in the Yo! Culture.
The message they sent me on Facebook said to make sure that my Facebook name and name on my ID were the same. I already knew they were, so I was a little confused as to why there was a hold-up at the will-call counter at Mr. Small’s that night.
“You don’t seem to be on the list,” a pixie-haired girl said, squinting to read the names in the dim light. “Are you sure you won?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
I said yes in a high-pitched voice constricted by worry. I started to fumble for my phone for proof when Henry sighed and mumbled, “It’s on there. I see it.”
They had me listed as Erin Appledale. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why until it dawned on me later that one day, I added Appledale as my maiden name, so it comes up on Facebook next to my full name in parenthesis.
There was a moment of hesitation on the ticket girl’s part. I was ready to burst into tears if my winnings were taken away, and she seemed like she really wanted to believe me but didn’t want to get in trouble in case I’m just a really great Sally Struthers impersonator. I was ready to show her the confirmation I had on my phone when she crossed out Erin Appledale with her highlighter and said, “It’s OK, I believe you. But if someone named Erin Appledale comes looking for her tickets—-” and we all had a good laugh. Well, all of us except for Henry, who realized he fucked himself by pointing out my name on the list. That could have been his out! He was so irritated that he actually tweeted about it, and boyfriend barely ever tweets.
I knew Henry was majorly put out by having to be there that night, mostly because he had to leave for work later on around 2AM, but also because 90s emo means nothing to him. So in an effort to make him happier (like that’s ever possible), I stayed in the back of Mr. Small’s with him, next to one of the bars. I even suggested that he get a beer, since we saved money on tickets, but he very curtly reminded me that he had to be at work at 2AM. OK, sorry, big shot. I pointed out several times that for once, Henry wasn’t even close to being the oldest guy at the show. There was nary a scene kid in sight. It was kind of nice.
My friend Bonecrusher arrived with her fiance Brendan, who also had no interest being there so I thought that maybe he and Henry could commiserate about that and moustaches, but then I remembered that Henry won’t talk to anyone he hasn’t met at least 4 times. He’s so weird. So I essentially stood with my back toward Henry and talked to them, which is exactly what Henry and I were making fun of some other guy for doing to his date earlier, now that I think about it. Yes! I’m officially That Douchey Guy in the Bike Shop T-shirt. They stayed with us for the whole show which was cool but of course my social second-guessing had me paranoid that they felt stuck, and then I felt guilty and wondered if they thought I was super lame for standing all the way in the back. These are things that happen when one doesn’t take anything for social anxiety.
I don’t remember who the opening band was. They were local and OK.
Saves the Day played for around 90 minutes and it was non-stop amazement. I tried to make Henry clap a couple times and then he nearly broke my fingers, which is how I found out he doesn’t appreciate me using his hand to touch guys’ asses.
He also yelled at me for having fun.
When Saves the Day played “Tomorrow Too Late,” I almost lost it. THAT IS MY FAVORITE SONG. That whole album makes me think of when I finally walked out of the job where I had been emotionally abused for four years.
(Not from the show I went to, but best quality I could find on YouTube.)
“This would be a good time,” I yelled in Henry’s ear, wagging my ring finger in his face. He rolled his eyes and smirked.
“A good time for WHO?” he asked.
The guy in front of us had his arm around his drunk girlfriend. I tried to get Henry to sling his limp arm around me, but he was busy jabbing at his phone with fat thumbs.
“Who are you texting?” I yelled, trying to read it upside down.
He pushed my hand away. “Scott, my roommate from THE SERVICE.”
OH MY GOD. I’m going to have to do some recon on this. This could be our inside into Henry’s SERVICE DAYS.
And then The Get Up Kids came out and I thought it was pretty impossible not to just smile and be happy, but of course Henry proved me wrong. The only song The Get Up Kids sang that Henry enjoyed was a fucking Blur cover. It’s weird, but instead of feeling old because these bands have been around for so long, it actually made me feel younger. Maybe because I’m so used to being the Scene Mom at all the usual shows we go to.
Henry said I was being exceptionally annoying all night.
It’s 90 degrees in my house right now, so I will just say that The Get Up Kids were awesome, Saves the Day were awesome, and it was nice to just be able to enjoy a show for once without crying through the whole fucking thing because I’m an emotional wreck. I even caught Henry clapping once. ON HIS OWN!