My New Underage Homies
Somewhere in between salivating over the extensive candy spread that was being sold as skater’s fuel and Christina trying to fillet herself with a saw, we braved the cold in order to have a cigarette. This is where, beneath rain that was trying desperately to be ice, we met Jordan. Boasting an I <3 Haters t-shirt and braces, Jordan proceeded to give an argument that he was, in fact, 18 and oh brother could we please spare a smoke? Apparently, his argument was convincing enough for Christina to flick him a Camel with no hesitation. I guess he felt obligated to give us some chatty as payment, as he hung around and told wild tales of being the only black kid in his school who likes hard music. “Well, except for one other black kid. But he’s gay.” He then went on to say that being gay is like the new goth, and Christina and I agreed fervishly, as we had just made fun of a faux-lesbo couple inside the show. They were literally dragging each other around, holding hands with feigned passion, and then quickly scanning everyone around them to see if anyone was noticing. It was the lamest thing I think I’ve ever seen. Kind of like when Christina wears bandanas as headbands.
Then some other youngin’ with a nearly-Canadian accent ambled over, skateboard in tow, and weasled his own cigarette from Christina, the human tobacco dispenser. She’s like an anti-Truth billboard. He wove yarns about chain-smoking Camel Crushes and coughing up blood. “They were recalled, you know,” he said in earnest. Christina looked horrified because evidently she’s been smoking them too. I waited for her to fall asleep that night in the hotel room before chanting, in a soft, monotone whisper, “Smoke more Crushes. Have another Crush. You think Crushes are better than pot. Smoke them all day long. No more food, just Crushes.”
I think that kid’s name was Kyle. He looks like a Kyle, in any case. Kurt. Kam. Kleatus. He was going to give Christina a cigarette as soon as his friends came back in the car where he left his pack. But that’s like basically saying, “What, baby? I put on a condom, I promise.” She told him not to worry about it, which is a good thing considering THAT CAR DOESN’T EXIST.
The Bathroom Condition
I don’t generally make use of the facilities when I’m at shows because club bathrooms make me feel like I’m walking into an STD incubator. But I had been drinking a torpedo-sized can of Monster and kind of really sort of had to go.
The stalls weren’t too bad. I was able to enter one without the need for a hockey stick to slap away sullied tampons or soggy wads of toilet water. Soggy from the commode water or emo tears of angst, who knows? I was able to pee without worrying some rare bacterial eel from Asia was going to swim up from the pipes and enter my vagina. I was even able to wash my hands with a lovely aromatic hand soap and not that orange shit that reeks of hospitals and high school science labs. A very surprising jaunt into a public restroom, to be sure.
But I did not attempt to return to the bathroom later on and here is why: Two girls were hogging the sink area, posing sexily with each other, lips all smooched out and dripping with glittery lip gloss, taking their photos into the mirror. The one girl’s hip was jutted out so far that it kept grazing my thigh as I tried desperately to suds up while fixating on my hands and not at the creepy sexual circus that was opening its big top right next to me. The worst part was that they looked like they had ended up there accidentally after leaving a Hollister sale and decided, “Oh what the fuck, while we’re here let’s update our Facebook pics because OMGWE’REATAROCKSHOW!” They looked to be in their early twenties, making this display completely unacceptable. I wanted to toss some Maroon5 tickets at them to get them to go away.
Maybe I should have just looked for a nice photo booth to piss in.
The Worst Moment of My Life
Sometime after my accidental immersion in restroom eroticism, Jonny from Emarosa was back behind the merch table, not being noticed. Christina wanted to go talk to him, but I kept saying I didn’t want to. I knew what was going to happen: I was going to get up there, he was going to look at me expectantly, and I was going to blubber all over his pants. It happens all the time when I meet people in bands that genuinely affect me. So Christina is all, “Well, I want to meet him” and somewhere inside the pit of my soul, the thirteen-year-old in me reared her unreasonably jealous head and whined, “THAT’S NOT FAIR I LIKED THEM FIRST AND I LIKE THEM MOST.” Still not wanting to do this, but also not wanting her to meet him on her own, I reluctantly trailed behind her with my head down.
Here is where I am going to be honest: this was a really painful moment for me. It hurt me so deeply that I haven’t wanted to write about this trip at all and I have barely talked about it even with my friends. But here is what happened in a nut shell – Jonny essentially didn’t notice me at all because as usual, boring old Erin was eclipsed by Christina’s showy charm and no matter how many times I tried to talk, he would always go back to her. So of course, she gets this brilliant idea to try to make me look like the super fan, which backfired and made me look like a fucking loser. Oh look, it’s the new Suicide Smoothie from Jamba Juice, and it’s seeping from my pores. We probably only had a minute of face time with him, but it dragged out in excruciating intervals and I could hear my own stammering voice, laced with fear and doubt, as though I was screaming to be heard outside of the fishbowl on my head. After I told him he was awesome for the FOURTH time (wtf ugh), I thought the game warden had finally arrived with the shotgun but NO. NO NO NO that fucking tampon Christina had to go and be a fucking backstabber by asking if she could take a picture with him. So then it was all, “Here Erin take this photo of us” and then I don’t know which of them had the brilliant afterthought to include ME, the one who actually LIKES HIS MUSIC AND OWNS EMAROSA’S ALBUM, but the next thing I knew, I was in the asshole picture too and let me tell you that picture is like keeping the jizz of the trucker who raped you in the rest stop THAT IS HOW SICKENING this momento is to me. Horrible. Awful. Painful.
I vaguely remember almost tripping over someone’s bike as I retreated. I almost wish I would have. That would have been the richest ending to this story. AND THEN ERIN WAS IMPALED BY THE SPOKES OF SOME THIRTEEN YEAR OLD’S BIKE AND BLED OUT ALL OVER THE FLOOR BUT THE SHOW STILL WENT ON THE END.
Later that night, Christina had the audacity to say that the most traumatic moment of the night for her was that goddamn Benny Hill Show scene with the fucking Mountain Dew can. Oh, well la de da. I was just psychologically mauled back there by the merch booth, but hold the phones, Christina didn’t know where to set down a can of fucking Mountain Dew. That bitch is lucky I didn’t haul off and wizard kick her fucking cartoon face right then and there. God, get fucked.
Anyway, it’s always nice when you take solace in someone’s music and then when you try to tell them that, they act like they would rather by q-tipping their dickhole than sharing the same air as you. But to quote Christina, after we walked away, “OMG JONNY WAS SO NICE SQUUUUEEEE” and you know I’m pissed off when I write the word “squee.”
Trying not to let it ruin my night, I consoled myself by going back to scene kid adoration and trying my best to enjoy Breathe Carolina’s set while blocking out the horror show that had just transpired, knowing I’d have the rest of my life to replay it over and over and over in my head like that fucking 1-800-MY-LEMON commercial that I hate so much.
I wish I had been there with Purple Hood. I bet she would have acted like half of a faux-lesbian couple with me, holding my hand tenderly while not forcing me to talk to Jonny. Maybe she would have won me a cute pink stuffed sea barnacle from a Claw machine after the show, braided my hair and told me I was pretty while playing me a mix tape full of Seaweed and Sunny Day. Then the next day we’d go to the mall so she could get her cartilage pierced and then she’d buy me a bracelet at Hot Topic and maybe we might stop for a Slushie at 7-11 and talk about how rad Jennifer Aniston is (Team Aniston FO’ LYFE). Shit, now I want to date that girl.
And then later I hugged a Teletubby. People in costume always prod my desire to dole out hugs. I don’t know what it is, but at haunted houses especially, I’m always wanting to dry hump every last Joe in a Kmart mask.
And then I made Judas tip him.
At some point, Pierce the Veil came on and I was able to go back to that sensation of inner peace for awhile. I was a little sad though that Henry wasn’t with me, because he likes them too and their songs always make me think of him. I was partially aware that Christina wasn’t even really watching the show, which annoyed me but whatever. She broke up a chick fight at one point because she always has to meddle. Me? I’d have liked to have seen how that would have panned out, but whatever. I will say, however, that by the time Christina stepped in, the back of the one girl’s head looked like what’s beneath Tyra’s weave. It was all nest-y and knotted and I can only imagine how badly her scalp must have ached. I wanted to know what started the fight, and for whatever reason, I dwelled on that for days following.
This dude was standing near the front with us and it was kind of like having Henry there. Old? Check. Earplugs? Check. Glasses and 1980’s THE SERVICE ‘stache? Check. Except this guy was shaking his jock all over the place. He was INTO IT and it was incredible. He was also recording a lot of the show, and I was worried because there were two young girls in front of him who were dancing with each other. It started out innocently, but before I knew it, they were essentially simulating sex. The one girl kept throwing her head back and a few times it hit my arm. I was afraid they were going to get me pregnant so I stepped to the side. So yes, I was worried that the Bizzaro Henry was clandestinely filming them for some sick, underground clothed porn ring, but then I think the one girl was his daughter. Which, depending on how you tend to view sex in the 21st century, is still alarmingly awkward.
Also next to me was a young kid with gaudy fake eyelashes who I assumed was a chick until he leaned over me to shout in a husky tone, “Is Monica here?” There was definitely a bobbing Adam’s apple. The youngest trannie I’ve ever seen in person (and the first scene trannie), as I happily jotted in my diary later that night.
I really like Pierce the Veil because a lot of their lyrics are about soul-crushing love and suicide and just being fucking miserable. Among my favorites are:
“Please understand me when
I’d rather see you dead
Than live without me, so thirsty for more
Beyond the sea blue light I met the love of my life
She’d rather see me dead than face me
I like your starry eyes, they yell surprise! Surprise!
I’m in love…but not for long”
“Another boy without a sharper knife
The moment, that’s where I
Kill the conversation
Wrap this up
With a knife that loves to feel
How do you know how deep to go before it’s real “
Plus, there’s some screaming too which stirs the anger I always got brewing in my veins. I love you, Pierce the Veil.
I am done with this fucking saga.