Rock Star Hour

Friday I met a boy

I can still picture him, dancing under the lights.

It was like the music moved for him. He had this tan jacket on, and he used it when he danced. I saw him let it hang off his elbows as he spun around to the 80s beats all sexy and carefree.

At first I was the only one dancing. Then Nikki met me, and we danced around the debris as a quiet worker swept up the remaining trash from the Taking Back Sunday show.

"I'm going to talk to him," I told Nikki. Another chugged beer later and I was strutting up to him like he was the only other person who existed in the room.

I told him he was adorable. And a bad-ass dancer. I introduced myself, and asked if he'd been at the show earlier. He hadn't.

"Why not?" I asked. "Don't you like Taking Back Sunday?"

"Yes," he said. "But I'm saving my money for Death Cab for Cutie."

He had me way earlier, with the first smile. He didn't need to mention my favorite band in his first few tones. Nikki and I had decided to go upstairs for awhile. And when we passed him on the dance floor I snuck a peak from under my hat only to find his eyes in mine and that smile so thrilling, honest, devilish and innocent and perfect at the same time. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'm picturing that smile right now and it's writing its own description.

It's crazy how a night can unfold. We talked and danced. Talked and danced some more. Before I knew it I was offering him a ride home so he could stay longer. We were having such a good time, and his friends wanted to take off.

Against my warning about taking rides from strangers, especially crazy old ladies, he accepted my offer. And I agreed to drop his best friend off along the way.

I won't forget the last few dances. "Why Can't I Be You?" was the most fun.

Touching him was magical. Holding his hand felt so natural. Nikki teased me. She found us on the patio and said she saw me making out with him on the dance floor.

And we laughed. And we laughed in the car riding down his neighborhood streets at the strange sequence of events that brought us there.

"One minute you walk up to me out of nowhere, and the next you're giving me a ride home." He talked about how I approached him and how he felt our mutual interest slowly progress over the course of the night. To me it almost seemed too simple to be real life.

We agreed that, no matter what would happen, whether we would see each other again or not, that we both had a great time.

"I still think you're adorable," I said. And I kissed him goodnight.

Dance, dance, dance 'n' go crazy

Today is my first day off in three weeks. Woohoo! Don't get me wrong, though. I work hard, but I try to party hard. Actually, I worked so much in the last two weeks that I asked my boss to hook me up with a bunch of lunches this week so I could go to some shows at night. So I pretty much rocked out.

This was one of the best weeks I've had in as long as I can remember.

Wednesday I went to see New Found Glory, Sugarcult and Green Day. Got the hell beat out of me in the pit. Plus, I went with Terrence, and he's one of my best friends in the world, so it doesn't get much better than that. But you know what else ruled? Getting to finally hear my favorite song, "Hit or Miss," cheesy but goddam great as it is, live. Plus listening to Sugarcult play "Memory" kicked ass because I know how to play it, so I sort of played my guitar along with them in my head. I'm such a dork but damn it was a good time. And I finally got a Sugarcult shirt. I browsed some online this summer but I was too poor back then; it's nice to finally get to sport one.

Thursday I saw Rilo Kiley with the Elected and Tilly and the Wall. Now, if seeing one of my favorite bands for the fourth time wasn't bad ass enough, it was really rad to finally get to see Blake's project. I bought the album last spring.

I acted like a damn fool in the audience. I hope I wasn't too obnoxious. I was just really excited to be there. I don't think I was because I actually made some friends. (It helps to have a cool hat. Remember I said I was going to buy one the other day? Well, I did, and it rules.)

At one point I screamed "I love you" to Blake. It was so awesome. I never do shit like that and I kind of felt like a loser, but I didn't give a shit. He just acted all shocked and sweet. He said, "What? You love me?" And I just screamed back, "I love you!" Then he said he loved me too.

I met a guy in the audience named Mo who taped the whole thing, and said he'd give me a copy if I want. Anyway, if you can't have fun when you're young when the fuck can you?

Blake is cool. I remember one time I interviewed him two or three years ago after a show for the Cougar, and at first I thought he was blowing me off because he was talking to fans and he asked if I could hang out for awhile so we could talk later, but he ended up going outside the club with me where it was more quiet, and he stood and had about a 15-minute conversation with me, stopping to take a picture or two with fans on their way out.

I remember I asked him what his top 5 albums of all time were. Revolver was one of them. It stands out because that same spring Roger from The Good Life had listed that one as well. But you know what was about the coolest thing I ever heard? Blake told me when he was in high school he and his friends started a wiffle ball team, and they won the Wiffle Ball World Series.

Tilly and the Wall was super cool too. They had a friggen tap dancer and a tamborine. People were eating that shit up with a spoon.

Rilo Kiley played "My Slumbering Heart" second in their set. I love that song so much.

And everyone knows Jenny is awesome. She's actually one of the reasons I finally picked up guitar. I remember I had a telephone interview with her once, and I used to always ask bands how they got started. I guess I was fishing around, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to start my own. "Just do it," she said. "There's nothing better than just getting to hang out with your friends and make music."

Friday I saw Taking Back Sunday with The Quick Fix Kills, Matchbook Romance and Fall Out Boy. To be honest I tried to give every band the benefit of the doubt. I was just as excited to see those I had never heard as I was to see TBS. But I didn't feel like I got my 20 bucks worth until they came on. They were really impressive live. Probably the best part was their attitudes. They seemed to be having the best time ever. The crowd was great too. It was mostly high school kids, but goddam they were devoted. They knew every word to every song. It almost made me feel like a poser. After the show I danced my ass off to classic Numbers 80s hits and drank a bunch of beer, and flirted shamelessly and successfully with an underaged hottie.

Saturday I got three hours sleep after partying Friday before I had to get up and go to a lame ass corporate meeting. I felt pretty nauseated all day after that, but then at 9 p.m. I went to work, and made like a million dollars closing the bar. I actually had a lot of fun too. I talked about music with these two guys for a long time. Told them how much I think The Police rules, and some other stuff. Usually, people think I'm weird with how much I can go on about music if they're not into it, but it turned out they were musicians. I also ran into a couple pretty good girlfriends from back in high school I had lost touch with something like four years ago. We knew it had been a long time, because one of them I hadn't seen since I went to Notsouh for some bad coffee and good chess. If you're from Houston you know that Notsouh doesn't exist anymore sadly, but damn if I didn't love that place.

Today As I said earlier, I am off! Hooray! Ideally, I will be going to see The Dillinger Escape Plan tonight. But I don't know if my body or vocal chords can handle another show. My voice is hoarse, and my whole body hurts. I know if I try to brave the pit I'll probably die. Even so, I bought their new album awhile back, and I really like it. Plus, I feel like I need to go just out of respect for my buddy Mick who I miss so much in Austin. He was one of the guys at the house where I couched it for awhile. Not the one I slept with and fucked up our friendship. That's another story. His roommate. The moral of the story: If you are technically homeless, don't sleep with the person you're staying with. It might temporarily immensely improve the situation. Ideally, sex makes everything better. But not really. Anyway, I haven't talked to Mick since I left, but Dillinger was his favorite band. He was a bad ass guitarist. He used to crank that shit, and play along with his electric guitar while we'd sit on the couch drunk, beer in hand, and rock out to his one-man show.

Next week Death Cab for Cutie, Pretty Girls Make Graves. Need I say more?

It's the best thing you can do with your clothes on.

That's what the old, gray-haired, nameless man from Kansas told me about skydiving last night. He also said that, if skydiving were a quickie, hang-gliding would be like going all night long.

It's amazing the things people will tell the girl who brings them their beer. Especially the girl in the short, pleaded plaid skirt. They'll tell you where they are from, what they do for a living, how their marriage is going, and about whatever else comes up over a few hours of drinking, without even having to disclose their name.

I guess there's a certain amount of anonymity that comes with the bar conversation territory.

Of course, there are the occasional comments from those who just must be completely spineless. "Are you Scottish, because I'm dying to know what's under that kilt."

I shit you not, someone actually said that to me yesterday. I wanted to fuckin' hit him. If that wasn't bad enough, they pushed the joke even further, and then when the guy's friend came to meet them he whispers to me, "Are you Scottish?"

Ugh. The weird thing was I wasn't as embarrassed for myself as I was for the only female in their company. They were these business types, on a lunch, and two of them were about to catch a flight to somewhere in the afternoon. The woman was a buyer or something, I heard her say.

Sometimes, especially at lunch, I see these "successful" people, and what they have to wear, and whom they have to hang around with, and I'm just not sure if it's worth it. I'm such a homebody. I kind of like just being casual and getting to say almost whatever comes to mind on the job. I kind of like that people give me money for that.

I like the rock star life.

Another table I had were these three really attractive, seemingly shy guys. One of them was married; the other two weren't. Turns out two of them were working as law clerks, and one was a dentist. The two clerks went to law school in Boston. They didn't tell me which one, and I didn't really care, but it was implied. They were obviously well to do.

Anyway, I was just bullshitting with them. The only reason I asked if they were married was because this table of two girls actually moved from another waitress's section to mine so they could sit at a table with a better view of these guys. I tried to help them out, but the guys weren't interested.

But then the girls left, and the guys were eventually joined by a group of people, also kind of preppy, and well to do, and the new group included a few women, and the vibe totally changed. For a while I had gone over there to chat when I had free moments; after that I felt awkward, so I just did my job. In my head I was like, "This is who you roll with?"

I don't know. I guess I'm trying to re-evaluate my idea of what kind of guy I would like to date, and those guys seemed pretty cool, until I imagined having drinks at that table, and I just wouldn't want to. And then I found myself wondering if either one of those guys would've gone out and had a beer and played Ms. Pac Man with me, and if it would be the best time ever. But I just don't know.

It's nice to have something to say, though. I will say that. Even if it is about work. I've been working a lot, but it's nice to know I'm gaining something from it, other than money. And the money is nice. I ended up making like $30 off those guys and their friends alone. I was rockin' that shit. Uh-huh.

I was rockin' that shit so hard I'm rewarding myself by going out an buying a hat today. I've been checking out hats at the nearby Foley's on my lunch break, but I couldn't bring myself to buy one while shopping alone, for obvious reasons. This line from You've Got Mail keeps trailing in and out of my brain whenever I'm tempted to buy one. It's this part when Meg Ryan's character is e-mailing Joe Fox about seeing a butterfly in the subway. And how it got off at a certain stop and flew off to who knows, maybe Bloomingdales, "to buy a hat that would be a mistake. As almost all hats are."

I love that movie.

I am not a rock star. I'm just an everyday girl, trying to make it.

Do you ever have those moods when you feel like everything you try to do just sucks. Yesterday I felt like that when I was playing my guitar.

I looked forward to playing it all day, and then when I got home from work I felt like everything I strummed was booty.

I am about to go to work this morning. I just have been wanting to say something lately, but I guess my energy just isn't in the right place to articulate it.

Arg.

But while I'm here I may as well say that Lovers Need Lawyers kicks so much ass. This morning is the first morning I haven't listened to it since I went to the show last Wednesday. Instead I listened to The Ugly Organ in its entirety.

Oh, and I've been compiling a list of dates I want to go on in my head for when I eventually meet someone special. I haven't really written about them here, but the other night I added drinking beer and playing Ms. Pac Man. God damn, I'm a hopeless romantic.

OK, I'm out.

This house is quiet, but the fan is clicking loudly in the other room.

Perusing the Internet. The endless supply of the lives and details belonging to persons I have never seen or heard, and probably won't in the future. Blogs about sex, politics, and cute ones that 13-year-olds have to appear cool to their friends, all littered with high school slang and scissor-sliced American English. Blogs in other languages I wish I could read.

It's got me wondering why we do this. It's like we're all just reaching out like, "Hello, I'm here."

I thought about something last night or this morning. It was a reminder thought. One I thought often in the last few days in Washington this summer. I had a thought about the kind of person I want to be. The things I want to do. The things I spent so much time trying to piece together in some cosmic picture and frame on some wall in my mind so I could have continuous access to the picture. The picture has become dusty with a new film of doubt stuck in a hazy alcoholic environment.

"I want to be a good person," I thought. And I thought about all the things I wanted to do. All I'm doing right now is working and hanging out with my friends. And I think it's the best time ever, when I'm not thinking it's a waste of time.

I'm drinking a lot. I keep telling myself that I know it's because I don't have my acoustic guitar. I don't have my guitar because a friend of mine loaned me money and is holding onto it for collateral. I could probably buy it back sooner if I weren't buying alcohol. But then again, I know I'm so hard on myself.

I worked 11 shifts in my first week on the floor at work. The six I was scheduled. Plus five extra. This week I want to do it again.

I get so down. I'm paying people off, and bills, so even though I'm slowly working my way out of the negative at least in that department, I never actually have any money. I'm two shades away from dreaming still of getting my own place anytime soon. I'm so lucky to have the support system of friends that I do.

The other night I went to a party at a house I hadn't been to in what seemed like such a long, long time. And so many people just made me proud to be alive. They hugged me. They expressed gratitude for my coming to hang out. We caught up on old times.

While I agree that a person should not judge her self worth on the responses of others, I do believe their is a kernel of truth to finding reflections of the self in that way. If I was a horrible person, people wouldn't want to be around me.

My little sister turned 23 today. My dad asked my sister how she felt about getting older. I asked my mother how she felt about my sister getting older. My mother said she felt old when my other sis turned 27 two months ago.

I couldn't stop thinking about my mother next to her at the dinner table. What it would be like to sit down with a husband and three kids, at the youngest's 23rd birthday. I absolutely have no way of comprehending how that feels.

On the way to dinner, I thought about how grown up Renee is. She is her own person, and has always been. We were raised like twins, always dressed in the same clothes, always going to the same school on the same bus, knowing the same people. We did the same activities in high school even, and she went to the prom my senior year with our friend's twin brother. But she has her own hobbies, taste in clothes and music, everything. I feel like these sentiments are so trite, like whomever you are reading them, you're probably shaking your head and letting out a big "duh!" but it's nonetheless true, I guess.

As you can see, this mood I'm in is a sort of spread-out, reflective one. I was sick all day but I went to Renee's birthday dinner anyway. I couldn't miss it; it was the last birthday of the year for my family. I was in Austin for mine, drinking. Trying to diffuse my homesickness and confusion, and everything else. And I wasn't home for my older sis's or my father's either. It hurts.

It stung. The sentimental pain I got watching Renee open one of her presents. A single-serving teacup and kettle that had in pink painted cursive something about making the time to remember while still creating new memories. My sister had tears in her eyes when she turned it around and read it. Mine too. I can't remember the last time we all got together like that. Months.

Well, I'm off to lie down on the couch and think of everything or nothing, whichever comes first. Maybe both.

The Good Life

I met Tim Kasher tonight and I thanked him for inspiring me. He had a firm handshake and he looked me in the eye with a smile, and told me to keep writing.

When I talked to Roger about being on the road, he said he missed his dog, James.

Seeing my ex at the show was like revisiting a dream. Do you know those dreams? The ones where you know everyone by name, while consciously knowing that you won't know them when you wake up? It was kind of like that.

Afterward, I jammed a little with my friend. It looks like I'm starting a band. I've got a couple things, but I have found a person to play with who really seems to want to go in the same direction musically, and that is just so exciting.

Everyone at the new job thinks I'm crazy because I'm a workaholic. The truth is I've always sort of been one, and the fact that I'm not in school right now makes it worse. I apply the attitude that if I'm not making money I'll just be out spending it. Add the fact that I'm single. I ask myself what else I've got to do.

Don't get me wrong, though. I've been hanging out with my friends more and more. It's really good, because I'm progressing from a time where I locked myself away or forced myself to be social a lot.

It's a little selfish. The hugs, the laughter. I'm eating them up right now. I haven't felt this way in a long time. You know, the feeling that life as it is can be enough sometimes. It can be good.

Cleaning House

Working. Will have a home soon.

Falling in love with idealized versions of movie and indie rock stars like a hopeless teenager.

Hung out with complete strangers last night to find even they were tied to pieces of a past not far enough from the present to forget just yet.

Taking advantage of lovely friendships, and flaking out way too often when moods suddenly change the course of my respective plans in a manner delicately on the boundary of my self control.

Typing strange yet tangible in my mind at least one liners threading together in my mixed up mid-twenties mind.

Sleepy from life.

Chest pains are slipping away like words on flipped vintage paperback pages.

Scoping out crowds at clubs and bars and streets to see if any faces could hold the possibility of a future love. Results negative.

Bored by 99 percent of conversation. 98.

Thinking about what to wear to the Death Cab concert. Frightened by my own anticipation.

Played guitar for drunken friends the other night. The acoustic strings felt so homey on my fingertips.

Semi-apartment searching. Semi-researching Japan.

Learning to objectify men on the Internet. Entertaining myself with image searches and sites like Hot or Not.

Job is teaching me the art of beer snobbery. Drinking Newcastle and Guinness on an almost regular basis.

Cleaning house, inside and out.