15 May, 2007, 954 pm
Filed under: Music, My Experience with Existence, School

Once in a while, I’ll get a brainfreeze and be unable to post. Everything’s happening fast around me–maybe not really fast, but I’m shellshocked and stuck in slow motion. I mean, the Arcade Fire. Last weekend. Today. Life changed colours. It’s brief, I think.

As I first watched them gently stampede onto the stage, into the circus ring, I couldn’t breathe. I knew I’d either throw up or pass out. Neither happened. Instead, I receded into my brain for the first two or three songs. I let those slithering bass lines take control of my body, and I stared down at Regine and knew this couldn’t be happening but that it had some sort of reality to it all the same. And then Haiti…it changed everything. I’d already adored the song what with its French and cultural references and all, but just to see Regine dance up there, I knew she was a crowd pleaser. No one goes to see Win Butler, regardless of the fact that he’s the fucking Lurch-like six-foot-five lead singer who gets all the interviews. He doesn’t light up the stage. Not even Richard Reed Perry, who, during the encore, threw his tambourine some twenty feet in the air and managed to catch it…it’s all on Regine Chassagne and violinist Sarah Neufeld. They’re filled with this energy that no one else has, no one in the world. They’re all smiles and dancing. They’re friendly crowd pleasers. And they’re beautiful.


Win Butler asked us to get the fuck down into the orchestra section come Rebellion (Lies), I think. I like to pretend he cordially invited us. All those fuckers who stayed up in the tiers or whatever…fuck them.

I also like to think that Regine smiled at me during Wake Up. Not everyone around me–JUST at me. It was a personal smile. We share a secret. That’s why it’s been my mantra for the past weeks. “I guess we’ll just have to adjust.” The whole song.

My camera sucked, and Will Butler was far too fast for it.

I danced. More like hopped up and down, swayed back and forth. It was after I snapped out of that initial shock. I just decided…”Well, it’s my first concert and the best one I’ll ever see. It’s going to change my life. So what? I’d better enjoy it.” There were old people sitting in front of us, bobbing up and down, too. I giggled at them, but they couldn’t hear me.

And then there was Derek. Yes, I owe him gratification for even making that experience POSSIBLE, but it’s so much more complicated than that. We fell asleep on the car ride home–me first–and as I started to fall asleep, I could feel him softly brushing my arm up and down. I thought, at first, that it was cute, plus I’ve always liked to be the receiver of affection when I’m asleep, as though I’m some adorable movie character (and I don’t drool in my sleep ever (only when I’m really tired…)), but I didn’t even have time to realize that I was falling asleep before I was out cold. I want my jawline to look like that girl’s when I kiss.


The next week, though, we were both sick, just like that. For me, it was stomach cramps on Tuesday. It was really nothing compared to the fate I’d expected the week before–some horrible train accident, or right before the show, dying of trembling or of falling down all the seats at the DAR Constitution Hall. Maybe I could’ve met the Arcade Fire that way. Pity, you know? For Derek, it was an exaggerated version of the cold I’d had the week before. We saw one another at band practice on Wednesday (we didn’t get to talk), but neither of us were well again, so he stayed home Thursday and I used my balls of steel to tough it out.

Friday, Erika had lunch with me, so she incorporated me into hers and Paige’s plans. I sort of felt bad for being an invader, almost like an outsider, but I did it to myself. I distanced myself. Because of moving, because of wanting to be alone, but…I shouldn’t have. And now, I’m kind of the eldest member of the triad, but also the clumsy, detachable third leg.

Spiderman 3 sucked. He looked like Conor Oberst when he was “bad,” and we couldn’t stop laughing, so we just left right away. We went to Paige’s and played GHI and GHII before Paige fell asleep and then we all went to bed. In the morning, Erika’s dad took us on rounds to El Paso (AMAZZZING #1 vegetarian meal and CHURROS!), Best Buy (we played the GHI demo), Ukrop’s (Erika treated us with her paycheck), Bailey Bridge Middle School for a soccer game (long story), Barnes & Noble (long, awkward story), and finally Carytown.


Plan 9 and Smoothie King made me want a job and a car, and Need Supply Co. confirmed that–I would buy all their dresses if I had the money. When I get a job and a car, I’m going there every fucking weekend. I found the below photo, by the way, in a Flickr search for photos of Carytown. Quirkayy.




We left early, and by the last car ride, all our airbanding had tired us all out, so we were kind of slumped in our seats grunting as communication. It was attractive.

Seeing John and Steph/ven, though, as distant as they were from my world, gah, it made me miss being Whatserface, the kinda trashy tomboy whatever one who’s forgettable and rather awkward. No, I don’t wanna be eeeemo anymore, but regardless of the fact that I was never even remotely their friend, I miss being a little less girly, even if I used to feel like shit all the time, and being a pushover, no boy would ever want me.

Back in the day, I waited for all these revelations to come to people, but it seemed that the only one getting constant revelations was me. I’m a fucking conformist, just to a different scene. I can’t change someone’s life. No one looks up to me or sideways at me like an equal. I’m just as low as the rest of the lot. I’m always hyperanalyzing shit, but does it really make a difference in the long run? I mean, if I realize that I weigh the same as Jennifer Lopez, except that all her weight is in her ass, and mine is all in my stomach, so therefore, every bit of fat on my body is really what’s on J. Lo’s ass…what does that matter? Is it going to help anyone in the long run? What if I realize that this guy in my history class isn’t so much of an intellect as he is someone who gets high all the time? I know a secret of his. Who cares? Why try to relate that to anyone? I’m such a fucking moron.

I give up on trying to make new friends because of these stupid fuckers who hold me back…people who enjoy FOB and Avril Fucking Lavigne, both of whom are so fucking punk rock! So badass! So hardxcore! And they’re pushy and argumentative, and I’m just a pushover, so I take all their shit day to day as they prevent me from ever making friends because everyone hates them and everyone thinks they’re my best fucking friends in the world. And I did come to realize that maybe sometimes I’m too hard on them. Not everyone has a young-spirited, direct mother like I do; some people have old-fashioned, wannabe coy moms who are OLD. And I was blessed with a young modern mom. And I’m a hypocrite. But if someone can’t pick up the signal that I don’t like them, that’s too bad. It’s a misfortune, but I’m too mean to say otherwise. No, not too nice. Too mean. I’m mean.

I watched FLCL today, all six episodes, and the last one brought tears to my heart. How could Haruko just leave him? He may be only twelve years old, but he loves her.


I enjoy the scent of spring mixed with the sounds of Rilo Kiley. I like warm breezes. I can’t wait for summer because I’m a showoff and my best assets are my legs and my eyelashes. No makeup in the summer and no long pants in the summer. Best season ever.

Plus, it means being able to curl up outside all day, and having picnics, and going to the beach in New Jersey. I’m a sucker for the beach, even if I don’t ever have a body fit for looking at.


I need to run more.

Rilo Kiley album due August 20th in the UK and I’m STOKED as hell.

I can’t tell you how many mood swings I’ve gone through today. I feel like I look good, but I feel like it’s a facade. I am crappy. No one can reassure me and everyone’s saying the wrong thing.

I need someone new to just tell me I’m gorgeous and beautiful and that it’s all good and then just walk away or be done with it. Leave me as though I’ve been slapped in the face with a brick. A good brick. I don’t know.

I can’t tell you how lonely I am at school all the time, or how loved I feel when I’m not stuck in this crappy desk in this cramped room, not in Short Pump but in Carytown or in DC even if I’m a complete invasion.

Yesterday, walking up les grands escaliers, I encountered an administrator who told me to take my headphones out of my ears. I was still pissed at her from last year with the whole fucked up janitor situation where she told me to get new friends, so I took one out, took five steps away, and put the bud back in my ear. My excuse is that I’m lonely. Fuck school administrators. They don’t know kids, anyway.


2 Comments so far
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Administrators at are school are those same douches that walk the hallways as our peers now. They take one look at us and don’t care to actually see what we really are; Thats what counselors are for and they hardly do that either!
Your blogs are heartfelt and relateable to more people then you probably know. One thing I notice though is that people like you and I tend to judge people more then others based on the majority of gay people out there. But the only people I judge are those that deserve it. There have been plenty of times I have been proven wrong though. I don’t think that just because someone is not willing to talk to people like us is nessarily their fault. Its partly our fault for being somewhat of an enigma. But for all you know that guy form your history class could be a smart careing person, but you wouldent know that. But you judged him off of some dumb highshcool sterotype.

Comment by Anonymus


I appreciate your comment, and I’m glad someone else feels similarly about, you know, administrators, school counselors, and even peers sometimes. And I always like the word ‘enigma.’

I suppose I feel a little bad for putting it so harshly about that kid in my history class. I mean, I’ve had an immense amount of respect for him since I had a class with him last year, and just learning that he does drugs wasn’t enough to completely dispel that. He doesn’t fit in with everyone else at my school, and neither do his friends, and I mean, I sometimes think too highly of such people. I tend to put them on this pedestal, when they’re really right on my level, just maybe on a different plane or whatever.

Seriously, thanks for the reality check. Have a nice…week…end…year…evening.

Comment by leindiemeister

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