Oct 23 3 comments
Nostalgia, music

Rex Manning Day

When I was a young girl of 12 or 13, I had myself an obsession.  It was the mid-nineties, so popular culture dictated that I be into Leonardo DiCaprio or one of the Lawrence brothers, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, this era ushered in a weird musical zeitgeist that I had no real business indulging in  –  grunge and angry women singer-songwriters. I’m not really sure what angst could have possibly erupted from my Mayberry-like West Michigan upbringing, but Lilith Fair and “Alternative Rock” seemed to hit the spot.

Of the bands to come out of that time, I lived and breathed the band Bush. If you’ve been around TYK for a while, you’ve read some gems from my diary that show the extent of my fixation on Bush and my obsessive infatuation with Gavin Rossdale. But very, very few people have read the eight-page concert manifesto I wrote after I saw them in concert in 1997. That, dear readers, is the piece de resistance of my fanaticism. You thought Jingle Jam 2003 was intense? WAIT FOR IT.

If you have some time to kill and want some chuckles, you can download the PDF here. For everyone else, here are some of my favorite highlights…

You guys, I legitimately thought I was going to marry Gavin Rossdale, and no one understood my love for him.

I THINK YOU GET THE IDEA.

Well, you probably aren’t aware of this, but Bush (at least Gavin and the drummer, Robin) released a new album and went on tour this fall. My BFF Katie and I decided to go to the Cincinnati show, and she SURPRISED ME with SOMETHING CRAZY: she got us on the list for the meet ‘n greet.

Remember Rex Manning Day in the movie Empire Records?

Katie gave me a pep talk about how NOT turn the Meet ‘n Greet into Rex Manning Day. You know - don’t gush to Gavin Rossdale about how much you loved him WHEN YOU WERE THIRTEEN - that just makes everybody feel old.

But you guys? I was so geeked to meet Gavin Rossdale I might as well have been clutching a copy of “Bop.” The meet ‘n greet was composed of around 20 people, and it was super contrived - you know, wait in line, stand here, here’s the picture they’ll sign, blah blah blah.

When we walked up to the table, while my heart was palpitating and I was sweating profusely, I must have looked pretty cool, because Gavin said to us, “Wow, you girls look great.” Wait, what?

Giggle.

Blush.

“You guys definitely win. You win the best looking award.”

We got together to take this picture and we were instructed to move closer together. “C’mon,” Rossdale said. “Let’s pretend like we like each other.” AND HE PULLED ME TO HIM AND THAT’S WHY MY FACE IS SAYING, “OMG, there is only a layer of jeans and jeggings between me and Gavin Rossdale’s junk.”

Also, can I just say…

It was like 1997 all over again.

Except now I have this awesome rack.

And Spanx.

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Sep 26 1 comments
Utterly and Completely Random

Runaway

“Lost Pet” posters break my heart.

Even when they’re cats.

I’m serious! You may remember I lived with a cat for like three years, and her name was Corona, and we had a love-hate relationship. One time, when I was home alone, she saw a chipmunk scurry across the back porch and busted clear through the screen door, because NATURE, I guess. I searched high and low along the apartment complex, thinking of how the hell I was going to tell my boyfriend I had lost his beloved feline. (The cat was his baby. I used that in arguments, like, “If you don’t take out the garbage, I’m going to shave your cat!” …I’m going to make a great wife someday.) Whilst walking around I came across another black-and-white cat, seemingly a stray, and thought, in my irrational, panic-stricken mind: “Maybe he won’t know the difference?”

You spray-painted his tail to make him look like Jinxy, didnt you, Focker? #deniroface

"You spray-painted his tail to make him look like Jinxy, didn't you, Focker?" #deniroface

I found her less than fifteen minutes later, lounging lazily one building down from ours. I should have known better - she was pretty tubby and had no desire to run long distances. Corona was like a feline version of Roseanne.

Still,  a few weeks after my ex and I broke up, he called to tell me she had died, and I BAWLED into the phone - things like, “SH- SHE L-LOVED YOU, SO MUCH, *snooorrfffle*.”

That was my first thought when I found this posted outside my house:

But, you guys? The cat’s name is RUNAWAY.

…..

The cat is merely LIVING OUT ITS DESTINY.

I felt bad for making this joke (BUT IT WRITES ITSELF!), so I thought the best thing to do would be to make a “Runaway” Playlist? Here it is on Spotify, featuring my favorite “Runaway” songs and mostly songs I didn’t know existed, but I effing love a theme.

Let’s all listen to it until Runaway comes home from her adventure, like Sassy from Homeward Bound. (Who was VOICED by ROSEANNE! FULL CIRCLE!) (Sally Field. She was voiced by Sally Field. Not sure why I thought that.)

THE END!

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Sep 14 1 comments
Oops

Okay, so…

Sometimes I forget that my music gets scrobbled to Last.fm.

Sometimes I karaoke. By myself. In my room. Into a hairbrush.

lastfm1

I am twenty-eight.

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Sep 11 3 comments
Flashback

Ten Years Later…

I was a young, fresh-faced girl of eighteen on September 11th, 2001 — a freshman in my first couple weeks at Indiana University. That Tuesday morning, I woke up for class and flipped on the radio when the DJ announced that a plane had reportedly hit one of the World Trade Centers. I looked to the postcard of the New York skyline that stuck to my dorm wall. “How awful,” I thought.

I was putting on my shoes when it was reported that a second plane had hit, and I don’t think my brain actually processed it. I hadn’t watched it in real time, like so many of you had. My television cable was busted, so radio was all I had. (Looking back, I’m kind of glad I was able to protect myself, even if it was for that brief span of time.) I shut the door behind me and began my trek to Ballentine Hall.

It was a Sociology class. The professor ended class twenty minutes early because, “There are some things happening in New York.” There is a huge east coast population at IU, and she wanted anyone who had family involved to go home, call their parents. I realized I wasn’t in the busom of my West Michigan suburbs anymore, that people around me would be directly affected by this event.

I left class and headed to the stairwell with a girl from my dorm floor. We had the class together, but she had come to class late and knew what was going on. We were descending the stairs, exchanging general, “This is f*cking CRAZY” conversation. But I still hadn’t SEEN anything - it was all speculation in my mind — whatever diluted version my imagination could make up. Up until around 11am, I was shielded by lack of TV access and a sociology lecture.

And then she said it: “Well, the buildings, they’re gone, now.”

“What?”

“The buildings, they collapsed.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“But all the people, they got out, right?”

“…”

Like I did every Tuesday in between classes, I walked to the Union. At the top of the stairs of the mezzanine was a gathering of students, huddled around this little tv. Everyone was stunned. And crying. There was definitely crying. On this tiny little screen, I got caught up on the tragic events that had taken place. Slack-jawed. Crying amidst so many young strangers.

I went to my Art History class at 1:30p, because…I don’t know. I didn’t know what else to do. What else was there to do? My professor was this bawdy woman from Israel, but on this Tuesday she was so incredibly somber. She quietly addressed the small handful of students who had wandered, like zombies, into class: “Do you…you want me to have lecture, or…do you want me to just turn on the news?” No one said anything. She was just met with a bunch of blank stares. She projected CNN where there would normally be art slides.

—————————

Just a few weeks ago, I was able to visit New York for the first time, and it was important for me to make Ground Zero part of my visit.

So I went.

But I didn’t know exactly what to feel? I felt sad and angry, but also kind of numb.

And then, as I walked along the perimeter where the towers once stood, I began to smell the distinct, delicious smell of barbeque. All the construction workers at the site were grilling hot dogs, and they were laughing, and telling inappropriate jokes, and stuffing their faces. It was an absolutely delightful scene, the hopeful sounds of the construction and the sizzling of dogs on the grill.

It was the sound of life, going on.

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Sep 06 2 comments
dating

Reason #9283334 Why It’s Time to Quit OKCupid.

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Sep 06 0 comments
music

Happy Birthday, Freddie.

About this time last year, a fixation on Queen hit me, kind of out of nowhere. Especially “A Night at the Opera.” My best friend had just moved away, I was in-between apartments, the weather was getting cooler, and I just felt out of sorts. I’m not really sure what was so grounding about Opera, but I listened to it daily for about a month.

My favorite story to come out of this album is the one about Mary Austin, whom Freddie Mercury often described as the “love of his life.”

mercuryaustin

The two were lovers for six years before Freddie decided he preferred men. (Mary: “He said, ‘I think I’m bisexual.’ I told him, ‘I think you’re gay.’ And nothing else was said. We just hugged.”) The two remained the greatest and most loyal of friends. She was his rock from the early stages of Queen to his skyrocket to stardom, and he became the godfather of her children. Mary was also the first person Freddie confided in about contracting the AIDS virus, and she was at his bedside as he lived out his last days. Their friendship ran so deep that they spoke of their relationship as of it were a marriage:

“All my lovers asked me why they couldn’t replace Mary, but it’s simply impossible. The only friend I’ve got is Mary and I don’t want anybody else. To me, she was my common-law wife. To me, it was a marriage. We believe in each other, that’s enough for me.”

- Freddie Mercury in People, 1977.

“I lost somebody who I thought was my eternal love. When he died I felt we’d had a marriage. We’d lived our vows. We’d done it for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. You could never have let go of Freddie unless he died - and even then it was difficult.”

- Mary Austin in OK! Magazine, 2000.

Freddie left his Kensington dream home to Mary and her sons, along with 50% of his multi-million dollar fortune and a steady income from portions of record sales and publishing rights. She left everything in the home just as it was when Freddie was alive, although she did admit that it took her five years before she could sleep in his bright yellow master bedroom.

Freddie also left her a beautiful gift in the form of this song, which is one of my favorites:

And here’s the studio version, because while that live version packs a punch to the gut, the layered vocals on the album version are STUNNING and also BRIAN MAY IS PLAYING THE HARP:

Freddie Mercury would have been 65 today.

freddie-mercury

So this evening, take a second to put on your checkered jumpsuit and STRUT.


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Aug 30 3 comments
photography, travel

It’s Hard to Blog from a Blackberry in a Hurricane.

That was the lesson I learned last week.

Soooo this happened:

But also awesome things!

(guess who had a wide angle lens for the weekend? holler.)

I’m sorting out pictures and highlights, but I will be sure to regale you with my NYC virgin voyage tales.

Amazing, amazing.

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Aug 25 0 comments
Uncategorized

Day One

Img00263-20110825-1405

Today at the MoMA was kind of like six oft-forgotten credits of art history brought to life. Also, I spent a lot of time thinking about who was a New Yorker and who wasn’t while on the street today. I determined real new yorkers don’t believe in crosswalk signals. I like that.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

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Aug 24 0 comments
travel

A Helluva Town

So…I’m heading to New York for the first time tomorrow…

It’s sort of like this, isn’t it?

It’s probably like that.

I’ll be out of town from Thursday through Sunday, but it’s NABLOPOMO and I made a commitment, right? Does anyone still care that I’m doing that? No?

As such, I’ll be using Posterous to transmit meanderings/photos from my Blackberry back here to TYK. However, I won’t be “advertising” my posts on Facebook/Twitter, so you’re just going to have to mosey on by here from time to time. You know, if you are so inclined.

MEANWHILE -

WHAT IN NEW YORK SHOULD I SEE/EAT/DO?

Leave your favorites in the comments.

Thanks!

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Aug 23 4 comments
ACK

File Under: Never Getting Laid

“So you’re a grinder, huh?” My dental hygienist asked at my appointment this afternoon.

“Wait, what?”

“You’re clenching and sliding your jaw. You’re wearing down the tops of your teeth.”

“Shut up.” (This is something I can say to my dental team because a) I’ve been a client for years. b) I’ve spent THOUSANDS of dollars on my dental care so they can suck it and c) They’ve already seen me at my most vulnerable, which is hopped up on various drugs and saying inappropriate things.)

Yes, it turns out my existential crisis has manifested itself in the form of teeth grinding, so… greeaaaat. Truthfully, I had noticed myself clenching my jaw to the point of soreness/headaches about six months ago. I bought one of those bite guards at CVS, but couldn’t get through the first night without feeling like I was choking on a hockey puck. I tried explaining this to my dentist: “Please don’t make me dorkier than I already am.”

“They’re really quite modern now,” he explained, pulling out this device:

Which apparently does this:

#FELLAS

Now that I’m clinching (clenching? HA!) my singledom, looks like the rest of my nights will look like this:

ack

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Aug 22 0 comments
music

My Odd and Mostly Self-Absorbed Goodbye to Jerry Leiber

Jerry Leiber of the legendary songwriting team Leiber and Stoller died today of cardiopulmonary failure. He was 78.

While “Leiber and Stoller” might not be a top-of-mind songwriting pair, their influence over popular music as you know it is ridiculously immense. Think “Hound Dog” and “Jailhouse Rock.” Yeah, no big deal.

Here are some of my favorites from the duo:

Love Me:

[I'm putting this one out front, because if you watch ONE of the following videos, let it be this epitome of heaven on earth.]

Truth: The unplugged set of the Elvis ‘68 comeback session is my porn.

Yakety Sax, or “The Benny Hill Theme”:

While in the car with my dad, researching this post:

Me: Huh! Leiber and Stoller wrote the theme to Benny Hill.

Dad: Cool!

Me: How does that one go, again?

Dad: It’s like…’Menomena..doot doooo do doo do…menomena, doot d-

Me: Yeah, that’s the Muppets.

On Broadway:

There must be something about this song that implores choreographers to think, “CLASSIC JAZZ LINES and HATS!” because I’m pretty sure I’ve performed this exact routine…unfortunately minus the cool costume budget:

Stand By Me:

Songwriting-wise, does it get better than this? Spoiler: No. No, it does not.

Is That All There Is?:

#baller

Let’s break out the booze and have a ball
If that’s all there is

UNOFFICIAL TYK THEME SONG!

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Aug 21 3 comments
Utterly and Completely Random

Jenny Goes to “The Club.”

It probably won’t surprise you to know that I don’t frequent “The Clubs.” Now, don’t confuse this with me not dancing in public. Will I make a semi-annual trek to Broad Ripple to yell at my DJ friend to play “P.Y.T”? Yes. Will my friends and I slither around to “Beast of Burden” at the local dive bar? Yes. But you won’t often see me paying a cover, or walking in stilettos.

I knew I was in trouble when I went to this bridal shower yesterday and all the girls were talking about what little black dresses they were wearing when we were going out later that night. I could only bring my little black skirt to the table, and I had to rack my brain to come up with that. If you have to ask yourself, “Do I have anything slutty enough to wear out to a club?”, you probably don’t belong in said club.

So there I was, standing at the bar in a line with these gorgeous women clad in black, me with my hoochie striped mini skirt from Target. “What, you didn’t get the memo about the black?” a dude at the bar shouted over the music. I wanted to punch him in the face. Instead, I just yelled back, “I DON’T PLAY BY ANYBODY’S RULES!”

not-fitting-in

I need to stop internalizing this shit and then projecting it all across my face. I’m putting out SOME vibe I’m not meaning to. Here’s how I know this:

1) At some point in the night some stranger dude came up to me and said,”You know who you remind me of?” (This never ends well, does it? Isn’t the doppelganger almost always someone who is kind of offensive to you? How does that happen?) He goes on: “You know the lead singer from that band from the 90s? Nirvana?” (It was weird to me that he said “That Band from the 90s, and not just, NIRVANA,” but this kid was probably BORN in the 90s, so fuck him.) “I REMIND YOU OF KURT COBAIN?!” I exclaim. “No, no, his WIFE,” he explains.

Oh.

….

“COURTNEY LOVE? I remind you of Courtney Love?”

He nodded.

Courtney Love Drunk

“Courtney Love is a forty-something heroin addict, and I am a twenty-something alcoholic, SIR. BIG DIFFERENCE. HUGE.”

2) I was aggressively hit on by not one, but TWO lesbians?

A lesbian friend once told me that I look straight from the get-go. (This was the first time I had stepped foot into a gay bar, and I asked her something ignorant like, “Do you think the women will think I’m a lesbian just because I’m here?” Hey, I grew up in suburbia.) I should have asked her what that meant, that I gave off some “straight” vibe, or maybe because I was just ridiculously high maintenance at that time, surely I was doing it for the attention of dudes? I don’t know. I don’t claim to understand all of that. Apparently I’m not like that anymore, which is probably a good thing.

To be fair, one of the chicks was gorgeous — much better-looking than any of the guys I talked to last night.

So basically what I’m saying is that I’m a lesbian now.

KIDDING, #fellas.

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Aug 20 3 comments
Nubbin

You’re Just Going to Have to Give Me This One…

I’m sitting in the kitchen of my childhood home with my parents. I’m laughing in this picture because at this exact moment my photographer father yelled, “YOU NEED SOFTER LIGHTING!” while my mother was simultaneously yelling at me for leaving the refrigerator door open.

photo-on-2011-08-20-at-1354

That’s home.

“What are you writing about?” she asked me just now. “I’m writing about how you’ve already yelled at me twice about the fridge and how you indirectly called me a socialist this morning.”

“I don’t wanna be a part of no BLAWG!” she cried. She also just asked me if the Gwen Stefani song that’s playing now was Wilson Phillips. It’s NOT MY FAULT YOU’RE FUNNY, MOM.

Anyway, I’m waiting for my friend Jess to pick me up to head to a bridal shower/bachelorette party.

I hope there’s going to be penis straws and lots of squealing.

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Aug 19 1 comments
indianapolis, music

Stranger in a Strange Land

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Enjoy a Pop Concert

Here’s the thing I’ll say about mainstream pop shows: people get fired UP. That’s kind of nice.

These little indie rock shows I attend are amazing and intimate, but on some nights, the people who show up are…how do I say this…too cool for school, I guess? There is an art to hipster nonchalance and non-committal dancing – which is fine, that’s the scene, or whatever. But let me remind you that I’m the girl who drunkenly yells at people for not being awed in the presence of Harry Belafonte.

So I went to a Maroon 5/Train concert last night.

First of all, I was sober, which is the weird thing, because I really quite enjoyed myself (At one point in the night I actually exclaimed to my party, “Aren’t you proud of me that I’m not DRUNK right now?” Classy.) But this concert really ended up taking on a special meaning as a benefit show for the Indiana State Fair Remembrance Fund. Everything from the talent’s performance fees to ticket sales, venue cost and labor, catering and concessions, etc - all went to the cause. I heard the bands’ costs totalled at least $500k alone, and the Indy Star is estimating it will likely be a seven-figure fundraiser, which is awesome.

Bess and I grabbed our Conseco Fieldhouse dinner and were just about to sit down when the show started. We both wished for Train to be first so we could sit and eat. No such luck. Maroon 5 came on playing their latest single, and because this is Bess’s Song du Jour, she glared at the hot dog I was shoving into my mouth and yelled, “PUT THAT DOWN! IT’S MOVES LIKE MICK JAGGERRRRR!!!”

It was fun. Maroon 5 was fun. I just wish they’d embrace being poppy and dancy, instead of ending songs with these weird “rock” interludes. Hey Adam Levine, “This Love” does NOT need a five-minute guitar solo. The disco ball above your head should be your first hint. Earlier I claimed no knowledge of any songs beyond their first album, but was surprised to know EVERY chorus of every song, because of POP MUSIC OSMOSIS. A song would start and we’d be like, “I’ve never heard this song in my life,” and then the hook would come in and we’d mysteriously belt out every word. POP.

We started making bets on how long we were going to last through Train’s set. I withheld my guilty desire to at least stay for “Drops of Jupiter,” because it reminded me of being in love the summer after my high school graduation. (If you’re playing the home game, getting drunk on Nostalgia is a common thing we like to do here at TYK.) Train’s set starts with - I shit you not - the sound effect of a train pulling into the station, and Bess’s sister Carrie, who drove us, was ready to bolt. We were like “NOOOO GIVE IT A CHANCE?”, which is something I never thought I’d say about Train, ever (but also, DROPS OF JUPITER, shhhh).

The Train set was WEIRD - like, there were awkward audience participation segments, and this cello player danced the flamenco, and the lead singer did a yoga pose on a stage ramp? In the row behind us were three sets of teenagers, all couples, and during that ”Marry Me” song, one pair got up and started dancing. I was like, “You can’t be more than SIXTEEN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU KNOW NOTHING OF LOVE!” and then…Drops of Jupiter. Goddammit. Touche, Train.

I was entertained, though. The lead singer changed shirts multiple times and his pants were SO TIGHT! They also did a surprisingly great cover of U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” I’m a bitch for saying anything critical at all, really, because this concert was about something vastly more important than my music snobbery. Conseco Fieldhouse was full of sincere and supportive hoosiers, coming together. Bottom line.

And this Hoosier pride is powerful. “HOW POWEFUL IS IT?” you ask. Well, dear readers, so powerful that I stood up and sang to what is perhaps one of my least favorite songs of all time, “Hey, Soul Sister.” I was ADAMANT about my hatred for it earlier in the night, but I’ll be damned if I was not the first person in my row telling people to get up and dance.

After the show ended, Bess turned to me and I poked her in the collarbone — “You tell ANYONE that I was dancing and singing to ‘Hey, Soul Sister’ and I WILL CUT YOU.”

…..

Hey, I just wanted you to hear it from me, first.

———————————————–

From WISHTV:

Donors can now text FAIR to 27722 to make a $10 donation.

Up to three donations ($30 total) may be given this way from a single cell phone.

The fund will benefit those injured in the stage rigging collapse Saturday at the Indiana State Fair, just before a Sugarland concert, as well as the families of those who died.

Donations can also be made online , or by mail; Checks should be sent to CICF, ATTN: Indiana State Fair Remembrance Fund, 615 N. Alabama St., Indianapolis, IN 46204-1498.

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Aug 18 1 comments
Nostalgia, music

Jingle Jam: A Retrospective.

Many people don’t know this, but I’ve been actually been blogging since November 2002. This was pre-Facebook, so the only people who were linked to my “journal” (on a now-ancient platform called Blurty) were high school and college friends in my AIM buddy list. (Remember those? Those were A Thing.)

Seventy percent of my Blurty entries were song lyrics, quizzes (”What is Your True Aura Color?”), and poorly crafted images with overlaid emo lyrics that are now all the rage of teens on Tumblr. There are a lot of **asterisks** and ~~misuses of the tilde ~~. Occasionally, you’ll find a paragraph of substance or an interesting glimpse into my life at what was then the “#1 Party School in the Nation,” but mainly I come across as a manic mess of a girly girl.  This is probably a prime example.

But the entry that has given me the most shit over the years has been the Jingle Jam 2003 post. The thing about documenting your life on the internet from age 19 is that it becomes both a touching pseudo-memoir and also the bane of your existence. The Jingle Jam post is, essentially, the portrait of a fangirl.  But for those who can’t get through the first paragraph (I surely can’t, anymore) let me spare you some secondhand embarrassment and sum it up: it is a detailed account of my after-party experience of a holiday show featuring Howie Day, Guster, Maroon 5, and Jason Mraz.  (Oh, and Jared the Subway guy is also involved.)

Sometime my Freshman year, my friend Lauren burned me a mix CD of music she liked, which included Maroon 5. This was at least a year before their first single dropped, so it’s probably the first instance I can think of where that hipstery, “Oh, I knew about them WAY before…” tendency presented itself.  At that time, Maroon 5 was “indie” to me, because apparently “indie” was any band that wasn’t Dave Matthews.

Anyway, my current circle of friends never let me forget about Jingle Jam. How could they not? Here are a couple excepts:

Last night, I went to Indianapolis to see Z99.5’s “Jingle Jam”…Hands down, one of the top five BEST nights of my life. I was just incredibly giddy with happiness, and it’s one of those random nights I’ll always remember . . .

JINGLE JAM ‘03: NEVER FORGET.

Maroon5 was my favorite act. I was introduced to them a year ago by my friend Lauren, and got the cd not so long ago. But live? Oh. My. God. Adam Levine, the lead singer is like this sexy little rock god, performs beautifully. The seats vibrated when they played. Award for Most Sex-Charged Set…

Gross.

…So afterwards, Em and I call Micah, the audio engineer for Mraz that we had met in Ball State on Halloween. He invites us over to their hotel, to the VIP After-show party. We got temporarily lost as we drove around Christmas-y decorated Indy, giggling about what the night would entail.

We had no idea.

I think this stemmed from that MTV show, “Diary”? Where the celebrity would always say in the intro: “You THINK you know - but you have NO IDEA.”

…I did meet the lead singer for Maroon 5, who was pretty cool, but toward the end seemed pretty bored/tired by the whole party thing. Transitioning into my tipsy stage by this point, we talked about how this wasn’t a true party because there was no music and how I was pissed because there was no dancing. (I’m sure Adam Levine was impressed by this. God I am such a dork.)

At least I was a little self-aware. I’m trying to picture what I was wearing this night, but I guarantee I was wearing a choker necklace (despite the fact that they had gone extinct by ‘97), bootleg jeans, and a fake tan. WHY DIDN’T YOU RAVISH ME, ADAM LEVINE?

Now, eight years later, I find myself about to attend another Maroon 5 show. You might be asking yourself, “Why, Jenn? And how? With your snooty music opinions, and the knowledge that TRAIN is co-headlining?”

Well, Bess and I were supposed to see Janet Jackson last night at the Indiana State Fair, but she cancelled. Super bummed, we decided we’d go to the fair anyway and eat our feelings, replacing Janet with meat on a stick and fried kool-aid. Unfortunately, Bess had to work late, so we missed out. Womp, womp. She mentioned she could get free tickets to the Maroon 5 show at Conseco. So why not, I guess. Janet was supposed to be my birthday concert, but I’ll see Adam Levine slink around for the sake of nostalgia.

This morning, Matt asked what I ended up gorging on at the fair:

“We didn’t GO because BESS had to WORK LATE. So I had a SALAD, which I’m pretty sure is the opposite of FRIED THINGS. But we’re ironically going to the Maroon 5 concert tonight?”

“I think this worked out for the best,” he said. “You don’t hate yourself today, and you get to see Adam Levine pretend to be relevant.”

But c’mon. We all know that while I’m rolling my eyes behind my big, judgey Ray Bans that inside me there is a 20-year old girl in a choker and bootleg jeans, ~*fah-REAKING OUT. *~

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