Sometimes you find amazing quotes in the oddest places:
(Courtesy of Shit My Dad Says by Justin Halpern)
So last Tuesday night I went to the Matt and Kim concert at the House of Blues with one of my friends. Prior to stepping foot in the venue, I had heard of them a few times and listened to some of their music for literally the very first time on their Pandora station while I got ready for the show. I decided to go in with an open mind, because I love music and will give anything a listen at least once.
So. Many. Hipsters.Hipsters in denim. Hipsters in scarves. Hipsters wearing fedoras. Hipsters in plaid. Buddy Holly glasses. PBR. SO. MUCH. PBR. Cardigans. Chuck Taylors. Irony everywhere.
AND BEARDS. HIPSTER BEARDS ABOUNDED.I enjoy hipsters, for the most part. I like that they ride bikes and urban beekeep and garden and the uncanny ability they have to go reside in a shitty neighborhood and BAM, almost instant gentrification. I admire their dedication to microbrews and tattoos and the obscure. Without them, I would not have Portlandia. And I love Portlandia. But anyway. There were hipsters, and the sheer number of them in one small venue was mildly overwhelming. So I went to message my best friend on Facebook Messenger (he is in the Caribbean and cannot use his phone because international rates and stuff), and I HAD NO CONNECTION. I cursed the House of Blues gods for blocking my 4G and proceeded to take notes in my Notes app of the funny stuff I thought of while the show went on. After the show (which I really enjoyed), I read over my notes and realized they might make a witty blog post.
So here y’all go. Matt and Kim, AS IT HAPPENED (four days later):
I hate tall people.
(I am 5’1″ and all short people will understand the hatred that is getting stuck behind anyone who is more than three inches taller than you at a standing room only concert.)Either my whiteness is coming out and I have no rhythm, or either all the white people around me have no rhythm.
I’m going with all the white people around me because I feel like I can dance.
Someone control the bros. They’re getting out of control.
(Shortly after this, a drunken bro was escorted out of the venue for turning up too hard.)
I am the calmest person at this concert.
I don’t know how to dance to hipster music.
Like, is bouncing my leg and nodding my head appropriate?
I feel like it is.
That’s what I’m going with.
Oh hey…they’re covering “Ignition (Remix)”. I love that song.
That man across the room is wearing the shortest, tightest jorts I have ever seen on a man.They are seriously like Daisy Dukes. He’s wearing denim hot pants.
I will not jump, Matt and Kim. I’m in a room of uncoordinated young white professionals.I have upgraded my dance moves to wiggling my body and shaking my head back and forth.
This band is pretty great. I would be friends with these guys.Oh…they busted out the fucking smoke machines. You know shit is serious when they bust out the smoke machines. Is this hip hop?
Oh shit…I can dance to hip hop. And dance briefly to the blip of music I shall.
The guy in front of me smells like Beefaroni and stale PBR.No Kim…I cannot FaceTime someone because I went over my data this month and AT&T charges $10 an extra GB.
Blue eyeshadow just is not flattering on ANYONE. I don’t care who you are.
Wait wait wait wait…she’s gonna dance on their hands?
Holy shit…she’s dancing on their hands.
Okay…I am downloading their albums from iTunes when I get home.
(Here is an actual music video of Matt and Kim performing “Hey Now”.)
So I am still talking to said guy, who still does not have a nom de plume. I really need to give him one. The fact that I am talking to him still is actually kind of a miracle–not a walking-on-water-in-the-middle-of-a-crazy-storm kind of miracle, but more like a I-ate-like-crap-all-week-and-ran-once-and-somehow-didn’t-gain-weight kind of miracle–simply because I am not good at this. At what, you may ask? Talking? Well…no. I am rather good at talking. I am not good at talking to guys that I like. Or know how to successfully flirt. Or nab a guy…see how I used the word nab? I make it sound like I am a police officer who successfully caught a bank robber. I should twirl my mustache too, while I’m at it.
But anyway, I am still talking to him. He is still pretty damn hot and funny and delish…and I haven’t done anything too crazy to make him think maybe he shouldn’t continue to talk to me. So…miracle. I actually think that he finds me hilarious, which is a win. When in doubt, let my sense of humor cancel out my awkwardness like FOX cancelled American Idol (too soon?). I’ve gotten pretty close a few times to doing something completely batshit but I somehow talked myself out of it. Google is a life saver. My search engine is full of random keywords that make me sound like a fourteen year old girl. Who knew that there were so many articles out there in the Interwebs dedicated to making loons like me feel less cray?There is one thing that baffles me(that is a lie…there are a lot of things in the dating world that baffle me, but for sake of keeping this post short, we will pretend that there is only one), and I suppose it baffles me only because I like him, and that is texting. Why the hell go days without texting someone (me) back? Especially if you like me/want to get in my pants/potentially more? I stress about that and I have successfully stopped myself from texting him stuff like “why you no text me back” and flat out asking him if he secretly hates me. Because I am pretty sure he doesn’t hate me. He used to text me a lot when we first started talking and it’s trickled down and I’m sure it’s no cause for concern since he is still wonderful in person. I feel like I have gone back in a time machine and it’s 1999 and I am 14 and I have bad hair and questionable fashion sense and I am all a-giggle and a-fumble over a guy in my class. I tell myself that I sometimes don’t hear from my best friend for days, and I have known her since I was 7. I can go days without texting other friends/hearing from other friends, so why do I get all panicky cliffhanger soap star when Unnamed Hot Guy decides to not text me? The only answer I can think of is because I am secretly still 14 on the inside when it comes to men. 29 Year Old Me is trying to play it cool and act completely indifferent. 14 Year Old Me has a mini heart attack when we sit next to each other and our legs touch the entire time. 29 Year Old Me smiles at him when I see him and act like I’m completely chill. 14 Year Old Me freaks the fuck out quietly when someone tells us what a cute couple we make (29 Year Old Me simply smiles because I don’t want to look like I am so into him–being chill is my constant M.O.) and he says he agrees. 14 Year Old Me doesn’t know how to be cool and calm and so 29 Year Old Me is constantly fighting an internal battle with her so that she doesn’t do anything stupid to mess up whatever will happen. 29 Year Old Me isn’t in a rush to get hurt again any time soon. 14 Year Old Me worries that he doesn’t like me. Well, 14 Year Old Me, put down the Sun-In (seriously, put it down…your hair is orange) and stop panicking and analyzing every damn thing that goes on. If something comes out of this, awesome. If something doesn’t come out of this, guess what? Life goes on. You still have wine and Netflix and comfy sweatpants and chocolate covered Oreos–he’s the one who will be missing out, not you. Just smile and be nice to him if it doesn’t go the way you planned. You’re an adult, and you’re supposed to be calm on the outside and 14 on the inside. Enjoy talking to him, because it’s fun to talk to guys. Just stop using Sun-In. Please.
I am so over this winter.
Like, completely. And I’m sure that everyone in the northern United States can agree.
I spent about 75% of my vacation last week in my house because the wind chill was below zero. The actual temperature hovered around zero and dipped into the negatives this past weekend. My off days this week are beginning to look the same. I had been doing pretty well before this cold snap, going to the gym and watching what I was eating (we are having a weight loss thing at work) and I had dropped about two pounds before last week. Ever since last Sunday, all I have done is eat and sit on my butt and watch Netflix. I’m sure I could work out at home and eat right but ughhhhh. I don’t wanna. I’m miserable and I have cabin fever and I just want to sit and eat paczki wrapped in blankets while binge watching BBC dramas (The Fall was amazing, and I binged all four episodes of the first season of A Young Doctor’s Notebook tonight). I’m pretty sure that is what one does when they are sick and tired of being stuck in the house. This arctic snap of hellishness is making me feel like a depressed sleepy bear.
My son is beyond bored. He wants to go outside and play on the snow days he keeps getting, but you can’t really play outside when the wind chill makes it feel like it is -15. You have to bundle up just to take out the trash. I let the mail sit in the mailbox for like three days before I left the warm confines of my living room. My Ikea couch and my legs have become one. My son has exhausted his usual queue of cartoons and Minecraft YouTube mod videos. If it is hard on a 29 year old grown woman, I can’t imagine how unbearable it must be for a ten year old boy. He is frustrated. The coldest day this month so far was his birthday, and since we don’t drive, we had to stay inside rather than go to the science museum like we planned. It’s not worth potentially getting frostbite while getting from Point A to Point B on public transportation when it is 0 degrees with a -17 wind chill. I’m sure people in NYC and Boston can certainly relate. Sometimes I wish I lived in a city where it wasn’t odd to not own a car (but I suppose that will be another post for another time), because then I think others would understand the winter struggle a little more.
I know March is coming and that spring is allegedly just around the bend, but let’s be brutally honest here: I live in Northeast Ohio. Lake Erie is like 94% frozen over. I can expect to wear a winter coat until probably mid-April. I just want it to warm up and be sunny and green and pretty.
So I can start bitching about pollen and my allergies.
I get drunk alone
And I have empty, meaningless sex
With a boy that I may or may not like
But I’ll never admit to it
[He makes me smile but he’s toxic and all wrong in all the right (but oh so wrong) ways]
I write drunk poetry
And I drunk text my closest friends
And tag them in random memes
Hashtagging random ass shit
I drink entire bottles of wine
To chase away PMS-induced migraines
And sit on the cold wooden floor
Of my dining room
And I sing sad songs
At the top of my lungs
Because I’ve had my heart broken
By men I’ve truly loved
I am beautiful
And I am a mess
Because I am a hurricane of a girl
But my life is amazing
And it’s too damn short for regrets