Friday: THE Deputy Sheriff Comes To Town, champagne bubble (baths), my bestie Johnny, drug-free zoneage
After the show on Thursday night, we hit the place we had been staying to grab our stuff. Kellen took a quick shower since drumming leaves one quite sweaty (twss?) while we loaded the car. I had made my little nest in the cargo area when Kellen started arguing with his Droid. It’s common knowledge that no one likes Kellen’s GPS girlfriend. She has a not-so-soothing voice and seems to enjoy masochistically sending everyone in his vicinity in the wrong direction. In fact, I would go as far as to say that Kellen’s GPS girlfriend is actually jealous of me, considering that every time I talk she likes to interrupt with a newfound direction that has never even appeared on the map before. Let’s just say I’m sick of her girly BS. Did I just bitch out a GPS voice? Sure did. NEXT.
Throughout the night/early morning, I got two hours of sleep here and there. It was glorious when it was actually happening (twss) because sleep is hard to find on tour. No wonder so many band members drink themselves into stupors and pass out in their respective vans. It’s not easy, kids. (Points to you, reader, if you got that reference.) We kept stopping every two hours as well, which is probably another reason I kept waking up. I’m not sure if it’s because the trailer brought on a lot of drag to the car or because the Fick babies have the tiniest bladders known to mankind, but either way we were startstopstartstopping throughout the route to Dallas. One of the interesting places we stopped at was some faux saloon place that has a plethora of awful yet wonderful things to purchase and be perpetually overjoyed with. For example: I bought strawberry jam (a Louisiana favourite!), a mini German chocolate pie (shoot me), a “we don’t call 911” sticker (ultra classy), and then… it was like the angels were blasting butt trumpet fanfares when I saw this:
What COULD be more glorious? You’re right- nothing. What had to happen? You’re right- it needed to be purchased as my new tour crown. I ended up wearing it even while sliding back down for nappy wappy times ten. Billboards of great importance: various Bible quotes about repentance with a Zeus-like figure looking pissy and vengeful, “fried pies” almost immediately after crossing the state line and yes, “FREE CONDOMS HERE” for all the world to see and revel in (the sign, not the condoms). I suggested we pull over for the latter, but then Dan made quips about raw dogging and then- “Are those Dallas stars under the highway?” We were almost there, and the hotel couldn’t come fast enough on the horizon.
There was much ado about nothing aka parking the trailer. We ended up pulling the hangover move of not caring where & how the state of things were left before spastically springing to the bathroom to puke joy over the feat of finally having made it. There was a queen in a room with dividing doors, extra cots, a mini-fridge, and A JACUZZI HOLY SHIT WE’RE ROCK STARS. Doesn’t matter that no one used the jacuzzi, it was still there for using. If we wanted to bathe ourselves in champagne and have a bunch of hot dudes feed us chocolate strawberries, we could. Wait, that’s only what I want? Non factual statement. Surely someone else could work this fantasy into fruition. Dan? Anyone? Hello?
We dropped our belongings and headed out for food. I had been keeping a wary eye out for vegetarian places since all of us boast of animal rights activism. There was a Thai place along the main road that I had seen and suggested, so we ended up there. Kellen was a Pouty Polly the whole time because he was tired – he even leaned his head back to shut his eyes at the table. I had a massaman curry dish that was absolutely fabulous and an epicurean Renaissance, of sorts. If I find the name of said restaurant, I will send everyone in Texas and its surrounding states there. I had leftovers after gorging as well, which were just as good cold as they were hot (especially on the road, when a "meal" means a pb & honey sandwich). Conversations during meal time: the spice levels of Thai food, government representatives, the creation of the world. Literally. We are a fascinating band.
We left from the restaurant to check in at the venue (the Boiler Room). It was about half an hour away which ended up taking longer than expected since there was a good deal of traffic. When we got there, no one thought to knock on the front window even though one of the venue workers was inside. Eventually we got merch set up only to have one of the other bands (who shall remain unnamed) set up right next to us with everything looking stellar and expensive. They are local yet had about 5 different shirt designs and a metal shirt hanger rack contraption rich-kid thing on which to boastfully display them. Nothing pisses me off more than a not-so-professional-sounding band having totally-professional-looking merch. They probably have all the means in the world to make themselves better-sounding musicians before making themselves better-looking businessmen. Snort.
When we got back, we needed to start getting ready. Of course, I called the shower first and proceeded to almost break my face in the tiny and poorly lit Quality Inn bathroom. High butt busting quality INDEED. I then putzed about in my skivvies (oi!) for a hot minute and polled the audience about my show outfit. KD and Dan preferred the combat boots with short dress combo, Kellen preferred the Nine West rainbow leopard flats, and Kyle preferred starting at facebook’s advertising page. I ended up with the boots since I wanted to give the “I can still kick your ass even if we’re in Texas” vibe.
Outfit break for that night's show: GUESS? denim dress; brown Journey’s combat boots
Before heading to the show, we stopped at a liquor store like true classy gents and then saw a waterfall billboard! Gasp! It was for Coors, however, which was an extreme disappointment. I listened to a variety of the Dashboard catalogue in honour of John Lefler’s promise to come out. Yes, your read that correctly: THE John Lefler said he wanted to come see me. It was a big deal. It still is. I mean, have you seen his luxurious locks? Have you? Here’s a picture in case you forgot.
As for the actual show, we had the biggest turn out thus far on tour. Dallas is a lot bigger than Pascagoula and Pensacola, so that makes sense. There were a lot of sound/technical issues however, and we ultimately played like crap that night. Of course. It figures that when someone legitimately important comes out and there are a decent amount of people there that we would suck. Awesome. John was gracious though, and deemed us a “metal band” even though Fick often holds the alternative/progressive title. I think we’re more of a WTF band, but that’s just me. And everyone else in the entire world.
It was lovely to catch up with John[ny]. I haven’t seen him in a hot minute, so there were many things to discuss such as: relationship woes, musical gear, tour life, songwriting, drinks of preference, and getting “older”. Ladies, keep in mind that he is single and if you are reading this, there’s a good chance you’re awesome enough to holler at him. I’ll act as his personal representative. Good.
Much drama ensued later that evening between band members being drunk and random people showing up to the hotel, semi-uninvited. I mean, they were invited by our front man. But no one invited them to proceed to SMOKE AN ILLICIT SUBSTANCE in our hotel room. Who even does that? I seriously wonder what the hell goes through people’s heads sometimes. I* pulled out the RA card and got all “I can’t believe you’d put us in a compromised situation” attitudinal, which has consistently worked with my fail-stamped residents in the past. Dan was ultimately very apologetic the next day, but everyone was in a pooper-scooper mood on the last day’s drive to Austin/San Antonio. We had all entered into the 007 gear (overtired 0verdrive… 7 deadly sins?!) by the time we hit the road on Saturday morning. The relative atmosphere of the van was tense and thick (twss) which made it all the easier to sit on my iPhone and pretend I had various important, managerial things to do. I did remark, however, that I saw a child of no more than eight years old actually go out of his way to get hotel coffee. No one seemed to think that was remarkable except me, at which point I crept back into my SUV hidey hole.
Austin, here we come.
*For the record, I have never been high (YES, I have NOT smoked weed before, so don’t ever ask me. kthx) and have chosen to live above societal pressures and loser druggies. Take that, America. Go me, self-aggrandizing, pompous, pure blood Emily.
Fine Young Poet : Em
an artist who chooses to starve