Waiting on the Apocalypse

Seriously.

No amount of Brendon wearing bear-hoodies or Frank looking genuinely happy/excited/hyper could prepare me for the hell that is tomorrow.

Two words for you, my lovelies.

IPHONE LAUNCH.

Twelve straight hours of iPhone induced INSANITY.

Even though I know it has been DECADES since I have written, I really must end it here. I need to rest up for the carnage sun-up will bring.

Next Installment: Panic! concert. because it has been a month and I have yet to write so much as a word about it. ALSO, WARPED tour! Now in TECHNICOLOR!

....if this is the apocalypse, does that make me one of Satan's henchmen?

Bad ass.

Get Busy Living...

My life needs jumper cables.

All I do is work, go to Emmett, sleep. Repeat.

I called Katie today and that helped. She rode around her apartment on her skateboard while she told me about her California adventures in the way that only Katie can. I was afraid talking to her would only make things worse, but I feel a lot better.

Do you ever feel like you are standing so still that if you don't do something, anything... that very second you are going to vibrate into a million particles from the stillness of all? Like what happens to the people closest to a nuclear blast. One second you are solid, staring at a huge mushroom cloud; the next second you are a million dust particles floating in the wind.

I dyed my bangs red. It looks really hot and it's better than being fallout particles.

I've got to go, there is a half a can of cold spaghetti-O's calling my name.

Fate in the form of the Flu

SO Yesterday was supposed to be the Cobra Starship concert.

I got out of my stupid med training class an hour early so I took a nap in my car outside the Emerald Club, where I was meeting Katie. I am pretty sure that everyone thought I was a drunk passed out at the wheel, but whatever.

So once me and Katie met up we wandered over to the Big Easy... only to find that the show had been canceled, due to illness. OH MY FUCKING GOD I was SO pissed. Ranting about how I was going to Q&A Pete and tell him he is supposed to sign Rockstars, not pussies (~wince~ Sorry Cobra Starship, I was just disappointed). Needless to say I was freaking out pretty hardcore.

Come 6pm, Katie and I decide to go back to the venue to see about getting my money back. In place of the old sign was a new one, stating that We The Kings and Metro Station would be playing acoustic sets at 7pm for free. We discussed it, and since our night was free and we had absolutely nothing to do, we figured we would check it out.

We meandered back to the venue around 7 and upon further inspection realized that we were surrounded by 14 year old girls. I might have been (slightly) bitter about the situation so me and Katie participated in a small amount of ageism (Katie- "I know how to clear them out! Scream 'Curfew Patrol' and watch 'em SCATTER.') and we might have shown a bit of cynicism (Me- 'How are they going to fit all ten of us in the venue?!'). Of coarse no one really new exactly what was going on until Travis and Hunter from We The Kings came and sat on a large metal box outside the front of the Venue. Apparently they wouldn't open the venue for the opening bands because it wouldn't be financially beneficial so the members of each opening band that wasn't sick decided to play anyway, despite the winter cold.

It was insanely awesome. The We The Kings' set was absolutely awe-inspiring. Metro Station was good, but We The Kings was just on a different level. You could tell that Travis and Hunter truly enjoy what they do, and that they didn't feel obligated to be there. They have passion for their art and anyone who can watch them perform and NOT see that is blind. Drew, the bassist, made an appearance despite his being sick. He didn't perform, but was there for moral support. The poor guy looked miserable out there in the cold, you've got to give him credit for showing up like that.

The rest of the night was spent hanging out with We The Kings and the people that hold them together (Billy [Merch] and Trevor [Tour Manager]). I didn't speak to Drew much but the boy was sick so I think his quietness was excuseable. The others though, I was really impressed with how they so easily and readily socialized with their fans. Even Billy and Trevor were patient and friendly; willing to put up with my questions on how they got their jobs and even giving me career advice.

Overall, the night turned out even better than if Cobra Starship HAD played. I can always go see Cobra Starship again, but shows like last night's; acoustic shows in dark alleys in the middle of February, that shit doesn't happen everyday.

We The Kings really DID save the day.

Hell in the form of frozen water

I swear to fucking God if the three tiny inches of snow we got tonight makes Cobra Starship cancel Thursdays show, I am going to Q&A Wentz and tell him that he's signed pussies, not rockstars.

And What the hell was that last entry all about? I am starting to feel like Pete with the not remembering what I am writing. Nobody ever let me watch 'Stranger Than Fiction' again or I might end up standing on desks and spiting in tissues.

So the Apocalypse is here. Huh. I expected more fire and brimstone.

Instead it's freakish weather and a conspicuous lack of PStump sideburns.

Oh, and regarding Peter's last (mysteriously deleted) post?

"I have so much i want to share but currently i am falling apart due to somethings outside of your ability to care. so dont [think] about it. i'm not whining, just wanted to keep you informed. more if we make it through."

My theory is that he was having an existential crisis over the recent 'burnicide commited by one Patrick Martin Stumph. Understandable, what with it's contribution to the coming of the apocalypse.

This May Sound like Jibberish to You, but I Think I Am In A Tragedy.

I want to be an author.

I want to write stories about 20-something girls named Maddie Crane, who walk down gray suburban streets in the middle of winter and wear lime green hoodies and patent leather shoes.

I want to sit on city transits and contemplate plot development. Character death. Sentence structure.

I want to sit in front of my macbook for days on end in a red cardigan sweater and flannel pajamas surrounded by empty take-out cartons and with my phone off the hook. I want my neighbor to leave post-its on my door for my friends in black sharpie. She's dead this time, I swear.

I want shadows under my eyes and inky fingertips.

Come with me, My Love

Daisychains and cool grassy fields. Listening to Cat Power's "Sea of Love" on repeat.
I want to feel the red sunset on my skin.

Summer is such a romantic idea when there is snow on the ground.

Tonight was Amanda's birthday party. I got her a truffle, a pink princess cup, two game tokens and an IOU for something greater in the future.

She whipped my ass in Skeeball, and I am still mourning the fact that I am too old to play in the ball pit without getting thrown out.

Hold this thread as I walk away

Being an adult is awkward. Not unpleasant, just awkward as fuck.

It feels like being in an independent film. Shit like this just doesn't happen in real life. Or high school.

So this is how January 21st went for me.

Scene: Me and Tiffany in the bathroom getting ready to go see Juno with Drew, Katie, Tess and Sam.

Me: (Turning to Tiffany) I need to tell you something because if I don't, you are going to find out eventually and get mad at me.

Tiffany: (stops applying eyeliner) okay.

Me: Okay. On my blog, and to all my friends, and on myspace... I've been referring to you as my girlfriend. I just thought I should let you know.

Tiffany: (Raises eyebrow) you should look at my myspace sometime.

Apparently she was one step ahead of me, if in a relationship is anything to go by.

How does she do that? Those of you who aren't jealous are idiots. I have managed to catch the interest of quite possibly THE most awesome person on the face of the planet.

Don't bother asking me how I did it because to be honest, I have no fucking clue.

Start talking "a sensationalist"...

It's 3am- I am tired and my eyeliner is smudged but I am in a somewhat more contented state-of-mind then I was last night. I think it might have had something to do with the look on my girlfriend's face when I animatedly explained everything.

It screamed 'All this over an exclamation point?' and then she said "Yeah... so?"

So I will stop obsessing by simply vowing to take a sharpie to my Pretty. Odd. album. There WILL be punctuation, even if I have to put it there myself. That way I can be happy and Tiffany can go back to steadfastly ignoring the fact that her girlfriend is certifiable.

An exorcism is in order.

What do you do when your own thoughts make you physically ill?

I don't want to like anything anymore. Why can't I have that apathetic indifference everyone under 30 raves about? I get too attached and then when things change I can't function.

It's a fucking exclamation point.

I have officially hit an all time low.

Wish that I was as invisible as you make me feel

Fuck.

I'm sitting in a living room that isn't mine...

Anything is better than home right now.

The snow is falling outside and it feels like I could stay here forever.

I am currently wearing my devil horns hat and big white sunglasses, cuddling with a pug named after an AFI member, trying not to think about things that make me want to bash my own head in with a 2x4.

Old TAI TV episodes are the strongest medicine, and even that is only slightly helping.

Worshipping at the Church of Hot Addiction

So me and Katie have tickets to go see Cobra Starship February 7th at the Big Easy in Boise. It's nice to have a concert to look forward to again.

It's been what, six months since Projekt Revolution Seattle? I had almost forgotten what it was like, this pre-concert high.

"fuck the way i am in love with being a mess."

Patrick, how the fuck do you survive this constant trainwreck?

I need to know your secret so I can start sleeping again.

The woeful expression of my tortured soul

Look! A BLOG.

how original of me, yes? Even the title of this entry doesn't belong to me, it belongs to some random MCRmy member. I just couldn't be bothered to think of anything original AND creative at 4:45 am, so I settled for plagerism.

I am not old. Not in the slightest. I have my ENTIRE LIFE ahead of me. Why do I feel too old to be sitting here writing to a non-existant audience? Maybe it's because it feels a little too close to having an imaginary friend.

My eyes burn (in the painful physical way, not in the poetic way), my new tat itches like no motherfucker knows, and the title to this entry is starting to sound more serious than sarcastic, so I better go before I stop sounding like a grumpy 21 year old and start sounding like an angsty teenager.

Besides, I suppose I should earn my pay and do some work.