the importance of being awesome.

annespreppy:

HUNTER RAIN BOOTS GIVE AWAY! 
Hey y’all! I accidentally ordered two pairs of these gorgeous Hunters so I decided to do my first give away! Just reblog the photo and follow me and your name will be put into the drawing! Good luck! :) 

The rules:
1. Must be following me 

2. Reblogs count only (not likes!)

3. Your name will be put in as many times as you reblog

A winner will be chosen with a random online generator on February 28! :)

annespreppy:

HUNTER RAIN BOOTS GIVE AWAY!
Hey y’all! I accidentally ordered two pairs of these gorgeous Hunters so I decided to do my first give away! Just reblog the photo and follow me and your name will be put into the drawing! Good luck! :)

The rules:
1. Must be following me

2. Reblogs count only (not likes!)

3. Your name will be put in as many times as you reblog

A winner will be chosen with a random online generator on February 28! :)

(via we-put-some-prep-in-your-step)

Their noses were red and the fabric missing on their gloves left their fingers numb. Sometimes things just work out the way they want to, there’s no telling the world to stop spinning or the homeless to stop begging. The outsiders were now the leaders of the movement and the steamroller will continue to smash the beer cans and glass bottles that rest on the pavement. The others will always be envious and try to hold us down, tell us “that’s just the way it is” but we won’t stand for it. 

Self Indulgent Missing Him Post.

I guess on Thanksgiving, amongst being thankful for what is in front of me, I will reflect on what I am missing.

I miss my boyfriend. It’s been almost a month since he left, and every night gets a little more lonely. Only a couple weeks before I see him again though, so things are looking up.

I’ve never met anyone stronger and more genuine than Mitch. He is my rock and shoulder. I haven’t ever been able to be myself completely around someone and be loved for it. I found him in the worst of times and we have each grown from that so immensely.

I miss the way he smells and the way his skin feels, how he is always warm when I am cold and the love we make. I can’t wait to hold him again, and tell him I love him and how I am his until we are old and wrinkly and take walks by the lake and talk about the old days.

Why must my boyfriend have a job that requires him to be gone for months at a time? Unfair and I don’t like it.

I’m going to go cry some more.

Official Statement Of The Last Five Months.

Not minding losing any friends, offending anyone, or receiving death threats or angry calls from this. I carry a gun. 

Also, I dedicate this to Kristin “Gypsy” Schloesser, because you helped me kick life’s ass even if things got weird, I’m pretty sure you facilitated and somehow inspired the relationship I have with the man I’m going to marry, and I honestly remembered how to spell your last name.

Guys, this is going to painfully long, and painfully honest. I implore you to read it, but if you don’t. I don’t care. 

Hello World-

I have officially returned from my trip around the world, the moon, the galaxy and beyond.  Actually, I haven’t quite returned-I have just found myself sitting in front of my computer with an hour to spare. If any of you were waiting for this, I am finally going to spill my guts. If not, then you’ll get it anyway.

Honestly, I have started this post more than once. It will be in the smallest nutshell possible, because I wish I had filmed a documentary throughout the last five months, but I didn’t. So I am writing this blog. I am not losing sleep, nor is it haunting the back of my mind; I just feel like if one day someone who was effected should read this-at the right time…they will understand. 

I returned from the Fight The Silence tour with my heart still in a very strange twirl and my mind in the most unsettled place it had ever been. I had met my Faith face on in a pitch black night in Texas and pushed it away. I had shrugged off conversations with Matty and little letters from God that were left on the pillow of my bunk multiple times. Yet I still wore a cross. I came home from that tour with six hundred dollars to my name and a spiritual awakening that was dying to pry itself free, but just couldn’t. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t gain anything, it’s an obvious truth that I am in fact, made to fly. I will never end up in one place forever, I will always have at least one bag packed and one foot in the door. My heart is a bird whose wings you cannot clip. I met some of the most inspirational people I had ever met, but it wasn’t until later on would I realize what they meant to me. 

I puttered around Virginia, New York, and California for a while. Got a job at a bar on the Ocean Front and set my mind that I was supposed to be there. I did love the people I worked with. They became my posse. We would spend our nights off walking around the boardwalk, climbing lifeguard stands, taking shots of Fireball and having our after hours parties in the Haunted House on Atlantic. It was my OC kind of life. I was content, but as you may know, this only lasts for a while in Audrey’s book of tales. So, one rainy day as I was driving to work listening to Reliant K, God slapped me in my face and I began to cry. 

Who was I kidding? I wasn’t happy. I was only happy for a while when I was instagramming trays full of shots that all of my favorite bartenders bought us because we were the prettiest girls in the city. I was only temporarily happy when Dan picked me up and we would open a bottle of wine and gossip about how ridiculous everyone was and I’d smoke way too many cigarettes. I had this vague idea of where it was going, but it would suddenly fade off after the summer was gone. I cried and I asked God to please, please show me what I was supposed to do. 

I got to work, dried my face, and continued in a huff. 

That’s when Jerry called. 

Jerry Roush is quite possibly the last person one would think God would send as a saving grace…but it happened. He asked if I would leave Sunday and come on a short run with them to the Bakersfield festival in California. I thought about the honest reality of things and said that I couldn’t burn the current bridge I had with this job and that I would have to pass, unless I was guaranteed a spot on the Scream It Like You Mean It Tour in July-August. He said he wasn’t sure, I shrugged it off, and went on with work. It’s a tad blurry as to how it all happened, but I believe I realized I had just asked for this to happen…so I took it.

I sat in Jerry’s mom’s living room while she watched the Nascar race and Jerry showered and packed last minute, as always. She was a tan, skinny, older woman with a very standard Hampton Roads kindness. She talked to me about things that I obviously could not at all relate to, but still smiled and nodded. She talked about the first time she saw Jerry in AP and how proud she was. This made me smile, but a little sad inside. She told Jerry she packed us snacks and drinks, in which he replied to with some snarky comment. I genuinely thanked her and told her we really appreciated it. 

I won’t waste much on talking about this short run because honestly, it was one of the best/most fun tours I had ever been on. I had an extremely fun loving sibling like relationship with the Glass Cloud boys. Josh is one of the most talented/smart people I have ever met. Chad and Travis are genuine and eager hearted. We all shared inside jokes and stories, smelly shoes and shitty meals. Even Jerry and I maintained an extremely love/hate brother/sister relationship. We would joke about things, I slept on his shoulder, we shared couches, floors, and hotel beds. I have never once been attracted to Jerry, so those of you who think we had relations, I will clear the air now…that never happened. I did, however, care for Jerry a lot. I guess I somehow had this fleeting hope that maybe he wasn’t as bad as everyone said he was. Even still I want to text him and tell him I am really sad for him, and I pray for him all the time. I guess maybe I thought he was just insecure and needed the reassurance that it was okay to be nice, not be a total man whore, and that no one would make fun of him.

Unfortunately…I found that he was just insecure. 

I met a lot of girls that had spent their lives chasing Jerry Roush. Through Sky Eats Airplane, the short run with Of Mice and Men, and God knows however else, these girls in each city had given Jerry their bodies and feelings, and he had left them just like a standard band guy. It was sad and painful to watch, yet I kept my mouth closed and tried my best to look out for my boys. 

July came and I packed my bags for SILYMI. My heart fluttered with excitement. This was, besides Warped, the biggest tour I had ever been on. There were many old tour friends I already knew, but so many I didn’t. It was the perfect summer; no hot dessert parking lots, no pavement BBQ, just a lot of friends and an awesome run to look forward to. I had been communicating with Glass Cloud’s manager, Andrew, who had put me in touch with Gypsy, the head TM for the tour. Finally, a girl head Tour Manager. I knew this was going to be awesome. It was just me and Gypsy, the only two girl Tour Managers. We would conquer the world. 

I will never forget the first day I met Eric. It was the Glass Cloud CD release show at Shakas. He was a six foot something man of obvious Mexican decent with an extreme New York accent and “Fuck Life” tattooed on his eyelids, among other offensive and strange tattoos all over his body. Despite his appearance, he was extremely kind, outgoing, and clever. Although I would never introduce him to any of my real friends, I kind of liked him. We got a long swimingly. We joked and picked on each other, just like the other Glass Cloud guys. He did me favors, and drove when I was too tired. He knew a lot about vehicles, so he helped with the van too. It’s very strange how quickly people can shed their outer layer and become the person they actually are. 

The first day was awesome. We were in New Jersey at one of my absolute favorite venues, The Starland Ballroom. I remember seeing Kyle. I had missed him so badly since the last time I saw him and I ran and hugged him for at least five minutes. He brought me my favorite, steamed rice, and we talked a lot. He told me he had laid off drinking and it was going well. I was so proud of him. He was the true hearted, honest person I knew he was all along. I don’t think I had ever smiled so much. We spent the next week walking around venue parking lots talking, telling each other a lot of things a lot of people don’t know about us. I made him a lavender rice pillow to help him sleep and bought him some tea for his voice. We were tour buds, keeping each other sane. 

Gypsy and I were instant friends as well. I remember meeting her with Shapiro in the production office of Starland. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. Shapiro is one of the only people in the music industry I honestly trust and look up to more than anyone I have ever known in the world (and now I strangely have considered him God Fathering my first child, mainly because he jumps out of planes and has gluten free bread at his grilled cheese shop, hahaha.) Gypsy is probably one of the toughest, brutally honest people I know. She taught me how to do amazing spread sheets and not give a shit about what people thought. Also, how to wear an awesome bandana. She’s the only reason I survived and didn’t check myself into a mental institution this summer. 

I’m not sure what day it began to go bad. I think that after the second week, I started to notice strange things. Oh, it was the first day off we had. We went to Equal Vision to meet with the label. 

Bringing Eric was a bad idea, I knew that from the get-go. This is a person, who was seemingly very helpful, but had zero experience in music. He had an extreme criminal record, had just gotten out of jail, and had face tattoos indicating he may or may not have murdered someone. However, I set all this aside and somehow slept soundly around him.

I smiled wide as I shook hands with people I regarded as not just record label “people” but as the hard workers and minds that put together some of my best friends’ records, publicity and fame. I looked around the office and laughed a bit. Kyle’s picture was absolutely everywhere to be found. He was like someone’s first born child prodigy. I was proud too, he was such a great kid. I loved him like a little brother that I worried about 24/7. I guess that Eric saw this, but took it as an opportunity to exert his power and remind me that I was a mere woman. Over lunch, the label reps, myself, the band, and Eric sat at the table chatting. I was starved and hadn’t had a good meal in days, so I quickly finished mine, and like any well mannered person, I cleaned up my space discretely and continued in on the conversation.

We Came As Romans were scheduled to show up later so we could all go bowling, so somehow they came up. 
Eric stopped mid conversation and looked at me and said

"Oh, I see you finished early and cleaned up because you knew Kyle was coming." 

My stomach dropped and my heart leapt into my throat. He really just said this in front of the entire EVR staff. I’m pretty sure I almost vomited my sushi back up onto the table.

As many of you may know, I have fought my entire career to become a relevant person in the music industry. I do not burn bridges, nor have I ever slept with someone in a band in order to gain fame or recognition. I went to school to learn about business and management, I taught myself the inner workings of the touring world, and I networked my way, positively, into that industry. Kyle and I are good friends, based on real friendship. So, obviously, I was mortified. I felt like some child had shouted something like “penis” at a family dinner in a nice restaurant. 

I nervously laughed it off and continued on with the situation. Later, I tried to kindly explain to Eric how unnecessary and inappropriate that was, to which he replied that I didn’t know what I was talking about, and that I took things to seriously. 

After that, things went down hill with Glass Cloud. Jerry began taking Eric’s side in all things and not listening to anything I said. I honestly strove and continued to do my job, but got criticized and yelled at for everything I did. I kept all of this inside and quiet. When Andrew would ask me how things were going, I would say, ‘fine’ and keep on. The inner workings of the band were catching and lagging as well. Josh, who is a fantastic musician and person, would sit in the van, night after night,  and I could tell he was questioning his decisions. He was far too talented to be in a band with a front man who was only partially talented, and used touring as an excuse to feel relevant and to hook up with girls. Chad was far too kind to be treated like a pawn, and Travis deserved to be much more recognized for the lyrics he wrote, and Jerry only screamed to the point where they were unrecognizable. It was an absolute disaster that I was adopting. 

Kyle and I became distant. I think that drinking became more of a ‘thing’, and I saw him less and less. That was when JJ and I became close. I learned very quickly that something I had hoped wasn’t as big of an issue as I had imagined, actually was. It was impossible for me to be friends with a band member without be apparently fucking them. Ladies, I will warn you now. This is a double standard. Band guys are allowed to hang out with, kiss, fuck, etc, with any girl they want and no one blink an eye. But don’t you dare even wave at a band guy, you are a whore. 

JJ became my shoulder. We would laugh and talk about how ridiculous everyone was, and how stupid it was that everyone took the whole high school mentality of tour so seriously. I cried in front of him, and we would just drink it off and sit on stoops and forget the bull shit that everyone dwelled so deeply on. I owe him a million times over for being there. One day, I will pay him back for being a real friend. 

I woke up from an uncomfortable half-sleep in the drivers seat of the parked van to my alarm labeled “sound scans” set for 8am in order to have them emailed by California 11am. It was a dewy morning in Atlanta, GA, and I was in the usual mood. I dragged my things into the basement of The Masquerade, that was appropriately called “hell”. I had to move my things a thousand times before I claimed the correct spot, and made my way to the bathroom to shower and try my best to look acceptable for the day. After battling a cockroach the size of my hand, I finished my shower and went back to my table. I cracked a beer and sat and worked on some spreadsheets. 

"Are you Gypsy?" 

I looked up and saw the most attractive boy I’d ever seen in my life. It gave me the strangest feeling in my stomach but I somehow ignored it and answered “Uh-no.” 

He said something of unimportance and then went on to explain that he was Woe, Is Me’s tour manager, Mitch, and he needed to find Gypsy. I told him she was probably in the production office and thought to myself “Obviously. Not behind a merch table. What an asshole. Total douche bag.” And went on with my work. 

The next night, we were in rainy Birmingham, Alabama. I had become friends with Woe’s merch guy and obvious scene king celebrity, Devo. I was jokingly lugging his merch past a glass windowed restaurant where his band, and Mitch, were sitting. I laughed and left Devo to take the rest of his merch to the trailer and went inside to talk to them, secretly my goal. I had met most of them on the tour before, with the exception of Mitch, who was never to be found. We went outside and stood underneath the overhang and awkwardly chatted. He told me that he should probably have my number because, you know, TMs should have other TMs numbers. 

Again, a lot of this is blurry, but we end up in Corpus Christi, on top of a building, looking at the stars and telling each other our lives. I think I got scared, or weirded out, because you know how I talk about missing being 15 and having real butterflies? I felt those real butterflies that night. He had a girlfriend somewhere in Texas, but this was only a small challenge for me. I wasn’t positive how I felt about this boy, but I knew she didn’t deserve him. A few nights later, I tried to kiss him on the cheek, and he pushed me out the door. This, I will never let him live down. 

In Dallas, the band left after their set and went to a bar. Eric had been brought on the tour to be a roadie of sorts, so he was partially responsible for helping me load in my things at the end of the night. We were set up in an enormous parking lot, a good hike away from the van. However, production had kindly let us have “Rockstar” parking in front of where the busses dropped the trailers. At the end of the show, I called every member of my band to no avail. I lugged all of my things, by myself, across the parking lot and to the trailer. Which, I had come to find, was locked. They never gave me a key to the trailer, or the van, so I was stuck with my boxes of merch and my belongings, in the parking lot. 

Pat, the driver of Attack’s bus, came up to me and asked me to move the van, because there was a 10 hour drive ahead of us, and we needed to leave, now. I explained the band never gave me a key and that they were nowhere to be found, so I had no choice. After two hours after bus call, while Gypsy, our bus drivers, and myself were standing outside; a drunk, belligerent group of boys that was Glass Cloud, Eric, and some broads, came around the corner and began throwing the merch all over the parking lot and screaming profanities. Once again, I was mortified. Pat insisted I get my things and ride with Attack that night. I had never felt so safe and at home. I will honestly never feel as safe as I do in a moving tour bus. 

A lot of the next few weeks were a blur. Mitch and I had to keep our rendezvous, though innocent, on a down low. It was very unprofessional that we were even thinking aboutbeing attracted to each other. Eventually, the girl broke things off with him, and my heart soared. Glass Cloud, Eric, and I were staying at another band member’s house in LA when I got the text. I had been separating myself from the band and Eric especially, hoping I wouldn’t get verbally abused or pushed around like I was when I was in the van at night. Things had been miserable with them, I had tried to ignore it an fill it with friends, but that was only fuel for their fire. 

I was picked on, threatened, and publicly put down by Eric and Jerry on the daily. It wasn’t until three weeks went by, and we were in a torturously hot Las Vegas parking lot, that I finally found the courage to stand up for myself and quit. I kindly bowed out and told their manager I would find my own way, and I was not going to be treated like trash any longer. I don’t care what Jerry, or any one else has said, I quit on my own terms, because I am much better than being pushed around by a prison boy and a lead singer with an inflated ego. 
JJ’s band, Close To Home, became my family the next two weeks. We gambled, laughed, adventured, and stuck up for each other like real friends do. They thanked me for everything I did for them. They payed me well, and I loved them so dearly like my own kids in return. It was such a gasp of fresh air from what I was dealing with before. They brought me home from the opposite side of the country, and I ate some of the best vegetarian food, signed T-Shirts, took pictures, and met grateful fans. It was the life save I needed. I will never forget the kindness they showed me those two weeks; those boys deserve more than they know. 
The last day of the full tour was in Pittsburgh. I had made plans to ride back to Richmond with Woe, because this was the closest the tour would get to home, and of course, I wanted to finally be able to spend time with Mitch without worrying about the judgement and bull shit that came along with it. We spent the day before the show wondering around the market square, buying salsa for our band guys and having vegetarian lunch at Noddles and Co. We held hands, for real, this time, and I smiled so much my face hurt. 
That night, we hadn’t even made it through Attack’s set, when a huge thunder storm hit. The tents were being whipped around by the wind and the rain was coming down hard with the lightening. We quickly packed up the merch and I spent the rest of the time gathering my belongings and loading them into the Woe bus. I was scrambling to finish my goodbyes and get back into Mitch’s arms in the tiny uncomfortable bunk in his bus.
Jules and I were the two extra passengers that night, and we stopped at a Denny’s in God knows where. Mitch and I were drifting into sleep when he answered the phone to “Mitch some dudes are starting shit..” I watched in horror through the glass windows as Mitch held back a guy by his neck from across the booth from coming at his band. I knew at the moment I thought he was the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life. 
We made it to the last show in Louisville, KY. I walked around proudly with Jules, considering myself not a member of the silly high school tour drama, but a part of the family that Mitch was slowly introducing me to. That day, I witnessed Jerry Roush spit in a fans face, I’m sure I got called names, and looked at very weird, but I didn’t care about any of it. However, lingering in the back of my mind, I worried about how Gypsy felt. I know she had witnessed a lot of the drama, and I knew she probably thought a lot of things, and as much as I wanted to thank her and say bye, the whole night I avoided it. Around 30 minutes from bus call, I gathered up the courage, and waited until the last TM left the makeshift production office. What Gypsy said to me that night made me change my mind about the whole tour, smile, and thank God I had been placed on that journey. It was very weird, and unexpected, but I understood completely why I had been put through the things I had been put through. I would continue to learn these things until the current time I’m writing this. 
That night, Mitch and I sat on top of the bus staring at the sky and stars talking about space and time, sharing a slightly cold pizza we devoured like we hadn’t eaten in days. He asked me if I would like to be his other half, and I accepted with reluctancy, even though I was screaming on the inside “yes”.
The next two months were spent sharing my life with one of the most amazing people I have ever been blessed to meet. Mitch and I have sacrificed time and money to be with each other, but all of that seems meaningless compared to the love I share with him. He has been by my side throughout the insults, the struggles of getting my life back on track, and finding the amazing job worth my college degree to where I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. It took a very long and rough road, but God gave Mitch and I what we deserved, and I cannot even begin to realize how blessed we are. 
I can say from the bottom of my heart that I am sad for those who have to put down other people to make themselves feel relevant. I feel bad for the lost souls that have to sleep with bands to feel relevant, that have to search for their confidence in drugs, alcohol, and sex. I am sad for people like Jerry’s mother who loves and is proud of her son, and he tells her to ‘shutup’. I hurt and pray for Eric who hits girls and doesn’t drink, but does coke in the bathrooms of venues and puts girls half his size down to compensate for his past. I hope that one day all these people are happy, and they find their other half and become good, honest people. That they put in hard work, that they don’t collect unemployment because of their face tattoos, but they find a good niche and can be content in their hearts and proud to say what they’ve done. 
I hope they are as happy as I am, and that they can thank God for where they are. 

In addition-

So in addition to my book that I’m releasing at the end of the summer, I will be including a special “how to” titled “Keep Your Sanity and Your Cool: A Guide To Dealing With Your Lead Singer.”

Things I Remember On Nights Like This…

I think about LA a lot these days. I’m in LA a lot these days. I’m also everywhere else a lot these days.

I threw my bottle down into the sand and ran towards where the water was breaking against the pier pilings, I skipped and jumped while pulling my dress off and throwing it over my head onto the beach.

"I’m not sure that’s-“

His voice was cut off by the crash of the small waves onto wood. I dove headfirst into the water and lost my breath immediately. The Pacific was a lot colder than the Atlantic at this time of year, but I always forgot about that. Plus, the whiskey made my blood run hotter than it usually did. I lost all attention to the world around me and watched my body ripple the moonlight on the water. I bobbed on the surface and listened to the gulls screeching at each other in the distance over some early morning scavenge. The sky was dyed a deep blue and the horizon was starting to lose its pigment and turn light azure. Goosebumps arose on my chest and arms and I dipped under the water again. I stayed there for a while, spinning in my water world; thinking about life and other burdens I analyzed when I drank. I felt a lot like Marissa Cooper. It was silly, comparing myself to a fictional television character-but somehow I always felt like I would just run into her walking down Redondo Pier one day and we’d just sit and talk over how fucked up everything was. I’d tell her to make the right decisions instead of the rash ones. If I had known her, she’d still be alive.

I laughed to myself for thinking about this fake character like an actuality and rose above the water once more.

He stood there on the shore looking frustrated.

“Come on Audrey, get back up here. There’s sharks on this coast, if you didn’t know.”

“Sharks don’t want me. I taste like cigarettes and bourbon.”

“I think there’s probably some that have become accustomed to their snacks tasting like that-we are pretty close to Hollywood.”

Hollywood. Hmph.

I’ve never felt more alone in line for Starbucks than I did in Hollywood. It’s such an amazing terrible place.

I could taste the salt water now.

I imagined it flowing through my veins like blood. There’s no way a shark would want anything to do with me. I can’t even get a boy to want me, let alone a cold blooded animal.

Gypsy Queen.

That’s what you called me. I guess I could live with being a ghost. One you only took out of the closet or from underneath the bed when it was safe and you were alone, so no one thought you were crazy for talking to air.

I told him to leave me be and I’d be fine by myself. I’d get a cab. I sat on the bench in front of the Bait Shop- it’s the old round teal building at Redondo that was never really anything, just the outside shot for the fictional venue on The O.C.

I sat on the bench that Adam Brody had sat one many times and played a very somber, confused Seth Cohen. Funny how he had a script when he sat there in my situation, and I was actually living it out.

I watched a pelican scoop at the water and then land a few feet in front of me and look at me in a sinister way.

“They’re actually really mean creatures.” I said out loud.

Oops. There I was talking to Adam Brody’s nonexistent character.

The sun started to come up and I lit a cigarette. The pelican had gotten a tad uncomfortably close to me and stood with his beak full of ocean watching me.

“What?”

He made a strange guttural noise and then dropped his load onto the pavement. Two fish and a lot of sea water spilled onto the ground and trickled over my feet.

“Oh. Thanks.”

The fish flopped vigorously, helpless on the hard ground. The pelican stared down at them, scooped one up, and flew away. I was left staring at the other fish as it flopped its weight around in reckless circles.

“You left one.” I shouted.

I guessed the pelican had felt bad for me and felt as though some sushi would be good for me. I grabbed my flip flops and the fish by it’s tail and tossed it back into the water.

I called a cab and wished I knew the address to where you lived.

Let’s Try This One More Time With Feeling…

There’s just something about my feet up in the front seat of the van with Whataburger wafting in the air and Blink blasting while the boys argue over something silly in the back.

Highly caffeinated.
Hair messy, Texas blazing outside.
Chad keeping beat to Enema of the State on the steering wheel and the lines on the road shooting past underneath us.
Seeing the whole damn country with an unlikely bunch of kids one month at a time.

Sometimes I wonder what 16 year old me would think if I told her that someday I would be doing everything we dreamed about doing while we were siting alone in our room listening to AFI and wondering if I’d ever get to be in the crowd to see Davey Havok live.

Three years later I was in CA side stage for AFI in Anaheim at Angels Stadium.

I can’t even explain how good we have it guys; those of you that tour, do music, etc.

When I was asked to leave my job in two days to leave for tour last week, I naturally went to the smartest person I know. My dad spent a good 20 years of his life travelling after Vietnam. Africa, Mexico, Europe, and everywhere else. He had nothing but a backpack and his incredible mind. I never wonder where I got this wanderlust from, I definitely caught that bug from my dad.

I said I wasn’t sure if I should leave. He told me that I could find a million normal bar/club/restaurant jobs but I have to take opportunities when they’re given to me. I couldn’t ask for cooler more supportive parents. They have been independent artists for over 20 years and work side by side everyday in their studio doing what they love.

Even though we’re a bunch of broke kids on the road without an address or place to call a home without wheels, we’re doing what we love and we worked for this.

When shit gets you down, just think-you could be clean, wearing a designer tie, answering phones for people other than a promoter, your manager, or some bitch trying to blow you for backstage passes.

I have no idea why anyone would want a 9-5 day job.

Caves.

I have been struggling lately;

I had 20 songs written in my head, but I couldn’t find the gunk to glue them together with.

I’ve been having trouble deciding what would sound better to music, and what would sound better read in your head. 

Hello, 

Here are the things I wanted to tell you;

about a girl in a world built from the sky down, with designs drawn in sand and feet that have danced a million miles. 

I could go on forever talking about who I’ve met, and what they taught me. 

I remember standing in that room with you, and I couldn’t tell if it was a ghost or just you that made it so cold. 

I haven’t belonged to a bed in years, only floated along on imaginary temporary clouds; ones that sometimes coincided with yours. 

When they did it was like a thunderstorm, but not the stressful scary kind. The kind that you lay awake with the windows open for.

The kind that makes the air that fills the room smell like rain. 

There’s just something about Tennessee that makes me feel close to God. 

The way the rain lands in puddles on Beale street and vibrates with the blues. 

The wet green and grey. 

I’ll remember your stare and the way you condescended everything I said forever. 

I liked it, I still like the way you linger over my shoulder when I weigh something in my head, or say something. 

I’ll smirk and nudge you playfully in my mind. 

Silly bat. 

Cucumber, Vodka, Club Soda.

I am swimming in the sky this evening. 

There’s honestly something about putting all of your trust in God and seeing him work miracles in your life. 

It’s amazing. It’s refreshing. 

It’s a weird feeling, quitting your job because your next tour came sooner than you thought. 

Packing has become second nature. 

I am truly a gypsy.

I was riding shotgun with my best friend of 8 years or so tonight, and all I could think about were the years spent with her on the Shore.

The carnival and carelessness, and mainly Cam. 

He said the old me would’ve done it. 

He’s right. 

And the thing is, the old me came back today. 

Just in time to disappear for two weeks again. 

He could never love me again, I’m positive. Mainly because I run around all over, and I haven’t belonged to a single address in three years. As we laughed over our drinks tonight in my familiar bar, I joked about how after so long I’m still hung up on one person. 

Rollercoaster is used far too much as an adjective to describe one’s life. 

Mine is comparable to this one ride we used to stand in line for over and over at the carnival. It had little apples that spun in tiny individual circles in one large orbit inside a big dark humid trailer. It was my favorite ride because it made my stomach turn and I’d almost always get a kiss when I rode it. That’s my life. It’s spinning in it’s own tiny circles while everything else spins in a huge dark unpredictable spiral. 

I’m so dizzy.

Please let these pieces fall into place. 

But please don’t slow this down. 

Keep it fast. 

Keep it alive. 

Running My Mouth/Mind.

I am going to do a little dance right now to celebrate the few things I am happy with even though things aren’t anywhere near where I want them to be currently:

*It’s May 1st, soon to be June!

*I start my new temp. job today at the beach until I leave for tour again.

*I am now three weeks free of meat/bread/beer (almost beer, I may have cheated the other day..) & have already lost a few pounds.

*I’ve been keeping up on my workout schedule.

*The promise of awesome tours this summer is looming.

*Laney’s birthday shananigans start tomorrow!

*I get to see TJ and Craig and the rest of ETF Thursday.

Now, if only;

*I could lose 10 more pounds.

*My stupid nose ring would finally heal.

*I could confirm those awesome summer tours.

*I could win the lottery.