Pound it Out

Two nights ago, my drummer played a show with a swollen ankle and a blood infection, and I was too much of a wimp to scream into the microphone.
N.M.R.N.R.

Like a Virgin

Last week, I was dumped by an 18 year-old virgin for not putting out.
After 2 weeks.
No More Rock N Roll

Double Time

I got two-timed with an 18 year old by a 26 year old that's worked at Walmart for 8 years.
No More Rock N Roll

Quickie, Part 2

I had sex with my boyfriend a second time.
This time it lasted 7 seconds.
"I beat my record,"
he said. Then demanded I let him go to sleep.
N.M.R.N.R.

Quickie

I waited an unheard-of month to have sex with my boyfriend, because we wanted it to mean something.
It lasted 5 seconds.
N.M.R.N.R.

Tonight, my best friend and band mate both did blow off of my art history book in my bedroom.
N.M.R.N.R.

Trend Setter

One can reach a state similar to that of any street, pharmaceutical, or alcoholic drug by taking another person's piss in one's mouth. The giver must have consumed drugs and/or alcohol within 4 hours of urinary release. It helps if the recipient retains the piss in their mouth for upwards of 2 minutes.
Trust me, it works. Tried and proven.
No, really, try it. Post your videos in Youtube. Please.
Go home, Try it.
N.M.R.N.R.

I Know a Secret

*His final response was "haha ohh".
**Based on a true story.
NMRNR

Endgame.

I broke off my 3-month relationship with a guy last week. I haven't heard from or seen him in 2 of those 3 months.
Now his best friend has called or texted me everyday. He finally cornered me on Facebook chat.
The guy attributed my 3-day cold symptoms and break-up to PMS.
Then told me he didn't know me well-enough to make jokes.
N.M.R.N.R.

Rock N Roll Weekend

I was stranded for 24 hours in Rhinelander, WI. Upon returning to my hometown, I was promptly gotten drunk while watching "nip/tuck" with friends, after which I absolutely stumbled home.
However, I totally got some play.
High fives all around... not looking forward to this hangover.

A Very Drunk Month

I was going through some of my party songs, recently. I don't listen to them, anymore, because I don't drink anymore. However, it made me realize 2 things:

1)Hey, Miranda! Remember that month we partied every night? Me, either.

There's a about a month in my life that is a blur- the whole thing's a haze of drunken stupor and not enough sleep. I recall that I was drunk every night for at least 2 weeks straight, and having party hopped, though the people and places are now one big blur. But, hey, I wasn't doing anything better with that month (I think).

2) Can't remember. Was too drunk.

No More Rock N Roll

Sometimes Dinosaurs Say it Best.

http://www.qwantz.com/index.php?comic=1714
N.M.R.N.R.

Bringing up Ben

Ben was depressed one week, so a friend and I made him drinks to make him feel better. He had one Rum & Cola and went to bed. We, however, had a fun time.
I was going to attempt making a delicious, fruity drink called an apple blossom.
However, Lizzie bought me Apple Pie instead of Apple Schnapps, but I figured, "Same thing, Right?" Jim cautioned me it wasn't, but if you want to find out for yourself, anyway, like I did, here's a tasty drink that will get you much, much more drunk than most other mixed drinks, and much, much quicker.
The Classy Version:
In a glass, pour as much vodka as you can handle tasting in one drink (usually a little less than a shot in a small glass), and a shot (or more) of Apple Pie. (I usually opted for more.)
Fill the rest of the glass with Cranberry Juice.
Drink up!

The Trashy Version: (or "the You're-Gonna-Be-Trashed" version)
Drink/empty out about a sixth of a bottle of cranberry juice. Fill back up with equal parts Vodka and Apple Pie.
Try to enjoy- but mostly have some hangover cures on hand.

*Note: If you hate, hate, hate cranberry juice... I don't understand you.
But go for Cran-Grape, NOT Cran-Apply or Cran-Raspberry, as these get too sweet and don't taste all that good with Vodka OR Apple Pie.

A pissin' good time!

Last night I went to a costume party,

and peed in front of 6 people.
Well, one of them was in the shower.

No More Rock N Roll.

Bitten, Smitten!

I went to a Theater Department party a couple of weeks ago. The theme was 'vampire.' (Which we were not told before showing up. I'd say it's just as awkward showing up to a costume party with no costume as it is the other way around.) Apparently, Vampire means as-little-clothing-as-possible-in-black-and-red.
Miranda and I decided we would have felt like we fit in more if we had simply kept our outfits, but taken our shirts off.
My date showed up an hour (or so) late, and told me I "looked okay," then stared at a girl running around in a corset, fishnets with garter belt, and black panties, and said, "She looks goood!"
N.M.R.N.R.

More Fire Dept. Fun

Somehow I've acquired a boyfriend. I brought him to a party a couple of weekends ago at Fire Department.

The party included a very drunk Alex, an equally drunk Ben tipping him over on a wheel chair, and an also-inebriated Gina asking me to find some Lady Gaga so she could strip.
The night ended with me forcing my boyfriend not to drive, bringing him back to my house, where he threw up on my lawn (after being in the bathroom for 10 minutes), and then twice more in my toilet.

N.M.R.N.R.

Trivia Weekend

My crush asked me if there would be single chicks at the party we were going to.
I didn't get to sleep until midnight. I was awoken at 3 AM by successive text messages from the phone I forgot to turn off.
A bald guy walked into my bedroom, fiddled around for the light, and asked if Cam was there. It was 5 AM.
It's 6 AM, and I'm still drunk from last night.

No More Rock n Roll.

Radio, Radio! Gimme gimme!

Ben got banned for life from the Radio Station.

No More Rock n Roll.

Easter

Last Easter:
I walked down the street with Ben from Doll House after dropping off the guy I had spent the night with. We were going to make eggs. I had a drink I had invented, called an "Easter Rising," in my hand. (It involves Wine and Vodka, and a little Fresca. I guess that's it, really.)
The rest of the day was spent getting lost with Paddy in the woods wearing bunny ears, making soup on a budget of $1.97, and shouting at people off of the Doll House porch.

Happy Easter!

Metal Crush

I went to a Metal concert last night, hoping to see the boy I've been, like, majorly crushing on. He wasn't there, though I didn't really expect him to be. Still had a good time- the first part of the concert was awkward, but I spent one set powering through Gauntlet Legends with my friend Jameson, and another getting filmed being hurt in a mosh pit. At the end of it, I had been punched in the nose, 2 bleeding feet, and a badly sprained finger, not to mention the sore muscles and bruises I would discover the next afternoon (which is when I woke up the next day).
A while after I left the concert, I hooked up with Kyle & Ben, returning to the After Dark. We then went back to Fire Department, for lack of ideas on what to do.
I ate chicken noodle soup out of a fancy tea cup while we hung out and talked. Then Ben made me hold his hand. Then he unbuttoned his pants. Then his pants were around his knees.
Then I left.


Then I got stopped by a cop, and asked for I.D.
Then I went home and didn't sleep.
No More Rock N Roll.


*Photo by Jameson Diedrich

Nationalized

The Jetty Boys came to the Borg Ward in Milwaukee last week.
I never found the Jetty Boys particularly amazing, but a lot of my friends do, so I decided to attend the concert to hang out with three of them.
My stepfather dropped me off on National Avenue at 7 PM in front of an unmarked brick building that matched the other near-derelict structures on the block. National Avenue is lined with cross-streets of bars, nail salons, and more dives, but mostly empty, boarded up buildings. It is a street that my father's friends (Milwaukee natives, all) refuse to come to after the sun goes down because they fear their cars being broken into, and possibly worse. Outwardly, it is not a friendly place. However, it does look like too many streets in my hometown.
Inwardly, the Borg Ward was three rooms of empty walls, dust, and large men I did not recognize (save one- who was in and out of the space over the next couple of hours). Granted, the two front rooms are normally used as gallery space for artists, and there used to be a rather prominent sign on the building marking it as the Borg Ward.
My friends finally showed up, and I introduced myself to someone that was alone and had been there as long as I had. The music still had not started, and not many people were there, so I could sympathize with how he must have been feeling.
The five of us talked for a little while, and I eventually went to use the Borg Ward's bathroom. It was terrifyingly dirty- and not just in that old-building kind of way. It was the second time in my life I peed standing up out of fear of making contact with that bathroom, and not just for fun. By the time I was done, the guys had moved into the show space. They had, however, left the loner out of their circle. After talking to them for a little bit, I walked over to my 'new friend' and talked to him.
The guys walked up to me, and informed me they would "be right back." 8:30 PM rolled around. The concert was supposed to begin at 7 PM. The sound guy was not even close to finished setting up, and a total of 6 people were standing in the audience space. My friends had left me alone on National Avenue, in a dirty, empty building at night.
This was not a neighborhood I could catch a bus in and be okay.
I called my stepdad and got a ride home.
No More Rock N Roll.

#2

Birthday Show

Last year, closer to my birthday, a birthday show was thrown for me. It included a couple local bands, and one from Milwaukee.
After the show, a friend of mine threw a comic-book-themed costume party for me. I went as Black Canary. I left pretty early, as I finished off two bottles of champagne myself.
The next morning I returned, to grab some of the stuff I had left the night before, and to hang out with my friend. One of the band members from Milwaukee was sleeping on the couch, so I made myself a cup of tea, sat down next to him, and read a book until my friend woke up.
Instead of her, however, the other band member emerged from the room in his underwear. He looked sheepish when he saw it was not just his bandmate in the living room, but strutted past us just the same. He went back into the room, and they had sex. I assume- from the noises.
Couch mate and I tried to make small talk, but mostly sat in silence.
Finally, the lovebirds got up. Both band members drank some beers and smoked a bowl. They dropped their weed on the floor, and gave me a bowl's worth for my birthday. I don't smoke, however, so I gave it to the guy I was sleeping with at the time.
Oh, and apparently the guy propositioned my friend by just straight out asking her if she wanted to sleep with him. Her legendary response was, "I think that would be okay," also, she was dressed as Jet Girl.
Mostly this was just a singular experience. Not really bad or good. Kind of hilarious.

There's a show scheduled today for my birthday. I have to try and top last year.

Endnote:
I lived in the dorms, and I knew my roommate would freak out if she knew I had weed, so I rolled it up in some cloth and shoved it into one of my combat boots until I could give it away.

Hardcore K.O.

Once, I went to a hardcore show in an old VFW post in Bayview, Milwaukee.

Some of the bands were "post punk" or "punk Nouveau" but whatever.

It was one of the better shows I've been to- the hall is a great space for big crowds, and there was a big crowd. There was a small mosh put at the front of the stage with a moat around it created by 3 guys fight dancing by themselves. I got more than a few bruises trying to cross that space. Beyond them were the nodding hipsters and then the pretty girls in their heels and make up.

While in the pit, a guy jumped on stage in front of me and attempted an intense stage dive. Instead of being caught by the other moshers, he landed chest-first into my face, and I went down like lead. Some people pulled him off my head, and somebody dragged me to the tamer crowd, but I was back in it again in another song. A band later, however, somebody threw an excited fist into the air, and somehow landed it somewhere in the vicinity of my temple. I think it was one of the angry short red heads that always seem to run around at hardcore shows proving what a man they are. Anyway, I blacked out for a second, then was really dizzy, and went down.

No More Rock N Roll.

Too much metal for hands..

Thursday night after work, I went to a metal show with Jimmer, Katie, and Reck. While there, Paddy, Emily, and Eddie showed up. So at least a good part of the whole gang was there.
During the show, Jimmer called me out of the venue space to help out a band that was frantically looking for an opener for a show they had booked at the university the next night. Luckily, I know a couple bands that are good to go at the drop of a hat. (One of my bands would've done it, but I was working.)
Unfortunately for them, this was not one of the times any of those bands were good to go.
Still, they sang 2 songs accapella for me (with scatted instruments), and informed me I was their favorite person. So that was cool.
After the concert, we were all going to meet up at fire department. Instead, however, Emily came to meet me from the bars (where Paddy & Eddie had gone to meet Kyle), and with her and Reck we went back to fire department. Before we even got in the door, Ben drove up, him and Reck ditched for the bars, and within 15 minutes everyone else went to bowling alley. (Well, they weren't trying to ditch me, but I didn't want to hold everyone up because I'm the only one under 21.)
And then I walked home alone 30 minutes after the show ended.
No More Rock N Roll.

Time to Learn

I went to a party last night, and got pretty drunk. Then I cried all the way home.
When I got home, I was pretty abusive via the internet to a friend of mine. (If we're even still friends.)
Now, I'm dealing with the realization that I somehow got a broken heart, and need to learn to grow up and deal with it.
I think it's time to quit the booze.

No More Rock n Roll.

Dull Straight Edge

For a little under 2 years I dated a boy that identified himself as "straight edge." Naturally, this meant that I was straight edge, too. (In the same sense that I stopped using eggs and cooking with meat or dairy when I later dated a Vegan.) One night, as boyfriends are wont to do, mine really T'd me off. I don't remember what he did, but whatever it was, it made me angry enough to finish off 4 glasses of champagne in a half hour at Doll House.
We headed over to this hippie party in the corner apartment of a lovely, large white house. There was dancing, and so I danced. Within 5 minutes, I was grinding on some girl hardcore. This went on for a little bit. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I did not know where I was, nor remembered how I got there. Also, I did not really know anyone in the room well enough to trust my safe keeping to in my muddled state.
Somehow, I found my boyfriend, who drove me home to his parents' house (he went to school elsewhere, and was only visiting), where I passed out whining at him to leave the light on, because I was scared of the dark.

Rock N Roll No More

21 in the 21st Century

This and the end of last year is the time the majority of my close friends are turning 21. My friend Ben van Dreel was one of these. The night of November 17th, I planned to go to bed at 9:30, so I could get up refreshed for the second of 2 tests in Astronomy before the final (these were the only tests we had in that class). However, there was a best-of Ghost Hunters marathon on that night, or something to that effect (I could have been watching the Deadliest Warrior, too), and so I wasn't in bed until midnight. This I figured was okay, because I could still get 7 hours of sleep before my test at 8 AM.
However, those things never work out as planned, do they?
3:20 AM, I get a call on my phone (which was on, because I had my alarm set for 7) from Bryce. It was Ben, drunk,* and screaming,
"THIS IS BRYCE! IT'S BEN'S BIRTHDAY! COME OVER!"
Figuring saying no to "Bryce" in this instance was not an option, I rolled out of bed, went into the hallway to spare my sleeping roommate, and made plans to have Jimmer drive with Ben over here to get me.
Ben sat in the back on the way to Fire Department, screaming, and laughing at things neither the sober Jimmer nor myself could make out.
We got to Fire Department and had a mini party, with my friend Miranda loudly having girl talk with me. Around 4 AM everyone else left. Ben put in a movie, and his two roommates and I watched part of it, while Ben went to bed.
I passed out on Bryce's floor around 5 AM, and went to breakfast in the Dining Hall at 7.
I did not do well on that test.
No More Rock N Roll.

*This became a favorite game of Ben's. I got several texts and calls while asleep or out of town for holidays and family events- all around 2 AM on Bryce's phone. The most common being a text around 1:30 saying, "I sleep naked."

40 Boys in 40 Nights

Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you get 2 Hardcore bands of hot Minneapolis* boys staying at your friends' house for the night. And then there are the times you get both.
This is not one of those times.
I picked a boy out at the concert, and he was promising. We went back to Fire Department to hang out and drink beer, while my friends supplied the bands with some floors, couches, and a futon to crash on.
I introduced myself to the guy there, and he definitely got the hint. However, as soon as I was in a room with him for a while, he became unbearably obnoxious. The guy would not stop making comments on things no one was talking about, and trying to show off how witty he was. He was nervous, I got that. But he just kept going.
Then I thought, "What if I get this guy home, and he won't shut up?"
I would have definitely told him he couldn't talk, but I realize how demeaning that is, and I would definitely feel bad about it. Later.
Anyway, in the end, I went home alone.
No More Rock N Roll.

On another note:
After reading my blog, a [totally rock n roll and not at all quiet] boy in my class made the point that I should've learned by now.

Yep.

*Trust me, there is definitely something foxy goin on up in Minneapolis. Hot people mate there.

FAME!

I have decided to become wildly famous in an underground sort of way so that I can party like a rockstar with other people famous in an underground sort of way and name drop the hell out of them.
Or maybe I don't want to live like that. I don't know.

Porch Talk

Porno Cards

I spent an evening at Sarah's apartment taking part in a drinking game with pornographic playing cards we called 'Tits or Vag.' It went like this,

"Tits or Vag?"

"Tits."

If vag was the focus, we had to drink.

You could also play with the color of lingerie, or the theme in the male-centric deck(Cowboy, biker, etc.). I started with champagne, may have had some vodka, or rum- don't remember- but I know I ended with strawberry daiquiri. Audra kept topping my glass off.
I had more cigarettes that night than I'd ever had in a week. Woke up with my lungs burning and throat sandpapered.
Before everyone else, I stumbled over to the Dollhouse and promptly blacked out. I woke up an hour or so later under my winter coat, shivering. At some point, Paddy and Audra's roommate threw a purple Mighty Ducks fleece blanket over me, but still I shook. I tried to sleep with my arms wrapped tight around me, and chin tucked into my chest. Finally, I did. Only in short spurts, however.
It was so cold, I dreamed of blankets in a pile next to me, only to awaken, freezing, to find a dark, silent house with no blankets to be found.
I rose the next morning at 7 AM, cramped from shivering and straining into myself for warmth, and unable to talk. I got to the Dining Hall on campus and ate a bagel and drank a glass of orange juice only to throw it all up in the bathroom sink. I remember the brightness of my orange vomit on the white porcelain as a girl emerged from the pink stall behind me.
The world was still a little shaky, but made it to my 8 AM Geography lecture, anyway.
No More Rock N Roll.

Whiskey Lullaby

There is a fairly well-known group up here, with a large mutton-chopped lead singer. We call him Beast.
There was a long period when I did not drink. Sometimes I still feel ashamed that I started, but in the end, I'm going to drink. The real issue is excess. And that's what a lot of these stories are all about.
Beast likes Whiskey. I do, too.
A long story short, there was a party at Doll House. Beast was there with a 3/4 full bottle of whiskey he was trying to finish. We decided to try and out-drink each other. I won.
Beast laughed and cracked a beer open.
Did I mention Beast is a big guy? I can't remember exactly how big at the moment, but he's probably two of me. I am a pretty average sized female: 5' 5", 126 pounds.
I realized I had 20 minutes to get somewhere and pass the fuck out. 20 minutes, because that's about how long it takes your stomach to tell your brain you've consumed something, and begin feeling its effect. It's sometimes shorter with alcohol.
More people began arriving at the house.
Luckily, a friend of mine was having his sound stream that night, and the radio station was only 4 blocks away.
As I left, Audra prophetically whispered to Willikers that he was 'getting lucky tonight.'
Apparently, a couple of people showed up to the sound stream and they had a grand old time. I wouldn't know- I was passed out for 2 hours in a rolling office chair.
No More Rock n Roll.

Fuck Buddies

Have you ever made out with a friend and then immediately regretted it?
I have avoided this situation. When sober.
Call me traditional, but I don't have sexual relationships with people I want to remain friends with. It's, like, jungle law. Or something.
Anyway, that's not to say that I want to date and marry every guy I've ever fooled around with. I don't really want to date or marry any of them. Well, definitely not date, anyway.
It's just that when it gets sexual, the relationship changes, and you can't pretend it doesn't. At least I can't.
I made out with one of my best friends a month and a half or so ago. I threw up in his sink, first. Twice. It was fuchsia.
You know the drunk where your face muscles kind of twitch and give up, and your one eye is getting all wiggy winking squinting, and the other one isn't focusing on anything? The room spins when you sit still, and your feet spin when you walk. That's the drunk I was that night.
There are pictures. My friend Jameson whipped them out via his camera at South Point one night and showed the group. He claims they will never go online, but that there will be prints made, and he will show them to my children, if I have any. They are horrifying, but funny to everyone else. I don't remember those pictures being taken. Or that party.
Anyway, my make out friend:
He tried to take my pants off, and I stopped him. I don't have sex with guys drunk. Anymore.
He didn't call the next day. Or any days after that.
We aren't really friends, anymore.
Rock N Roll No More, Please.

Clubbing

Last night was AMAZING. and horrifying.
But first: the weekend.
This weekend was the legendary Big Gay Sleepover (BGS).
I am not going to explain what this entails. It's none of your business.
The weekend started with a show at the Avenger's Tower,and ended with a brunch at the Olympia Family Restaurant.

But last night:
Last night we went out to Steel Night Club. They have a hot Latina Night on Thursdays. And a stripper pole.
We (a bunch of girls) got all dressed up to 'go clubbing.' Unfortunately, I am the only one in the group under 21. To get in, I had to pretend to be a friend of a friend's girlfriend, because he works there. So, my 'boyfriend' and I arrived first:
He fire-man carried me inside, all confidence that we wouldn't run into any problems. However, at the door, the bouncer said that I didn't look old enough, and shined a flashlight in my eyes.
Then he laughed, and asked what color beads I wanted (Mardi Gras). Phew.
Later, Joel ('boyfriend' dearest), told me the other guys that work for Steel were asking him how he 'got that.' Apparently, I'm a hot piece of ass.
It was a lot of fun: I only had to buy 1 drink (Joel bought the rest), and I was dancing more than I had in a long time. This included grinding on a lot of guys, and pushing off the ones that were icky.
I had a few dance-offs. I won every one.
Suck it.
Also, I made out with a guy. On the dance floor. And he kissed terribly.
I mean, so terribly that just thinking about it, I get shivers and want to clean my mouth.
Oh, and we got on the stripper pole before leaving.
No More Rock n Roll.

Death of Sega Genocide

A great band had its last show on February 13th, 2010. Sega Genocide is no more, and we are all sorrier for it. (NMRNL:1)
Dear Miranda,
It was a pretty rough show. Knowing this would be the case, I dulled my senses with a bottle of Quaker-inspired beer, and went to, throwing anything that got in my way, and getting generally buck-ass wild in the mosh pit. (RnR:1)
There was blood, and a lot of toilet paper. A guy tried to pick me up by my legs, and I kicked him in the piercing. (RnR:2)

For their final performance,
the band dressed in formal wear

and brought 2 boxes of toilet paper rolls. I twirled like a ballerina, and this guy named John wrapped me up like a mummy. It was probably the best concert I have ever been to at the After Dark.
Also, at the end of it, Jimmer told me to get on stage and sing 'Rock N Roll Ninja.' This made me more happy than I have been in a long time. (RnR:3)
After the show, John came up to me and said he thought I was a badass, and was impressed by how rough I was on the guys, and how fearless. (RnR:4) Then he dropped the best pick up line that's ever been used on me: "This is going to sound like a corny pick-up line, but those are the coolest fucking pants I have ever seen." Lycra leggings. Shiny.
Now that I think about it, that's the only pick up line anyone has used on me, I think.
Anyway, one thing led to another, and... his buddy walked up and tried to talk to me. I put a hand in the guy's face, informed him he was cockblocking his friend, and told John we could "pick this up later," at the after party. (RnR:5)
SouthPoint(RnR:6), then the after party at Fire Department.
John and I immediately began talking again. He suggested we start over, mixed me a drink, and the flirting continued. This girl from the show came up to me and began calling me 'her Josephine,' and kept putting an arm around me, talking about how awesome I was, and hugged me a couple times. Then she brought up stripping. Things got awkward.(NMRNR:2)
I went upstairs to talk to Jim, and while up there, thought about the possibilities with John.
He was funny, very cute, confident, made me feel beautiful, but didn't follow me around pathetically, and, most importantly, totally into it.
But, when it really came down to it, I simply did not want to sleep with him. I don't like the idea of going home with strange men. So, I put my drink down in Paddy's room (I'd only had a few sips), got my coat, and went downstairs.
I told John I was leaving. He said I could just stay there and flirt with him some more. It was tempting, but I told him I thought he was cute, and very nice (NMRNR:3), but that I wanted to go home.
So, I went home, got into my big cozy bed alone, and went to sleep.
It was a good night.
Love,
Josephine

Rock n Roll: 6
No more Rock n Roll: 3

*Photos by Bryce Patton and Jameson Diedrich('s camera)

An Easter Rising

An Easter Rising is a great drink to celebrate Eastertide, or to dull a hangover from some Post- Lent, Pre-Easter debauchery.

Fill half of your glass with blush wine,
fill an eighth more with straight, chilled vodka,
and top it off with Fresca, or white soda of choice.
Mix or serve as-is.

If you're looking for something with a heavier flavor, replace the blush with a darker red wine, and the Fresca with cola of your choice.

New Band, New Failure

I tried to perform with my newest band tonight.
I spent a week soundproofing and stressing out about the show in my basement. Tried to smooth things over with the woman that shares our house, looked around for free/cheap soundproofing material, and threw together a band to play the songs I'd written in 2 practices accumulating a total of 4 hours. The new bassist had never played bass, but we figured it was punk, and so it could sound like shit and still be cool.
I performed, played through 1 of the songs we had practiced, ended the others early, and wanted to generally break down into tears the entire time. I was stupid, and nervous, and just wanted everything to end.

The day I had been preparing for finally came. February 19th, 2010, Nato Coles played Avenger's Tower. My roommates' finally performed with the band they've been practicing with for months. They rocked.
Then it was my turn.

I've always had crippling stage fright- but only in front of people I know. I can do anything I want in front of people as long as I can't connect a name to a face. Also, mics scare the crap out of me. There's got to be a phobia of microphones in someone's medical dictionary somewhere. I can't hear myself, or I can't hear myself the way everyone else hears me, and it always sounds horrible to me. The reverberation, the magnified clicks and harsh brushing of lips in my vocalizations-- it's horrifying.
The truth is that I'm a great performer- particularly with anything that includes oration. But I've only been able to achieve a comfortable performance if I could see someone I knew. Those people's judgments matter to me, and while I realize they will still feel the same way about me, and lie and tell me I did well when I get off that stage, and probably even be proud of me, it worries me sick that they didn't enjoy it at all. I don't want to make people suffer through 'one of Josephine's performance-things.'

As a child I wasn't shy. I liked the spotlight, and I usually put myself in it: singing, dancing, yelling, whatever. In 4th grade my school had a talent show, and I entered with one of my favorite songs- 'Julian of Norwich.' This was not the first time I had signed up to perform, but this year my older brother had developed a little bit of a mean streak, as brothers are wont to do upon entering puberty. When I practice, and hit a note too high for my voice, Edward would squint up his eyes in mock-pain and say "oooh-ouch!"
When I got on stage, I messed up pretty bad, because all I could think about was the image of him in pain because of my poor vocal skill, and his voice echoing that. I still think about that when I'm on stage today-- a decade later.

Fast forward to 19 years old. A pretty successful folk band from the UP, Misty Lyn & the Big Beautiful and a solo artist, Matt Jones, came down to Point to perform at the After Dark Coffee House. They needed an opening act, and my then-boyfriend, an acoustic performer himself, didn't want to do it. The other stock solo-folk acts up here were all busy, and so I volunteered myself. I don't know what I was thinking.
Tyler, the guy responsible for the bands coming down here, created an awesome poster with the entirety of my long-ass name (which is longer than the principal band's name) on it. I felt pretty awesome with my 'stage name' pasted up all over town (my stage name is my first, middle, and dual Polish last names).
Anyway, to get to the performance:
I came with a guitar, plugged in, spoke into the mic, and nearly had a heart attack. I know I can play guitar pretty well. I know I can sing tolerably well. I did neither of these things.
The mic threw my voice, and the whole time I was trying to sing these songs I had been singing alone in my house, and recording over and over again in my dining room, my friends stared straight ahead, and looked generally bored. The worse part was that whenever I looked at my boyfriend, his eyes were always riveted on my fingers. I kept faltering because I thought I was doing something wrong: was the guitar buzzing horribly? Was I hitting the chords too rough?
This was a guy whose tears would well up whenever one of his friends got behind the mic, and who would stare into their face in absolute adoration the entire time. He never looked at me like that, not when I sang, not when I played guitar, and definitely not when I performed my poetry.
The one and only time I thought he was really riveted on me in that way was at a birthday party where we were both asked to perform. After that party, he sent me a long message basically telling me he didn't approve of the friends I was with, using terms like "you can do better," and telling me to not "go crying to the first nice guy I meet next time I can't look in the mirror in the morning."
There were other times and places people shut me down, and these are the things I think about when I perform. I know there are people that support me, and I remember those friends that are always at the front of the stage, looking up at me in utter pride and adoration, ready to applaud loudly at anything I could possibly do. I also remember the times I was heckled on stage and thrived because of it. Plus my Dad thinks I'm the shit (and not everyone can say that). But I'm only human.

It was a good night, but the end of it all, I got shut down for something I didn't intend to be romantic at all, and fell asleep on top of my covers in my clothes smelling like beer and vodka.

Rock N Roll No More.