My Brief Punk Rock Adventure

Before I get into today's post I want to correct something I have overlooked for nearly nine months (NOT PREGNANT. JUST AN UNFORTUNATE COINCIDENTAL NUMBER. I WILL NOT BE ON TLC LATER. WHY AM I TALKING IN CAPS LOCK STILL?)

If any of you remember, a while ago I shared with you my list of potential celebrity husbands, at the top of which is of course Future Husband John Krasinski. But I forgot one crucial celebrity, and that is probably because he is not yet...well, a celebrity. He is this guy:


And he was in this T-Mobile commercial.

His name is Kyle Bornheimer. You may also know him as Advertising Guy from the Office episode, "Local Ad" or you may know him as Main Character Guy from That Show That Was On Some Channel Probably NBC That Was Almost Good But Not Quite And Oh Wait Wasn't Olivia Munn In That? Yeah Yeah I Think I Saw An Episode Of That Show.

But I know him as T-Mobile Voicemail Guy SLASH Future Husband. I mean, look at him in that ad! He's so nervous and snuggleable! I want to do crosswords over breakfast with him and then later go out to dinner at Benihana.

What can I say? I dream high.

ANYWAY, now that that's out of the way, let me tell you about my adventure yesterday. I went to a punk rock show at a bar in Logan Square. As someone who openly admitted to liking Maroon 5 and Avril Lavigne in high school, you can imagine this was a typical night for Emily.



The reason I was there was layered. At the top layer, I am friends with a band member's older sister. On a layer underneath that, I am trying to go do more fun things with a variety of people instead of being a Netflix-watching hermit in my apartment with my cat at all times. When I went, I didn't know it was a punk rock show. But I figured it out when I saw people with mohawks/pony tails/worn black t-shirts. I won't lie. I was scared. The last experience I had with Punk Rock was the video I watched of a mash-up between Slipknot's "Psychosocial" and Justin Bieber's "Baby", which had the affect of a child singing in a horror movie. If this was the night I was in for, I was going to need someone to hold my hand on the way home.

We stood in the back, so as not to offend the true punk rockers. Our colorful clothes and chipper attitudes really would have killed the mood. However, this meant that my view was obstructed by a man who was roughly 6'6", 300 pounds. His pony tail fell to the middle of his back. Jean shorts. He was the kind of guy you'd want with you at Six Flags purely because you would never lose him in a crowd. He probably either knows everything about either Star Wars or Star Trek but definitely not both. You get the picture.

He was the only one dancing. And by dancing, I mean nodding his head. There was no swaying or bopping in this bar, only diligent listening. Each band seem to be in competition with their own bandmates for how fast they could play the song, which led to songs so fast that each one lasted thirty seconds. No real words ever came out of the singer's mouth, just a gutteral string of vowels with the occasional f-bomb. Think "Master of Puppets" but without the genius talent and ten times faster and louder.

I loved it.

See, since Joe has left, I've quickly developed an eff-it attitude about what to do with my time. There's no longer a "Why am I here when I could be snuggled up on my couch with Joe?" thought running through my head at all times, pulling me back toward home.

So I was there. And I was determined to enjoy myself. What I found was that even with this loud, Adderall-filled music you begin to hear the nuances. So, you know when you turn on the radio and it's the middle of a Lady Gaga song or some such nonsense and at first you're like, "What fresh hell is this ruckus?" But give it a second of listening and you get into the rhythm of it? That was the deal with this music, too. You start tuning out the screeching and reverberations of too-much drum bouncing off the matte black walls and you start to hear the melody. And it's not that bad. But then you try to listen to the lyrics. And that's where it all goes all downhill.

My particular favorite song was from the opening band, a song we dubbed, "F-ck the bullsh-t" in which the lyrics were "F-ck f-ck f-ck, f-ck the bullsh-t." It was a deep song. I was amazed that we made out those words. Otherwise, words like "instigator" and "mashed potato" were completely indiscernible from one another. My second favorite song was the one about Mayor Rahm Emanuel being a mashed potato.

The singer for the opening band also kept dedicating his songs to other dude friends, with names like Kyle and Scott. You could tell he had never gotten a girl to listen to more than a second of his favorite music, let alone request a dedicated song to her.

I spent about an hour and a half listening to this music, observing, chuckling, legitimately enjoying the music at 4-second intervals. It was the kind of night that made me realize, I really need to let go and do stuff. Without that nagging thought in the back of my head that I would be happier at home. Sure, I was yawning despite the in-yo-face music because it was 11:30 on a school night and I am old. But I had a good time. I didn't need to feel like I fit in or like I was doing something accomplishing (although I knew I'd get a half-assed blog post out of it--AND HOW!) in order to have a good time. When my time lately has been spent watching movies and drinking wine or WISHING I was watching a movie and drinking wine, it was nice to remind myself that it's not the only way to be happy. I needed that.

Two Unrelated Things That Are Too Pointless For Their Own Blog Posts But Too Long For A Facebook Status Message

1. You know the saying "dress for the job you want, not the one you have?" Well I read somewhere long ago (likely YM or Seventeen Magazine) that you should dress as though you'll run into your ex that day. It was probably some article about how to move on after a break up, but I think about that concept every day that I ACTUALLY feel cute enough to run into my ex.

I especially think about it now because Monica told me that Teenage Boyfriend works within a few blocks from me. I don't know exactly where or what his schedule is, but I know he takes the Water Tower Express Bus, because she sees him on there all the time after work. I'm going to be straight with you: one day I was looking particularly awesome and I could have taken that bus, although a different route was shorter. I sat at work for like half an hour pondering if it was worth it. I finally decided to NOT be a crazy person--possibly for the first time in my life--and went with the other bus.

The thing is, I would LOVE to look cute enough at all times and feel confident enough to run into my ex. But that would be exhausting. I just can't be arsed (YEAH, I SAID IT) to care that much about how I look at all times. And sometimes, even when I'm trying to look good, I just don't. Sometimes my hair is doing a thing. Or I thought the shirt didn't have pit stains but in natural sunlight it most DEFINITELY does.

It is my lot in life that when I look in the mirror and think, "Daaamn, grrl. MMMMMnnn!" I will see no one of consequence that day. But the day when I go to the gym with no makeup, in bike shorts and a shirt from our college newspaper barcrawl where we decided it would be hilarious to write "Putting Out For Free 5 Times A Week" on the back...THAT is the day I will run into my ex. Him or Future Husband John Krasinski.

GOD, that shirt. WHY DON'T I JUST THROW IT AWAY?!?!?! (Oh right.)




2. I hurt. And I don't know if it's because I'm getting old or if it's some medical condition where my muscle is slowly all turning into bone like that one lady on Grey's Anatomy/House/whatever the hell doctor show that was on. But seriously, I cannot sit on a picnic blanket anymore. Actually, really, I cannot sit in any position that isn't either 90 or 180 degrees.

What the what?

I'm 26. And YOU ALL keep telling me that I'm in the prime of my life! I'm young! I'm healthy! I should be skydiving off of cliffs whilst doing jumping jacks! And yet...half an hour sitting cross-legged and I'm pretty sure all the cartilage in my knees have left and moved to my lower back. Also, I have an eerie amount of grey hair. I'm talking ER-era George Clooney, and in the same place, right at the temples. On him? Sexy. On me? Wirey and awkward. It used to be funny, all, "oh haha! A grey hair?! That's crazy because I am ever so young." Not anymore. It's time to start dying. And I do not have the money for this crap. I'm too young to have to constantly dye my hair! I don't even have a stable job yet!

Is this the way our society is moving? We'll finally have steady jobs and be moved out of our parent's basements and ready to have kids at 60? WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?! *shakes fist at neighborhood kids and puts dentures back in*

Honestly, if I'm supposed to be as malleable and springy as people older than me keep assuring, I think I may have a CONDITION. Like, I should go to the doctor or a masseuse and DEMAND that they make all these ailments go away. I bet Beyonce doesn't have to deal with this kind of thing. Then again, she run the world.

Book Smarts vs. Street Smarts

As I see it, my life so far looks like this:



What I'm trying to say is, you get smarter over time. To a degree.
For a while there, I was learning just as much at school as I was at home. I was learning cursive AND not to take candy from strangers. I was learning fractions AND how to say no to drugs (I still have yet to use the Broken Record strategy and I'd really like to, so if one of you guys could repeatedly offer me the marijuana cigarettes so I can turn you down over and over while using eye contact and a firm stance, I would appreciate it. And so would Officer Kveton.) And later I was learning about Pavlov at the same time I was learning that if you twist your ankle and then go out all night, you will not be able to fit socks onto your feet for a week.

And then I graduated. And I'm not exactly sure what happened. How much do I tip a cab driver? It gives me HIVES every time I have to do it. Drunk and it's a crapshoot. He either gets a 20 or nothing. THERE'S NO TIME FOR SUBTRACTION AT 2AM. When do you use a comma in grammar? I still, have no, idea.

But ask me about life situations. Relationships. Friendships. World events. Where are the good restaurants. And I'm your lady. Because that street smarts part just keeps on trucking. And thank God it does. Because, while the only time I use geography is to figure out which way is north, I'll be damned if I can't tell you the fastest public transportation route from Lakeview to Big Star. And yes, using fractions to figure out how many servings were in my tub o' yogurt was haaaarrrrrd. But I could walk through Trader Joe's blindfolded in order to get it.

So I guess it's okay that I'm not so much with the book learnin' any more. Because the longer these old bones age, the more I learn about life.

Speaking of which, do not sit on your ankles your whole life or you'll have the knees of an 80 year-old by the time you're 26.

Also take off your makeup at the end of the day or you'll have to fill your eye wrinkles in with caulk.

Potential Life Changes

I haven't really talked about what is going on in my life recently. This is because it is so MIGHTILY up in the air right now.

The deal is, Joe graduates in a few minutes (or like a month or two but you get it) and he's looking for work. And APPARENTLY the job market is a little touch-and-go at the moment OR SO I HEAR. So it's not a very stress-free process. And then throw ME into the mix and what do you get, boys and girls? Seven ulcers. That is what you get.

In my opinion, we've both been really good about taking each other into account when it comes to next steps for his job. Open-minded. I told him that if we have to move, we can. I'm not going to keep us cooped up in Chicago if that's not the right option--just because I'm afraid to leave. And in exchange, he gets to continue to date me. NO, no. ...Yes. NO! In exchange, he has to make sure we both approve of the city, and that it has good Advertising gigs so I don't have to become the next Real Housewife of Boise or something.

At first, the motto was "Chicago first, but if we must, maybe another city." But the more and more we talk about it, the more the motto changes to "F*ck it, let's do this."

Obviously nothing is set AT ALL. And Joe is trying hard for Chicago-based places. But if it has to happen, here are some of our current options, and why I'd be happy to move to any of them:

SAN FRANCISCO:


1. Francisco! That's fun to say.
2. Apparently the weather is constantly 50-70 degrees. SIGN. ME. UP. Plus, I can rock the light jacket like no body's BEESWAX.
3. It seems really laid back. And everyone I know there is really awesome. It must have some connection to the weather. People don't get cooped up for months on end, nor do they get irritated by constant boob sweat.
4. I do not have a Sassy Gay Friend. Maybe I could finally find one in San Fran.

SEATTLE:


1. Again with the laid back attitude.
2. I see your "it rains too much" and I raise you "It rains while you sleep or while you enjoy a nice cup of tea and a book on a lazy Sunday afternoon." Game set match.
3. Two of my aunts live near or around there. My aunts are super adorable.
4. Fresh fish at the fish market MIGHT mean I am able to choke down seafood.

PORTLAND:


1. I feel like Portland is like Seattle, but with less water and more hipsters.
2. In preparation for a potential move, I watched all the Portlandia episodes on Hulu and I have to say, Portland might just be the rich man's Wicker Park. And I love Wicker Park.
3. I could get a bike. I could get a bike and ride it around everywhere. And since everyone else has a bike, it would be way cooler and I would not fear for my life because people actually WATCH for bikers unlike SOME cities coughCHICAGOcough.
4. Joe and I could recreate the Oregon Trail and, as always, Hannah would get dysentery.

LOS ANGELES:


1. The constantly nice weather means I could get a scooter instead of a car and be like Jason Segal in I Love You, Man or like Zooey Deschanel in Yes Man. Basically any movie involving a scooter and ending in Man? That could be me.
2. I would be SIGNIFICANTLY closer to Future Husband John Krasinski. A plus for me, a negative for Joe. But these are the sacrifices we must make.
3. Higher potential for becoming famous. I assume everyone who lives in LA is famous, right?

So that's it. That's what's going on right now. Yes it is crazy. Yes it is frustrating not knowing for sure what city I'll be in within a few months. Yes I would be moving far away from my family and friends. Yes I have never lived outside Illinois. Yes it is creeping dangerously close to the end of our lease. Yes I need to go chug some Maalox right now.

On Becoming Boring

Last Saturday, I was grating cheese and apparently it was making a weird noise. From the living room, Joe asked, "What's Regina doing?" And I said, "It's me with the cheese."

And for some reason which neither of us understand and yet both of us understand completely, "It's me with the cheese" is actually the funniest sentence that can be uttered in the English language, especially in a 1920's gangster accent. "Mrah, it's me with the cheese, see?"

So naturally I drew a picture to commemorate the event with the fancy new colored pencils my mom--UH, UH, SANTA--put in my stocking.



And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what I accomplished last weekend.

Other things that happened last weekend:
1. I sat on my couch
2. I complained when the music was too loud at the bar (except during Call Me Al, which I think is acceptable at any level and I will fight you if you say otherwise. Also, Call Me Al is the first music video I ever remember seeing. I was at my preschool husband/big wheel cohort's house and I remember it being on in his front room TV and being like, "What is this magical thing presenting itself before me? I want to touch it." Wow I didn't realize I had this much to say about Call Me Al. BACK TO IT)
3. I left the bar early because of how loud all non-Paul Simon songs were.
4. I sat on Taylor and Jess' couch and watched a movie.
5. I sat on Michael and Lindsay's couch and watched sporting events.
6. I entertained a baby for a few minutes by saying "ba ba ba ba" over and over.

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am an old, boring person. And I'm okay with it.

I mean, at first I thought my weekend overview meant that all fun had been sucked out of my life and young hooligans would point and laugh at me for being so ver, ver boring. And then I realized that what I used to call "boring" was actually just "sober." And really all I've become is a more mature version of a teenager. Because what do I do now? I get together with friends and watch movies. I go out to eat. I find things to do with people I enjoy which may or may not involve alcohol. I sleep when it's dark out. I sing Cher "Believe" whenever possible. I complain about how adults JUST DON'T GET IT, MAN.

Okay, not the last one. And I don't think I ever said "man" because I was not a teenager in the 60s nor did I smoke peyote. But the rest is true. And that doesn't have to make me boring. Not if I don't let it. So fine, I currently have three forms of antacids in my purse. But it's only because I might get a little CRAZY and order some french fries! You don't know! You don't know what I'm going to do next!!

GOD, there is a really good Friends clip where the guys come back and they're all tired and old and it is SO PERFECT, but my Googling skills have failed me. So take this and enjoy, preferably in a t-shirt and sport coat.