Revive Me

I'm knee deep in three different lives right now. Music & Photography, Theatre, That Job. Stressed, tired and haggard. Driving home at 3am listening to Billy Bragg or Ryan Adams and not pulling into my apartment building because I want the freedom of riding through the night with my windows open and the music blaring probably a little too loudly to be winding through residential streets. Sometimes crying.

I hate my job, that's no secret, but I have no time to look for a new one. Days off quickly fill with photography or fringe assignments. Nights fill with anxiety dreams about showing up late to work one more time and getting canned. Late night texts to my NYC friends asking them to call me at EST to make sure I am up and out of bed at CST. I need to remind myself to eat because I'll have a bowl of cereal, maybe, hopefully some lunch and then all of a sudden it's 10pm and I haven't eaten anything since shoving that bowl of couscous down my throat while crouching behind the counter at work. Then, I'll see a banana or smell a pork chop cooking and all of a sudden I'll realize I'm really really hungry.

Soon, that fringe show will be done. Yeah, you better come to that fringe show. We've worked our ass off. Then, I will be done with theatre (maybe forever.) And I will sit down and send off my resume to any company that makes me feel like I actually am a valued employee. And I will find a new job and get that part time job I've always wanted. And I will do my Burlesque show which rehearses once a week. And I will work so hard that I can afford that $1400 lens I know will give me those shots I'm dying to get. And I will visit my home in Missouri and sit with my cat Ginger cause she isn't gonna live that much longer.

Jim asked me yesterday what my story was, whether or not I had a man, whether or not I wanted a man. I started speaking in tongues because I wasn't sure how to answer. (No, Aunt Barbara, I'm not a lesbian. I'm just 26 years old and way too independent for my own good. Or maybe I'm JUST 26 years old and don't need to bring a man home to the crazy farm just yet.)

Settling down is not my style. Right now. Maybe forever. I also know that someday I'll figure out how to let someone else really be a part of my life.

Right now. I am never home. I am working full time. I am shooting shows. I am going to shows. I am assisting a photographer. I am being sent to take portraits by myself which both scares and excites the shit out of me. I am working on a fringe show. I am creating Tipsy St. Swingsteen's next venture into Burlesquedom. I am texting my WonderTwin or eating enchiladas at 3am with new friends that are quickly becoming better friends. I am calling home regularly. I am unwinding right now by listening to music, editing photos and staying up way way too late.

I manage to get through this month by making an extra large cup of french press in the morning and laughing ridiculously with my friends during the day and seeing my music at night. During the songs, there are times that are so extraordinarily cathartic and joyous that I realize why I dedicate so much of my time to music. I stand dancing with my WonderTwin to Jesse Malin as he belts out Wendy. I stand with tears in my eyes as I listen to Jesse Malin in the middle of the Fine Line in the Middle of downtown Minneapolis. I love his songs, his stories, his awesome New York accent. I get choked up during Maria Isa's Puerto Rican hip-hop anthems at Babette's Bastille Days. "Don't cry," I tell myself. "Don't cry. You can't fucking cry during hip-hop in the middle of the broad daylight." But her beautiful, empowering chants wash over me and tears begin to fall down my cheeks. I drive by myself to the Turf Club and stand with my community as I listen to JoAnna James revive me all over again. I get grounded again as I sit in my safety spot to relax and shoot the Midsummer Hoot. I dance with Jim while sheepishly grinning during Tim O’Reagan. I don’t shoot every show. My camera sits still on my desk or my bed as I stand and tear up all by myself, with my friends, as I dance to Heiruspecs like the “white honkey bitch” I am. That's how I get through my week.

Jesse Malin @ The Fine Line 7-12-07


Maria Isa @ Barbette’s Bastille Day 7-15-07


JoAnna James @ The Turf Club's Revival Show 7-15-07


Davis Jones @ The Mad Ripple Hootenany 7-20-07


Tim O'Reagan @ The 400 Bar 7-20-07


Oh yeah. ButtPlug called me on Saturday and gave me some totally fucking awesome news. Flights for my precious were $180. A payment plan was working out. Which meant...which means...I AM GOING TO NEW YORK FUCKING CITY IN SEPTEMBER!! I'll get to see Spring Awakening. I'll be making a pit stop in Philly for two night cause...I'LL GET TO SEE FOUR FUCKING MARAH SHOWS!!!!! (I've already planned it: two to get shit-faced at and dance my ass off with my east coast concert crew and two to shoot at with my fancy camera and dance my ass off with my east coast concert crew.) I'll get to be ridiculous with my Doppleganger. I'll get to see my Cliff. I'll get to stay up all night with my ButtPlug and my Shaly. I'll get to wander the streets of a city I love with all my heart.



I never get sick of that video.

My heart is racing just thinking about that trip.

In September, I am moving (to a new apartment.) One of my best friends is moving (to Germany.) In September, Brucey is/better be coming out with a new album. In September, I'll have a new job. In September, I'll sleep more, eat more well rounded meals, date more (yeah right...god I hate dating,) dance more, exercise more, write more, take more photos. In September, I'll fall further in love with Minneapolis. In September, I'm pretty sure I won't have settled down at all.