I Left My Dignity In El Segundo

Today was good times at the beach in El Segundo with Britt and Courtney.

I remember sitting at a stoplight with the windows down and belting out "Anything, Anything" with Britt and Court at the top of my lungs and making the surrounding drivers nice and uncomfortable. Then I think it was "Hopelessly Devoted To You". Classic. I recall being really intoxicated, leaving the bar alone to try and find Mexican food, and getting lost in a 3-block radius. Finding the place, handing the carry-out menu back to the guy and just saying "I'm too drunk for this, it's too much. I just want taquitos. Please, please help me."

Woke up with sand in my hair and a little umbrella stuck in my trucker hat I was wearing, thrown into a pile next to the bed with my swimsuit and all personal belongings I had today. Somehow I managed to put on a clean shirt before I collapsed into bed. Seriously, a little umbrella stuck in my hat and a bikini next to my bed, passing out drunk. Like it's was fucking spring break in Miami or something. I'm probably on some Girls Gone Wild, Los Angeles edition somewhere. Yikes. My head hurts. Oh I just looked to the right in bed and found a little plastic monkey- some decorative shit they hang from the edges of fish-bowl size booze concoctions found exclusively at tiki bars. Surprise.

I should definitely wash my hair tomorrow. It's been 8 days and I have a 4-day-rule when engaged in any activities involving swimming or spilling whiskey on myself. That was 7 and 5 days ago, respectively. Mmmmmmm. BTW this is one of a billion reasons I do not have a boyfriend.

Valet Please

Today, I was in front of my friend Brant's house attempting to park my scooter while wearing platform sandals.

I couldn't get the kickstand locked in place because I wasn't pulling the scooter up by the handles hard enough. This rarely happens because I've got it down to a science (even in my Coach heels), but today it was not working for some unknown reason.

So I yanked harder. Too hard. Bike yanked BACK but not UP and just slammed into pretty much exactly where my vagina used to be but is now possibly just a giant bruise with no discernible features.


Stay classy, Daj!

My Closest Friend, Linoleum.

I finally got this video onto YouTube so people can see it. This might have been the raddest moment of my life. Sounds a little dramatic for just one song on a porch with a half-dozen people and a bunch of beer- but it captured the best day I've had in a long time with some seriously amazing friends, as well as brings me back like 12 years when I first walked around singing this song. I'm really glad somebody (Brittney?) picked up the camera and caught it on tape.

That would be Sunday afternoon jam-session at Jen and Dean's Huntington Beach house, after waking up in a hammock tied to a palm tree.

God, I miss California.

Tour Update- Pueblo, CO

Arizona is a hell-hole and I hate it and I will never go back to that state ever again. Unless it's to visit my friends Ben and Katie. Other than that, the state of Arizona can piss up a rope. It was a hundred thousand degrees outside every day, the shows were a fiasco, and for every super rad person we met, we had to deal with 100 complete douchebag idiots. Thanks, no thanks Arizona. Peace out.

Just so you know, Tempe Arizona to Pueblo Colorado is 11 hours and 19 minutes according to Google Maps.

We left Tempe last night at 8:15 PM. I drove for eight hours and Guil took over for another three. Then I drove another four. We finally fucking got here at 1:15 PM. That's fifteen hours.

In the last 36 hours, I have experienced the following:

- 1 hot and miserable (thankfully last) day in Arizona
- 1 trip with Luke and Guil out to the river in the desert (photos pending)
- 1 bird-bath in a Jack-In-The-Box bathroom, a move which was originally executed exclusively to rid my body of all the river sand stuck to the sunscreen on every inch of my skin BUT turned into me basically taking a full shower, including shaving my legs in the sink. Yeah, you heard me. What?
- 1 lengthy argument about directions
- 1 camera bag saturated with a half gallon of water (fml)
- 1 near-fight at a gas station
- 1 subway sandwich for lunch
- 1 packet of lunch meat and string cheese for dinner
- 2 packs of cigarettes
- 3 gas stops
- 5 Diet Dr. Peppers
- 5 hours of sleep
- 7 full cycles of Flexx Bronco's, My Life in Black and White's, Get Dead's and All Bets on Death's albums
- 25 repeats of Dramarama's "Anything Anything" (sorry, guys).
- 35 miles per hour up an insane elevation change between Tempe and Flagstaff. Sea-level to 7000 feet in less than 150 miles. That was totally fucking crazy and we spent an eternity in second gear trying to get the van up the mountain.
- 800 total miles
- Like 17 gallons of Vitamin Water


I will admit that I DID almost kill all of us at the beginning of our drive by nearly merging into a semi. But SERIOUSLY I did not see him in the rear-view or the blind-spot mirror, he had no running lights, and I'm blaming half that shit on him.

I was initially driving the first long shift because I wanted to watch Large Marge McSwervesalot (which I've named the van until she gets properly christened) hit the epic 400,000 mile mark on the odometer. Who the hell else is driving down the highway with nearly a half MILLION miles on their car???

Anyway, I sat there anxiously watching the dash. This is what I saw happen:

399,999.7

399,999.8

399,999.9

300,000.0


. . . "Guil, where the fuck did you get this van? I think we just went 100,000 miles back in time."

I'm totally serious. This van probably DOES have a million miles on it, but every time it's about to accurately switch digits it just jumps back to 300,000. Awesome!

We're in Pueblo now and I took a shower and a short nap and I feel like a brand new person.

My New Vice has a show tonight and is playing a wedding tomorrow at which we will all get very, very wasted. Then guess what? We get to drive home! From Pueblo! All in one stretch because everybody apparently has to work Monday.

Guess how far it is from Pueblo to Portland?
24 hours.
Yep.
(Google maps says 19, everyone in Pueblo says 24 at the absolute fastest.)

Here we go.

Tour Update - San Diego

Got to San Diego the night before last, delirious from lack of medication, food and sleep and excess of alcohol. Was literally unable to complete sentences or basic tasks and actually cried because I couldn't do anything. Luke got me food and I was fine in like 3 minutes. I'm an idiot.

Left San Diego this afternoon after seeing my family for a hot minute while the boys got drunk and sunburned in Ocean Beach.

Went down some seriously scary mountain roads. Had a belligerent semi driver try and pass us and his rear tire blew out right as he did it. Fuckin rocked our van damn near off the road and probably over a ten thousand foot cliff.

Got stopped by Arizona border patrol who opted to tear the van apart, complete with dogs, while we were individually searched. Smiley pulled about 35 cigarette butts out of his pocket, at which point I completely lost my shit and almost cried laughing. They didn't find anything, to their great dismay, because apparently My New Vice is the only rock band they've seen without drugs in their whip or on their person. Haha. Suckers.

Got like 10 blocks from our Phoenix destination and drove past a seriously gnarly accident, complete with a dead body.

Luke was a stress case, obviously, because he drove the whole way.
Luke, pissed: "Dude, if we idle here we're gonna fuckin overheat."
Damien, smartass: "Luke needs coolant ."

My road rash wounds and body-wide bruises are painful and ugly and gross and definitely gonna leave some marks. Luke just walked by and said I look like I got attacked by a fucking shark.

Smiley is sitting next to me, wasted and blogging on my laptop. He's reading it outloud and I'm cracking up. Go read the My New Vice blog. Its worth it. Before he sobers up tomorrow and makes some courteous adjustments to his current shit-talk.

We're at Ben's house in Phoenix. I think we'll be here for a few days. Hopefully we don't die of heat stroke.




Thanks for the injuries, LA.

And They're Off

The boys left today on tour. I stood in the driveway and marveled at their Tetris-caliber aptitude for stacking and packing too much shit into the van, then hooked them up with some important commodities like speakers and a radar detector for the ride, then threw some of my own stuff in there I don't need for the next week and/or can't/don't want to take on the airplane. Then I watched them drive off into the sunset. Or sunbeams. It was still daytime, so sunbeams.

I'm flyin' into Las Vegasland on the 10th to meet them, then I'm driving the rest of the tour. Vegas, Anaheim, LA, Torrence, San Diego, Scottsdale, Phoenix, Flagstaff, Pueblo, then home on the 21st. In a windowless mid-90's Ford Econoline rapist van with no air conditioning.






This is gonna be awesome.

Goddamn DMV

I had every intention of being productive today, but then I went to the DMV.

I have no idea why anybody bothers bombing federal buildings and abortion clinics when there are at LEAST four fucking DMV offices in each major city.

$185 and I've got a title, registration and a license for this scooter.
$160 and I've got keys for this fucking scooter.
$75 and I've got insurance for this motherfucking scooter.

Oh yay, now I can drive(ish). For the record though, I've gotten really good at takin' that bitch around corners. Zoooooooooomzoomzoom.

Famous last words.

Watch out, world. My scooter's gonna blow you away.

Get Dead Weekend

Get Dead came up to Portland last weekend to play some shows and attend Dylan (of My Life In Black & White) and Catherine's wedding.

April 18th Show @ Angelo's
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157617325135862/

April 19th Show @ Ash Street Saloon
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spitfirehussy/sets/72157617104958724/



















Etc.


125 more photos in the albums. Best weekend ever. Holler.

Vigilantics Album Release

My friend Raf is having his album release party at the Crown Room in Portland this upcoming Saturday. I'll be singing a track with him while I'm there. Gonna be a good time with good people and rad shit. Come hang out.


http://www.myspace.com/rafaelvigilantics




Graphic design for the flier by JK, model photo shot by me.

Ass Cheek Chemical Burn

I got a chemical burn on my ASS last night. Are you ready for this one?
So after the show at the Jolly Inn I was hanging out with Brody and his girlfriend Maliah. We decide that before we head back to my house we're going to go get something to eat, so I suggest Zack's Hotdog Shack on Hawthorne. Awesome, brilliant idea, good on ya, Dajah. We get there, order our food and I slide into a booth. I immediately realize the seat is wet. Not like, one part of the seat but the WHOLE seat. What the fuck. Why would there be water all over it? Ugh. I stand back up, grab a bunch of napkins to dry off the spot I was sitting and also to dry off my ass. Obviously I was wearing a mini-skirt and fishnets so my actual skin was wet.

Just about as soon as I'm done being annoyed by this, I realize that the very top of my left thigh is burning like crazy. Right under my ass, and it's getting worse and worse. It gets to a point where I strip down and take off my fishnets right there at the table, then go to the bathroom to check it out. Giant red mark. I go talk to the bartender and I'm like, "Yo, I'm not filing a complaint here because I know this sounds crazy, but I swear I'm not drunk. Something was on your seat and now my leg is apparently on fire. I don't have sensitive skin, I'm not being melodramatic, seriously there was something there that just burned my leg." He thinks I'm an idiot and says they don't use any chemical cleaning supplies, maybe I just sat in some hot sauce.

So somebody smeared fucking Aardvark sauce ALL over the entire seat?

That's the only explanation. A table full of drunk jackassed idiots were sitting there before us, and I don't know if it was an intentional act of terrorism or some freak accident, but I am not kidding when I say that my leg hurt so bad I could have CRIED.

I came home to a house full of boys and regaled them with my sad story. Nate and everyone else called bullshit and assumed I was drunk. Untill I re-positioned my leg for the livingroom to see and then everyone was like, "whoa, shit, there's something wrong with you."

Who gets a chemical burn from hot sauce?

It's me. Thanks.