Woke 8 bells to sound Tuesday heading out for a photoshoot. For all my joking—videos of me dropping alka seltzer and writing shit like “Los Angeles! Come Sneeze into my hands tonight!”—I now definitely have some sort of bug. It’s a bug that’s been going between both vans; it started with Marissa, and then Cheyenne got something, then Mike was working through some sickness, and now me. Great. This sucks. I’m sure constantly getting stuck in the rain last night didn’t help, nor did whatever cold air was blowing through the crash pad I take advantage of the early rise and take a hot shower, but not before texting Roxy for a potential breakfast before heading to San Diego. Shower is long and fruitful but I’m definitely sniffling. Roxy checks in and we meet up for coffee and breakfast. I’ve known her for years, but this is the first time we’ve met. I’ve always known she was a funny, brilliant maniac, but in her presence, I’m completely overwhelmed by how comfortable our rapport is. We talk about dating, complicated relationships, California living vs. New York living, comedy, and our network of mutuals. I’m pretty smitten. Like, I’ve always been fond of her, but in her presence I’m totally hung up on our rapport and would love to have more time to hang around them. I have no idea if it’s a crush or just a platonic hangover…they feelings are pretty synonymous. Whatever, I’ll never do anything about it because no one is interested in me, and no one wants to smooch Sowley (which is totally okay…it’s just facts) and I’m plenty fine with keeping things on a strictly platonic level; god forbid anyone have a crush on my disaster ass because if I find out someone has a crush on me, I will assume it’s a prank and do everything in my power to poke holes in the logic of someone having a crush on me.
The band is over at our friends Tara and Sara’s house. Normally we stay with them in Los Angeles, but they had a baby this year and babies and the late night lifestyles of rockers do not mix at night. In the daytime though they’re quite similar: someone needs to go potty, someone is hungry, someone is surely crying, and someone probably almost died in their sleep but isn’t going to talk about it. I peek over Tara’s shoulder and see baby Cleo. She has such a cute face and I can’t help but coo-coo at her and make goofball faces until she starts smiling and giggling.
“I want a baby,” I assertively mumble while looking up the nearest weed dispensary on my phone. Never let them say your gurl doesn’t know how to prioritize.
We say goodbye to Tara and Sara; gawwwd, what a cute and kind duo. I’m so happy they decided to build a family together. Nothing but a big heart of goodness for them. Dip into the dispensary to cop a couple grams for the remainder of our California run. Stoner Cold—I make so many jokes about the stoner cold while on tour, like I’m better than that, but clearly I’m not.
Short drive to San Diego, so it’s an easy haul down there. We pull off just outside of San Diego, and the gang hits up the planet fitness while I rest my eyes. “maybe I just need more rest?” No such luck. I feel like dogfood, and there’s no end in sight. Maybe my life is just *this* from now on. We make it to San Diego with a little time to kill. There are so many scooters on each corner. Stupid fucking things—“oh here’s some trash I can just throw anywhere when I’m done. I don’t need to do any sort of accountability within the confines of traffic rules on these things! I’ll just cruise around like a dipshit and maybe I’ll crash into a car or hurt someo—“ and wouldn’t you know it, Marissa has charged one up and is out on the town. She has the biggest grin on her face as she pushes away.
We find her about twenty minutes later and walk over to The Casbah. The Casbah is a sort of legendary club in the city. Certainly one of the longest lasting venues here. I’ve had friends that worked there and toured through it and they all had nothing but positive feelings toward the space. Very curious what tonight will be like. Part of the venue is outdoors, and we are directly under the flight path to the airport, so every five or ten minutes a plan flies frighteningly close to us.
We walk around and end up at a bougie mexican joint for dinner. The food is exceptional, the margarita, so-so. Marissa doesn’t know how to flirt, or go on a date. The subject comes up in a roundabout way, but we are at this point where Marissa doesn’t know how to talk on a date. “There’s nothing to it, you’re basically just asking questions and listening; but you have to listen, so you know where to go with the conversation. Here, try me.”
“Okay…hey Sowley, do you like punk music?”
“Do I like punk music? I do, but I like weird punk; I tend to get drawn—“
“Do you like guys screaming?”
“I don’t think so, I think I’ve had my fill of du—“
“Do you like Madball?”
“You aren’t letting them answer your questions” interjects Jarrett. “Give em some space.”
“Yeah, space, then let the conversation flow. I don’t really like Madball. Do you like madball?”
Then I started asking her questions about art, and her influences, really simple stuff I think anyone would want to learn about someone on a date. It really not that hard, you just have to come out of your shell a bit.
Back at the venue, Marissa takes a nap, and the remaining three of us play a couple rounds of cut throat. Corrie from Kitten Forever’s parents are in town for their second show tonight and are such nice, supportive people. They rented a beach house in Newport, about an hour away in any direction from our remaining southern California shows, so KF will crash there for the next couple days. People start milling in. I forget that there’s a lot of military in San Diego, which could explain the conservative streak that runs through this city. Mittens kicked the night off right with some cool and funky pop rock, not unlike B-52s. Super jangly and sassy. Kitten Forever blasted through their set hard. They are truly a force to be reckoned with. Screaming Females didn’t drop the ball either with a furious set of true rock. I peer in from the back where I’m stationed with merch; Marissa is letting into a heavy solo when she looks up, somehow sees me, and gives me a thumbs up. So strange but I’m amused.
The San Diego punk band The Touchies offered us their place to crash, but not before we hit a walgreens so I can score some nasal decongestant spray and some cold pills. Hate being sick on tour, and yet it almost always happens. I honestly can’t believe it didn’t happen during the spring tour because that bug was thick! Back at the house of Touchies, we settle around the living room, and play chess, drink beers, and gossip. Jarrett sets his sleep pad and bag along the floor.
“You’re sleeping there?” asks Mike
“Yes” replies Jarrett, already down on the mat and about to sleep.
“Cool,” and just as Mike says that he accidentally hits the air spout on Jarretts pad and deflates it. Total accident, but we all start laughing. Jarrett inflates his pad again, and we are all in our respective sleeping spaces. The lights are off. Jarrett gets up, walks over to where Mike is sleeping.
“Hey I need to grab that thing out of my bag,” and with perfect comedic timing (drummers) he opens the nozzle to Mikes pad and deflates it. Sweet revenge before a sweet slumber.