*Trump walks to center stage, his nose breath audible, a singular light shines down on him*
~the piano tickles to life~
The price of my win is not a price that they’re willing to pay.
I say some gross shit
now I’m fighting with feminists, hey
I’m still huge.
Republicans made an arrangement and I’m gonna stay,
You’re mine to abuuuuuse.
And in spite of my loss
I have got a small query for you-
What Comes Next?
Experience is not what this country needs.
You think you know,
you’re wrong, POW!
NRA and Putin take a bow.
We’ll build a waaaaall!
Life wasn’t hard with daddy on the call.
But she’ll win,
even though people say they hate her…
they won’t give consent. To. Me.
Da da da da da
Da da da da doooouchebag
I’m a dou-ou-ou-oooouchebaaaaag.
Well, Moma… it’s your birthday. OH MY GOSH YOU DIDN’T KNOW? Sure is, and my pleasure as your middle kiddo is to ensure you feel a burst a love today.
I know I normally write a little status but what I have to say today goes a little longer and you deserve a blog post of your own.
So, fuck. I’m so proud of you. What you have done with your life is down right amazing and I’m not sure how aware you are of this fact. I look around at the life I’ve built for myself and I know the foundation, I never have to test its sturdy platform, I’ll never second guess the support it offers. Your support.
You see, I can accomplish anything with the support you’ve given me. The creative channels you’ve kept alive and satiated have grounded me on a path that never surprises me.
What surprises me and fluffs my heart all up is the fact you’ve done the same for yourself without that support. From the get go you’ve had to lift yourself up, take what is given without being told you’re worth more, clock in clock out in a world you knew wasn’t yours but who was there to tell you otherwise? I’ve always been hyper aware of the fact that you wanted more with your life. I watched you make classroom crafts, drill team knick knacks, my ballerina ice cream cone cupcakes have been seared into my memory because “Wow, look what moma made for me!”
I wondered for many years why you couldn’t just do those things for your job. I was pulled through thrift stores dreading what threads we’d find but there was no denying with what appetite you walked through those stores. I hated the clothes, but you were so convincing I walked out with a silver metallic velvet long sleeve shirt. Your love of the place, the hunt, the spark in your eye… This was your world.
And now you’ve got that world in the palm of your hand.
So as it sits there, a new lil bud on the stem of your life, know this- You have my support. You have Clay’s support. You have Travis and Caitlin’s support. You have a community of like minded people’s support. The one person responsible for nurturing your life who didn’t step up to the task will never amount to the family YOU made that lifts you up and showers you in love.
You are a stubborn, opinionated woman but believe this stubborn, opinionated spawn of yours when she says, You are loved beyond measure and you are supported by the sturdiest minds that you yourself nurtured.
I love you so damn much. Happy Happy Birthday🙂
Foreword By Erin Wakefield (my best friend for every life we have):
I want you to close your eyes.
Close your eyes and imagine a world where the love of your life marries someone else. Then imagine that you see your soul mate’s spouse out in public, at a bar. What do you do? Get real? Tell him/her that they have your life and it isn’t fair? Or go the classy route, nod, smile, and move on.
This is the world Erika Anne Lindsey was living in July of 2014 while at a bar watching the World Cup in New York. There Lily Aldridge sat with some friends, having a drink. Erika had a decision to make, tell Lily the truth about the future – that Erika and Caleb were going to be together, or let the moment pass and wait for destiny to do its work. The first option would only upset Lily and Caleb by proxy. Erika could never hurt Caleb, so she did what only a person TRULY in love would do, she took a deep breath and acted as if this were just another day, in just another bar, filled with just another group of people.
Thank you, Erin. I humbly accept your declaration that I’m the best person in the world. But enough about me, let’s discuss my bottom bro Caleb and his familial crew of southern badasses with humor and guitar pickin’ skills.
The idea behind her foreword was to lay the base of my 12 year relationship with Kings of Leon (not to display an usual attraction to a lead singer, Lily❤ Caleb 4 eva). I may not have always dug a direction and many times grit my teeth against cancelled shows…literally anytime I got pit tix **weeps openly**…my love for them stuck stubbornly in place. Sure, there are some albums I don’t listen to, but from the moment I heard Taper Jean Girl, from the first tingle of Red Morning Light, from being challenged to sing Joe’s Head in total off the cuff (and in a Caleb voice for extra points), from screeching Trani anytime I can, from the eye rolls of friends because they really thought I’d get over this band by now (no fucking chance)…
These guys are my soul. They marked the sound of my first adult adventure and relocation, from Texas to New York at 18. They matched my steps to class, to work, in my dead sprint to catch a subway. They blared from my dorm room, people told other students they could find me by the sound of Milk coming from behind my door. This is not just a band, this is the band that I have grown with.
And the growing pains were well worth it with the release of WALLS.
The slender, choppy, southern grit of a boy finding music has broadened into a man that can take his time, to be a Waste A Moment crooner.
I have felt a lot of things listening to their albums, certain songs dredge up that feel 19 feeling, the parties that went too late, the angst of feeling like I don’t belong, hell… even that fight with religion. Their lyrics blanket huge aspects of my life and no matter how long I listen, that’ll never change.
But with songs like WALLS, Muchacho… a new dynamic has emerged, from finding your groove (and yourself) to losing someone you love (shout out to making me cry on the subway, bros). I can’t write anymore about Muchacho without crying more, but hands down my favorite song on the album.
The singles, Around the World and Waste A Moment, are not only prime for radio but have that flare of quirk that’s easy to catch in their rapport with each other, with a shout to the imagination it takes to survive southern summers in the woods as kids (curated by an adult).
I was insanely pleased to catch lil throwbacks in songs like Eyes on You, with the melody so on point for 90’s country during “If you don’t like it, then try it.” that I immediately became a heart eyes emoji for my Texas youth. And on the other side of that coin, sits Over with a lower croon mirroring the gloom of a 90’s pop rock song.
All in all, this album is as perfectly coiffed and quirky as the branding that went into it. They’ve had many jams but I think it’s safe to say they grew into one awesome groove.
But if I could just address the band themselves for a moment:
Boys… I could say mouths more of my love for this album. YOUR album. YOUR band. I know the likelihood of you seeing this is slim, but thank you. Thank you for pushing through and allowing me to grow up with you. Thank you for the deaf cab rides back to my apartment after your shows. Thank you for the music that has become the constant vibration in my head and heart.
I know it’s sappy, but your music is “my favorite friend of all.”
Love you, dudes.
Haven’t we all come to the conclusion that clowns no longer make a sensible costume to try and lure children into the woods with? Or just like, just a sensible ploy to try and get kids to trust you at all?
I just had the pleasure of reading a recent story in which
a clown or a person dressed in clown clothing
is trying to lure children into the woods. Well, I mean, first off we have some detective work to do like, is it JUST a person in clown clothes? Or is it a born clown? We need to know.
And ok sure, it’s not a “pleasure” to read this per se but you should see some of the shit these Clown or Clown Imposters came up with. It’s the worst list of “How to Lure a Child” ever and I believe it looks something similar to:
Step 1: Don a Clown costume (Not to be confused with – Don, a Clown costume which is the name of my personal costume)
Step2: Move around in said costume to ensure optimum comfortability and then grab some knives and money.
Step3: Master weird noises and your “but i have some candy” voice
Step4: Go into the woods and wait.
Step5: Check once more you have the knives and money, kids love that shit.
Step6: See a kid? OH MAN HERE IT GOES! Wield your knife and yell very loudly that you have candy and then maybe even laugh a little with crazy eyes.
Step7: Repeat all steps again if you’re having trouble procuring a child.
Understandably, the non-clown residents of Greenville, SC are a lotta disturbed. One woman’s concern:
It doesn’t make no sense that they would be targeting kids,” Donna Arnold said.
Well, Donna… you’re right, it doesn’t make no sense. But only it does, because it’s as cliche as a southern person saying “it doesn’t make no”. The question here, Donna and everyone else, is WHY they think this is effective for what I assume is a very comical child sacrifice they’re prepping for.
Donna’s husband felt it appropriate to, in respect to his community, clear up the type of area they live in:
We talk to them constantly [about stranger danger] because this is a bad neighborhood, but nothing like this has happened,” James Arnold said. “This is one of the neighborhoods where guys are walking around carrying guns, but we’ve had no clowns before.
Thanks for clearing that up, sir. I’m not terrified beyond my very rational fear of clowns now.
But apparently, this ‘clown thing’ doesn’t stop at children. Look at the harassment this woman faced:
An unidentified neighbor is mentioned in the sheriff’s report as having seen a clown when she was walking to her house at 2:30 a.m. in the morning of Aug. 21. “[She] saw a clown with a blinking nose, standing under a post light near the garbage dumpster area,” read the incident report. “She stated the suspect waved at her and she waved back while she made her way to her residence safely. The suspect did not approach her or harm her.”
The question here is what was this woman doing out alone at 230am, especially with clowns loose in the area. Had something happened to her, I think we can ALL agree it was probably bc she was dressed very scantily. Or maybe EFFING CLOWNS ARE JUST LOITERING IN GREENVILLE AND THAT’S EFFING SCARY AS FUCK.
Per the sherrif’s report, multiple children believe the clowns (yes plural, residents have seen up to 10 at once) live in a house at the end of a man made trail nearby…which conjures many questions but the first being, are they always dressed like clowns while lounging around this house? And also, um, dafuq you know where a whole gaggle of clowns live, kids?
I’m getting away from myself, basically Forest Clowns, lay off the kids. That’s fucked up, you’ll go to jail for attempted kidnapping even if you’re just trying to teach them about their future adult life and how horrifying it is in some weird southern art installation.
And honestly, you seem dedicated. So switch up the costumes, Party City has a bevy of hilarious costumes to wear so Buzzfeed writes an article about your apparent attempts at child thievery.
Enter me, it’s 7:32pm on a muggy Monday night and the apartment is quiet upon my entrance. No, “Mommy! Mommy!” from a child, no “RUHRUHRUHRUHRUH!” from the other furrier child… No “Hello!” from the SO.
Everything is amiss.
Where are they? What happened? Were the aliens gentle in taking my whole family away? Will I ever see them again? What am I having for dinner? So many questions, the weird energy in the apartment is bountiful.
And then pops the SO from the bathroom, he sees my face and even though I think I’m neutral he suddenly says, “Nothing happened but…”
I pop an eyebrow and immediately stomp into the living room to see my child, completely naked, sitting in her stuffed chair, shirt dangling from her hand. Rosie sits avoiding eye contact on the couch, suddenly a fiber of the sofa is fascinating to her.
“What happened?” I asked the room, Rosie chooses not to respond. Corina tries to put her head through the arm hole of her shirt.
“I had just taken the fan apart and started the bathwater to clean it off when i heard the door close so I thought you had just come home. But then I don’t see Rosie…or hear her bark at you. And then the door opens again and there’s Corina, naked in the doorway. Rosie was still in the hallway.”
POP ALL OF THE EYEBROWS.
My daughter, apparently ready to join nature with her dog sister in tow, had walked right out of the apartment. Sure, she walked right back in realizing maybe nature (my old apartment building hallway) could wait until she could make well rounded cognitive decisions. Sure, she left Rosie in the hallway probably because Rosie orchestrated this whole thing and is trying to escape our love and medical attention on her infected eyeball. Sure, we should have boarded up any exit in our apartment the second we saw the crazy spark of independence in Cori’s lil baby eye years ago.
But we didn’t.
So my daughter was given a taste of true freedom, decidedly in her birthday suit. Thank God no unsuspecting tenants rounded the stairs to see a small naked child with wild eyes and a winking dog, because what horror movies aren’t made from that kind of scene?
And now we live behind always locked doors.
Until she finds out how to unlock 3 deadbolts.
Or climb from her window to see a boy (hopefully clothed…for awhile anyway).
Or sneak into the garage for Dad’s car.
Or gets the keys to unlock her first apartment.
K, I’m gonna go cry now. AMIRITE?