i wrote this entry in my classroom earlier today.
i have so many fucking feelings about seeing the dresden dolls in boston last night.
Right now I am sitting at my desk in my classroom; the girls are in drama class. Last night I skipped out early & I drove Heathcliff to rew’s apartment, got lost on the way to davis train station, & then made it to park street. Rew & I (& allen) stood in the audience & watched our favorite band. I still knew almost all the words; my tongue slipped a few times. We got home around one; went to bed around two. I woke up at six & drove back to New Bedford, walking into OSS at twenty past eight. I had class at eight thirty. The girls noticed the blue stamp on my hand (too blurred to read, thankfully; it said “AGE VERIFIED”) & the neon green paper strip I had forgotten to remove from my wrist. “Did you go clubbing last night, Ms. Dolce?” they teased & I said no, no, I saw my favorite band.
I am exhausted, but it was worth it.
The Dresden Dolls were my favorite band in high school, & they were my first real concert. We saw them at Toad’s Place, & it was so packed that I actually sat up on the stage, near Amanda’s keyboard. My mom drove me & Rew & Kelsey & Becky. I had pink streaks in my hair. I was too shy to ask Amanda for an autorgraph, tongue & terrified when she was nearby. My mom urged me forward & said “Krissy, she si right there! You can ask her!” Amanda raised her eyebrows at me, & I squeaked out “HI CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH” in a voice octaves higher than usual. She signed my cd. I still have that.
This concert, this final show (because are they ever touring again? I don’t think so) felt like a love letter, like an ode, to the little girl I was. That sounds rich, I’m sure, coming from the mouth of a baby twenty-two year old, but it’s true.
After all that shit happened with sean, I was so pissed at myself. I was so, so, so angry, & disappointed, & hurt. How could I let that happen to me? ME? I’m smart. I know better. How could I be so fucking - so unbelievably stupid? My therapist told me I had to forgive myself, that it was okay that I had made mistakes, that it wasn’t me who had done all of those bad things. So I wrote some journal entries to my younger self. I said, it’s okay. I said, I love you. I imagined myself as I am (mohawked, doc martens, righteous feminist rage) holding myself at seventeen (long haired, silly smile, those fake-leather combat boots with the buckles). So this concert was a love letter to sixteen, seventeen year old Krissy & Rew, little girls with our matching long hair & our first boyfriends.
The songs suddenly made a lot more sense. I had loved them as a teenager, but oh man, I could feel them now. When they sang “Delilah,” that song about a girl who lets a boy use & abuse her over & over, I could feel the tension between Rew & I. Oh yes, we both know about that, now. When Amanda sang “She’s the kind of girl who leaves out condoms on the bedroom dresser/Just to make you jealous of the men she fucked before you met her,” I realized that I have condoms on my bedroom dresser. And what a girl I bring home might think about that. I was a virgin the last time I heard that song sung live. I had only kissed three boys.
Amanda & Brian performed beautifully- but Rew was right. They didn’t look at each other. Their songs were powerful, they were powerful, but the magic of their rock love wasn’t quite there. They have grown up, & I have grown up, & Amanda is engaged to my favorite high-school author, & they have been going their own things, & sometimes I guess people grow apart.
I wonder what happened between those two. I always said that I hoped they weren’t a couple, because then the music would last longer. Whatever was between them, it was powerful. And relationships with power can be so painful.
Right now I am sitting at my desk in my classroom; the girls are in drama class. Last night I skipped out early & I drove Heathcliff to rew’s apartment, got lost on the way to davis train station, & then made it to park street. Rew & I (& allen) stood in the audience & watched our favorite band. I still knew almost all the words; my tongue slipped a few times. We got home around one; went to bed around two. I woke up at six & drove back to New Bedford, walking into OSS at twenty past eight. I had class at eight thirty. The girls noticed the blue stamp on my hand (too blurred to read, thankfully; it said “AGE VERIFIED”) & the neon green paper strip I had forgotten to remove from my wrist. “Did you go clubbing last night, Ms. Dolce?” they teased & I said no, no, I saw my favorite band.
I am exhausted, but it was worth it.
The Dresden Dolls were my favorite band in high school, & they were my first real concert. We saw them at Toad’s Place, & it was so packed that I actually sat up on the stage, near Amanda’s keyboard. My mom drove me & Rew & Kelsey & Becky. I had pink streaks in my hair. I was too shy to ask Amanda for an autorgraph, tongue & terrified when she was nearby. My mom urged me forward & said “Krissy, she si right there! You can ask her!” Amanda raised her eyebrows at me, & I squeaked out “HI CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH” in a voice octaves higher than usual. She signed my cd. I still have that.
This concert, this final show (because are they ever touring again? I don’t think so) felt like a love letter, like an ode, to the little girl I was. That sounds rich, I’m sure, coming from the mouth of a baby twenty-two year old, but it’s true.
After all that shit happened with sean, I was so pissed at myself. I was so, so, so angry, & disappointed, & hurt. How could I let that happen to me? ME? I’m smart. I know better. How could I be so fucking - so unbelievably stupid? My therapist told me I had to forgive myself, that it was okay that I had made mistakes, that it wasn’t me who had done all of those bad things. So I wrote some journal entries to my younger self. I said, it’s okay. I said, I love you. I imagined myself as I am (mohawked, doc martens, righteous feminist rage) holding myself at seventeen (long haired, silly smile, those fake-leather combat boots with the buckles). So this concert was a love letter to sixteen, seventeen year old Krissy & Rew, little girls with our matching long hair & our first boyfriends.
The songs suddenly made a lot more sense. I had loved them as a teenager, but oh man, I could feel them now. When they sang “Delilah,” that song about a girl who lets a boy use & abuse her over & over, I could feel the tension between Rew & I. Oh yes, we both know about that, now. When Amanda sang “She’s the kind of girl who leaves out condoms on the bedroom dresser/Just to make you jealous of the men she fucked before you met her,” I realized that I have condoms on my bedroom dresser. And what a girl I bring home might think about that. I was a virgin the last time I heard that song sung live. I had only kissed three boys.
Amanda & Brian performed beautifully- but Rew was right. They didn’t look at each other. Their songs were powerful, they were powerful, but the magic of their rock love wasn’t quite there. They have grown up, & I have grown up, & Amanda is engaged to my favorite high-school author, & they have been going their own things, & sometimes I guess people grow apart.
I wonder what happened between those two. I always said that I hoped they weren’t a couple, because then the music would last longer. Whatever was between them, it was powerful. And relationships with power can be so painful.