sunset junction
Where to begin. Sunset Junction was good. Not great. I went with my mom. I went on one ride, the huge spinner thing that looks like roulette and turns so you're spinning at an eighty degree angle with the ground. I was the only one on the ride save for a very young boy who, in Spanish, expressed his immense excitement about the ride to his parents. Plenty of free stuff in the tents, especially stickers, and I'm never one to turn down free stuff. After Menomena's set, which was pretty good (I was a bit far off, couldn't see them, but definitely heard them. To me it was more mellow than I'd expected. I was one of very few people dancing, that I could see. I don't understand how people can enjoy music while holding perfectly still. Not even a slight foot tap. Maybe they're not enjoying it? If that's the case, can they move please? I'm short. Can't see the stage.) my mom and I wandered around the stalls and stores, picking up freebies and browsing at nice expensive crap. And then this happened.
One booth was hosted by a hospital for the destitute and/or homeless. On their table was a freebie jar full of... drumroll please... condoms. Going out on the highest, most brittle limb on the metaphorical tree, I said, "Hey Mom, go get some free condoms." I figured, why not? Believe it or not, I or someone I know might need them, and like I said, why pass up free stuff? Plus, I could easily have spun it around and said "JUST KIDDING MOM! I'M ABSTINENT!" (As long as you tell my mother it's a joke, she believes it's a joke.) But my mother, in a fit of excitement, bounded over to the condom table with the over-zealous pluck of a drunken immigrant. And she wasn't even drunk. I could already tell this was going to turn out badly. Cautiously, I followed her. Her hand plunged into the jar swiftly and I was prepared to grab her and make a run for it now that we had some rubbers, but then my mom had to go and tell the booth host MY DAUGHTER WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT CONDOMS. Running was no longer an option. I was frozen with embarrassment. And the host, after offering us more condoms and some "lube", eagerly replied, "Well, don't tell me you girls are going to miss the condom demonstration! It's in three minutes!" At this point I could have dropped dead from embarrassment, solely because my mom was right there, giggling like a school girl and all revved up for the condom demonstration. A screwed-up, forced smile was plastered on my face, and I was the human embodiment of the word "mortified". The host went on to explain that many men put their condoms on wrong, and we all know what happens when men put the condom on wrong.
"Never mind that, let's get to the condom demonstration!" shouted my mom like a kid waiting for a clown at a birthday party.
"Look at her, she's so embarrassed," said a lady. I shot her a nervous smile and a chuckle.
"Three more seconds!" said the host. And then a female assistant whipped out the dick statuette, about the size of an Oscar and the color of chewing gum. You can guess what it was shaped like. And my mother, ever the eager beaver, whined, "Aw, I wanted a REAL demonstration! With the real thing!" At this point I couldn't even laugh at her or myself anymore. This is NOT the side of your mom that you're supposed to see. This is the woman who, from your first day of middle school, told you very seriously to not have sex, ever. This is the last person on Earth whom you're going to tell about what you did in a hotel bathroom with that kid your dad doesn't like. And here she is, disappointed that the condom demonstration involves a fake dick. And finally, it's over. The condom has been slipped over the fake dick, and you sigh to yourself. It's over.
But it isn't.
"So is it one size fits all?" my mom asks with a giggle.
And the host and his assistant disagree on this one. The host says no. The assistant puts the condom over her fist and it fits fine. My mom is very pleased. I'm ready to keel over and die. Before we left, the host said, "You ladies know the prerequisite for a condom?"
I'm not going to answer this one. My mom chirps, "I don't know!"
"An erection!"
That's it. I'm out of here. I got my goddamn free condoms. Plenty of them.
And as we're walking away, my mom says, "You know, I never even knew how to put on a condom. Your dad never used one!"
Just when I thought it was over.
I figure, this is like a rite of passage. From here on, it can only get less and less awkward to discuss sex with my mother. Right? Either that, or I'm scarred forever.
Examining my goodies I found that not only did I get oodles of latex dickhats, but I got a condom wallet! A specially sized little packet for your rubbers that folds up like a real wallet. Handy and compact! But the real keeper here is the mint-flavored condom. I'm not even going to try to make a joke here.
So after more wandering on our part, lookin' at stuff and grubbin' on grub, Cold War Kids took the Bates stage. Color me disappointed. Maybe it's because of where I was standing - to the side of the stage, just behind the speakers. (Excellent view at least) But their playing sounded really sloppy and lazy for the first few songs. That one song about never drinking again was pretty good. "Hospital Beds" was great, it had the most feeling. (that sentence grosses me out.) There was one other really good song, but the rest was blah. Maybe they were tired. I actually don't care for them much, and I only know a handful of their songs. Seeing them live was going to determine whether or not I listened further, and so far it looks like I'm going to listen to more Menomena. This is the last time I'm ever discussing bands in my journal. Ugh.
The perfect ripe cherry atop this slobbery melting mediocre sundae of a day was the bus ride home.
But I'm not going to talk about that. Ask me if you care.
One booth was hosted by a hospital for the destitute and/or homeless. On their table was a freebie jar full of... drumroll please... condoms. Going out on the highest, most brittle limb on the metaphorical tree, I said, "Hey Mom, go get some free condoms." I figured, why not? Believe it or not, I or someone I know might need them, and like I said, why pass up free stuff? Plus, I could easily have spun it around and said "JUST KIDDING MOM! I'M ABSTINENT!" (As long as you tell my mother it's a joke, she believes it's a joke.) But my mother, in a fit of excitement, bounded over to the condom table with the over-zealous pluck of a drunken immigrant. And she wasn't even drunk. I could already tell this was going to turn out badly. Cautiously, I followed her. Her hand plunged into the jar swiftly and I was prepared to grab her and make a run for it now that we had some rubbers, but then my mom had to go and tell the booth host MY DAUGHTER WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT CONDOMS. Running was no longer an option. I was frozen with embarrassment. And the host, after offering us more condoms and some "lube", eagerly replied, "Well, don't tell me you girls are going to miss the condom demonstration! It's in three minutes!" At this point I could have dropped dead from embarrassment, solely because my mom was right there, giggling like a school girl and all revved up for the condom demonstration. A screwed-up, forced smile was plastered on my face, and I was the human embodiment of the word "mortified". The host went on to explain that many men put their condoms on wrong, and we all know what happens when men put the condom on wrong.
"Never mind that, let's get to the condom demonstration!" shouted my mom like a kid waiting for a clown at a birthday party.
"Look at her, she's so embarrassed," said a lady. I shot her a nervous smile and a chuckle.
"Three more seconds!" said the host. And then a female assistant whipped out the dick statuette, about the size of an Oscar and the color of chewing gum. You can guess what it was shaped like. And my mother, ever the eager beaver, whined, "Aw, I wanted a REAL demonstration! With the real thing!" At this point I couldn't even laugh at her or myself anymore. This is NOT the side of your mom that you're supposed to see. This is the woman who, from your first day of middle school, told you very seriously to not have sex, ever. This is the last person on Earth whom you're going to tell about what you did in a hotel bathroom with that kid your dad doesn't like. And here she is, disappointed that the condom demonstration involves a fake dick. And finally, it's over. The condom has been slipped over the fake dick, and you sigh to yourself. It's over.
But it isn't.
"So is it one size fits all?" my mom asks with a giggle.
And the host and his assistant disagree on this one. The host says no. The assistant puts the condom over her fist and it fits fine. My mom is very pleased. I'm ready to keel over and die. Before we left, the host said, "You ladies know the prerequisite for a condom?"
I'm not going to answer this one. My mom chirps, "I don't know!"
"An erection!"
That's it. I'm out of here. I got my goddamn free condoms. Plenty of them.
And as we're walking away, my mom says, "You know, I never even knew how to put on a condom. Your dad never used one!"
Just when I thought it was over.
I figure, this is like a rite of passage. From here on, it can only get less and less awkward to discuss sex with my mother. Right? Either that, or I'm scarred forever.
Examining my goodies I found that not only did I get oodles of latex dickhats, but I got a condom wallet! A specially sized little packet for your rubbers that folds up like a real wallet. Handy and compact! But the real keeper here is the mint-flavored condom. I'm not even going to try to make a joke here.
So after more wandering on our part, lookin' at stuff and grubbin' on grub, Cold War Kids took the Bates stage. Color me disappointed. Maybe it's because of where I was standing - to the side of the stage, just behind the speakers. (Excellent view at least) But their playing sounded really sloppy and lazy for the first few songs. That one song about never drinking again was pretty good. "Hospital Beds" was great, it had the most feeling. (that sentence grosses me out.) There was one other really good song, but the rest was blah. Maybe they were tired. I actually don't care for them much, and I only know a handful of their songs. Seeing them live was going to determine whether or not I listened further, and so far it looks like I'm going to listen to more Menomena. This is the last time I'm ever discussing bands in my journal. Ugh.
The perfect ripe cherry atop this slobbery melting mediocre sundae of a day was the bus ride home.
But I'm not going to talk about that. Ask me if you care.