The Sickest Week Ever Part 2

It all started out innocently enough. My sister and I bought tickets to the Fun. concert about a month ago and had been patiently awaiting their San Antonio show. I flew in for the occasion because, let's face it: seeing them once just isn't enough.

So that morning, I went running, played some music, and did many things to get my mind off the auditory awesomeness that would shortly ensue. At one point, I decided the “I Love Fun” shirt I painted a week before was just too plain. So I sifted through every lyric of all their songs to find the perfect one to immortalize on my chest. Somehow when I was painting it, the phrase “shake me down” did not seem as inappropriate as when I flaunted it in a notoriously sketchy part of town late at night. So two hours later, with the help of my niece and nephew, I had myself a shirt I could never wear again—not even to the gym.

It was time to go, so Emily and I hopped in the car and bopped to Fun. music the entire car ride. Because I had met the band’s keyboardist when they came through Salt Lake City, I asked Emily what she thought if I gave the keyboardist my phone number. Emily and I joked that somehow rock stars who get chicks’ numbers at concerts are not expecting what I’m wanting—slurping a Sonic slush and playing a good game of cosmic bowling. So I thought, “Well why don’t I just make my intentions clear?” I began to write this note on scrap paper my sister had available:

The concert was great, if by great I mean being the only two twenty-somethings in a sweaty pen of hormonal high schoolers. Next time I might just stay home and watch them on Austin City Limits. As we started to leave, though, we asked a venue employee to take our picture. When it became apparent that the band wasn’t coming out to sign autographs, we asked this employee if he had backstage access. He said yes. I told him about my encounter with the keyboardist in Salt Lake and how I had written him a note. The employee agreed to deliver my note. But because this kid was pushing sixteen and my note was somewhat juvenile, I doubted it would ever get passed the chuckles of his group of friends.

Oh well. I went to bed. But then things got a little crazy. The next day as I was taking a nap, I got a call from a Chicago number. I normally don’t answer if I don’t know who’s calling me but somehow I suspected who the caller was. It was the keyboardist! Yep, he had called.

But of course nothing came of it. It turns out he’s more of a Wendy’s frosty kind of guy.


P.S.--This was my feeble attempt to cover up the double meaning screaming off my shirt.

I'm still waiting for my Sonic-loving stud.

The Sickest Week Ever Part 1

I'm using sick in the California sense. (I will never forget the first time my surf-loving bleach-blond Californian partner in advertising class used "sick" to describe our project. I was offended. I should've been proud.)

But back to the real news. Man has the past week been killer. The best yet. It started Tuesday, February 9 when I woke up at 5 a.m. with great anticipation of the Fun. concert that was to happen that night. Sure, a handful of my friends canceled on me at the last minute, but that didn't matter. I could rock out with Nate-dogg by myself. Well my friend Sister Peterson and her roommate graced me with their presence once I was up in Salt Lake. Although her roommate was there to see Jack's Mannequin (6 out of 10 stars), they came so I didn't look like an idiot 26-year-old law student head banging in the middle of pre-pubescent teenagers in midriffs who had been dropped off by their mothers.

Funny moments of this night:

1. I hadn't been to In the Venue since before my mission so I was a little rusty on directions. I turned a corner and saw a line of really sketchy characters. Thinking it was the line to get in, I immediately parked and prayed I wouldn't get hurt. When I got there, I realized they were all homeless people waiting in line at a shelter. I walked another three blocks to the actual venue. And like a scared little girl, found two girls walking to the concert and started chatting them up so I didn't have to walk alone.

2. This was the first time I had seen Sister Peterson since her mission. She was a missionary in my parents ward when I returned home from my mission. Later she was the missionary in the singles ward that I attended once I decided to interact with the opposite sex. So the only interaction Sister Peterson andIi had had was to and from gospel lessons. Sure, we may have gotten side tracked talking about Band of Horses and other super great indie bands, but still...seeing Sister Peterson in real clothes and me screaming "I'm not a prophet but I'm here to profit" at the top of my lungs made me about 25 percent self-conscious.

3. The whole crowd was getting anxious between the opening act (Vedera) and Fun. I had a sneaky feeling a lot of people were there to see Fun., so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was going to start a chant. I tapped the 15-year old boy in front of me and asked who he and his five other high school friends were here to see. "We're here to see Fun.," they answered." I then told them that I was going to start a chant to encourage Fun. up on the stage faster.

"At the count of three, yell 'we want fun.' One, two, three." We all started to chant. It was a little uncomfortable at first. I hate leading without followers, but as soon as I saw that it wasn't going to be a total bust I continued onward. Shortly thereafter, guess who appeared on stage? Yes. Fun. Fun, right?


I'm a horrible photographer but even I can tell that this picture is super sweet. Look, I got Nate singing--twice--in the same picture. Yes, I posted this picture.

Here's Sister Peterson, her roommate, and me all having a great time at the concerto.


But the most fun of the evening came when I went to get an autograph. I went over and saw the keyboardist from Fun and other weirdos I didn't recognize signing all the teeny bopper paraphernalia. I waited awhile because I figured I was too old, cool, and smart to wait in a line. But when I saw the line wasn't dying down, I just jumped right up to the front and said, "Hey Andrew." The keyboardist looked at me as if to find a long lost friend. What stood in front of him? The woman of his dreams:



We chatted for a bit, I complimented him on his left-handedness, and he cheekily signed my shoe:

Yep. He drew a cat. And when I put down my shoe, he said, "No wait! I need to add whiskers!" You can whisker me any day, Andrew.

Fast forward a few days...

The J. Reuben Clark Law Society took place in Salt Lake this year so I took advantage. Afterward I hiked Ensign Peak with a favorite mission companion, Kim-Dizzle. We somehow forgot that it was February and it had been snowing so the pathway up to the peak was inches deep in delicious mudcakes. By the time we got down, our shoes had more foliage on them than the mountain. This is my beautiful mud shoe companion and me at the summit:



The next day I jumped plane to Texas where my sisters had planned a Girl's Day Out at the lakehouse in honor of my arrival (and singledom) for Valentine's Day. Some of the pictures are for our eyes only but others are too cute to leave to just Payne-girl knowledge. Here are some of my favs.

Homemade lunch in the ivy-kissed gazebo. That's right. I called it that.


What are we, in high school?


The obligatory jumping picture...always a crowd pleaser. (We love: My glasses, Emily's mouse ears, Sherrie's expression, and Maria's hand.)


Sherrie wanted this one, but then called me out on stealing the show. Typical. I can't help my good genes.


Then Maria made these trans fat-dipped, delicious, artery-clogging desserts that we gobbled up pretty quickly.


Thank you, treasure island, for showing us such a good time. Love, Sherrie, Emily, Maria, and Sara. (We missed you Tina, Jenny, and Mom.)


And that was just the first half. It would take an hour to read the amazingness of this week, so I decided to separate them into two different blog posts. Wait patiently for round two, where Andrew Dost from Fun (the band) and I have a DTR!!!

Jealousness and Nate Ruess lovin'

My ex-boyfriend is so cool. I'm kind of obsessed with male vocalists with really unique voices--in particular Nate Ruess. Nate Ruess started his music career in Arizona as a member of the successful band The Format. When the band broke up two years ago, Nate formed the band Fun. and is on tour right now with Jack's Mannequin (I swear pictures are forthcoming. Give me some time to recover.)

But Nate thinks he's too cool for school right now so he doesn't come out to take pictures with fans or sign autographs. But when he was an up-and-coming band member from Arizona, my little future ex-boyfriend, Bryce, was a little head banging high schooler in Arizona and got to meet him. Jealous. He sent it to me once, so I'm publishing it here and living vicariously through Bryce:


Bryce is the second from left, Nate is to his right.

Bryce and I went tubing in the Provo river this summer and my tube flipped over. I have naturally crazy wavy hair so when it dried (and the only warm thing I had in the car was Bryce's argyle sweater), Bryce told me I looked like Nate. What do you think?



But the best is that The Format had a professional photographer taking pictures at one of their Arizona concerts when Bryce was in high school (and I was probably on my mission or something) and Bryce got in the picture. Interestingly enough, another guy named Max, who whom Bryce did not yet know, got in the picture as well. Max and Bryce ended up being roommates at BYU after their missions and both realized they were photographed at the same concert together. Here it is:


Max is the one with the "what, you know I'm hot" look on his face in the front. Bryce is the 6 foot 4 under-age hottie way in the back right with his hand up in, what we as Texans refer to as the 'hook 'em horns sign.

Oh and p.s., if you want your ears to be stroked with the silky smooth sounds of Nate, touch here: The Format--Swans
(I'm so obsessed with this song that I work out to this. No joke. Running 8-minute miles to a love ballad.)

Belatedy

Umm. So I definitely have not posted in awhile. I'd like to say that the last couple weeks have been really busy, but the truth is that they've just been extremely fun. I haven't had any desire to post because I've had way better things to do. Like... well I shouldn't get into it. Pictures to follow.

But because this post is lame, I created a new word: belatedy. It's a noun describing the state I am in when writing this post so late.

Also can we please just talk about mornings after crazy crazy nights? As a mormon, how am I able to garner sympathy for the head and stomach aches that ensue after a night of (clean) partying? I can not, in good conscience, blame it on a hangover; people will get the wrong idea. But if I just say I stayed up late last night, people don't feel any special credit is due. I need to come up with a word for this feeling. You know what I'm talking about.

I'm feeling it right now. And the only thing so far to make me feel better is drinking Citracel and eating peanut butter on crackers for breakfast.