Dear Jim,
I still remember the first time we met. Actually, that's totally a lie meant to pull at the nostalgic strings of your heart. I don't remember it at all. But, because I've known you in some capacity for the last 15 years, I can well imagine you walked up to Robby and me fighting in a corner somewhere, put your big friendly arms around us and said, "HEY GUYS! What's GOIN' ON?" We probably laughed and went on to have one of the greatest nights of our college life. Again, a lie. I probably went on to throw up in the bathroom of Taco Stand and Robby and I probably fought again when we got home, but the point is, for just those few hours, the Jim Pickens magic saved the day.
Well my tall, fatherly friend. You have the opportunity to wash, rinse, repeat ALL OVER that act of good humor.
As I'm sure your ever-lovely wife has told you, the one true jam band is making their appearance for 2 nights in Charleston in early October. You should know, Panic coming to town a month after I move to my favorite city is a straight up gift from the universe and you have the power to put the cherry on that universal sundae, my friend.
Here's the thing. Robyn and I, much like the two of you, didn't realize we were soulmates until later in life. Perhaps, had we figured this out in 2001 instead, we would have had our fair share of Panic shows together and this request would seem unnecessary. ANOTHER ONE?!, you'd think. Sadly. There have been none. And now, not only is there one, but it's in Charleston and Renee AND Sheena can BOTH make it. Do you know how much I love these girls? Do you know what levels of awesomeness and ovarian type bonding things could come out of a weekend such as this?
Now, I know as husband, the idea of your pretty wife out with me and my wanton ways probably seems a little daunting. So, as I hear lawyers like facts, let's lay this out by the stats. I have been to somewhere around 80 Panic shows. I have never smooched a single random. I have never gone home with someone from a Panic show (with whom I did not arrive). I have never been arrested, in a car accident, nor have I, despite REALLY wanting to, hopped on the tour bus and said "WHERE TO, FELLAS?" I have, however, had 100% success rate with the follwing: Dancing my ass off.
Do you know what dancing is for women, Jimmy? I'm sure you're starting to see KM finding her own little rock out world to the kick ass tunes of Fisher-Price. Here's what happens. You are on an island of best friends, in a sea of your favorite tunes, and all the best feelings you've ever felt in your life, need to escape through your limbs. IT'S MAGIC. Can you really deny, magic, Jim?
I hear you guys are going to Athens the week before and this weighs on you. Hey, I understand. I am booked, including a move, every single weekend until the end of October now. I'm gonna be tired. But I'm gonna be glad! We have our 80s to recover from all the livin' we did.
Anyways, on behalf of all the married moms out there (because you know I TOTALLY speak for them), and their still single friends who miss them more than words, please make this Charleston Panic Extravaganza a reality for us. I'll bake you a pie. I'll make you a mixed CD. I will stand up on a booth in Taco Stand this year and toast you as the GREATEST MAN ON EARTH. You'll make all our lives. Or at least our one very special weekend.
Do it, Jimmy. Do it.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
An Open Letter To My Break-Up
Well, hey there, Break-up!!
It's been a while since I've seen you. Though, let's be honest, I always know when you're coming. I'm really sorry I always try to delay your visit. And I confess, I know I'm not always happy to see you, but when our time together is through, I'm usually glad you came.
We've been quite the pair in the past, you and I. Carousing around town, drinking ALL of the drinks together, doin' some smooching. Most of our time is spent in a daze-y hangover and I don't pay enough to attention to, well, anything that isn't a pack of Parliaments or a beard. Admittedly I've quit smoking this time around, and the idea of another self-absorbed hipster fuck sounds treacherous, but together I know we always accomplish great things.
It's funny. People keep asking me how I'm doing now that you're in town. Then they look at me sideways when I earnestly answer that I'm doing just fine. Swell, even. I AM FUCKING FABULOUS. I'm actually so great that I'm sorry you didn't just break-up, too. They want me to cry, I guess? They expect me to sit at home in my house and feel things. GROSS. I mean, don't get me wrong, Break-up, we've had that kind of party before. But usually by the time your flight lands I'm all cried out and ready to play.
Do you know I've never been single? Did you hear me? I HAVE NEVER BEEN SINGLE. I've spent just as much time with New Love as I have you, Break-up, and I'm really hoping to avoid them at all costs right now. Can I tell you, Break-up, that I put together a fucking TV last night? By myself. Like, with a screwdriver. Admittedly it was only had 8 screws, but the point is that it felt way more awesome to do it by myself than to have a dude there doing it, the price of which comes in the form of the emotional currency of having to deal with someone else's bullshit.
I try not to do the dirty laundry dump in a public place when you're around, Break-up, because I mean, he has his own side of this story. The one where all my terrible bits will be exposed to all of his friends and family and if I were A. someone else entirely, or, B. inclined to worry about what other people think of me, I might feel that small twinge of regret. "God, I'll be remembered as the crazy controlling one." As it stands, I've been too busy to consider such things, as I have been making a list of the following things that make having you around wonderful:
1. Not living with the person you used to live with.
2. Everything else.
I'm sorry you always get such a bad rap, Break-up. I wish more people were OK with accepting you for who you are and welcoming you with open arms. You are always, whether they know it at the time or not, a source of great goodness, positive energy and new beginnings. And new smooches, which, really are the best part if you're not inclined to focus on all the hippie zen shit about you.
I'm glad you're here, even if I have been hammered 6 of the last 9 days. You just make yourself at home and stay as long as you like. I can't wait to watch movies with you on our new TV.
Love,
Jenn
It's been a while since I've seen you. Though, let's be honest, I always know when you're coming. I'm really sorry I always try to delay your visit. And I confess, I know I'm not always happy to see you, but when our time together is through, I'm usually glad you came.
We've been quite the pair in the past, you and I. Carousing around town, drinking ALL of the drinks together, doin' some smooching. Most of our time is spent in a daze-y hangover and I don't pay enough to attention to, well, anything that isn't a pack of Parliaments or a beard. Admittedly I've quit smoking this time around, and the idea of another self-absorbed hipster fuck sounds treacherous, but together I know we always accomplish great things.
It's funny. People keep asking me how I'm doing now that you're in town. Then they look at me sideways when I earnestly answer that I'm doing just fine. Swell, even. I AM FUCKING FABULOUS. I'm actually so great that I'm sorry you didn't just break-up, too. They want me to cry, I guess? They expect me to sit at home in my house and feel things. GROSS. I mean, don't get me wrong, Break-up, we've had that kind of party before. But usually by the time your flight lands I'm all cried out and ready to play.
Do you know I've never been single? Did you hear me? I HAVE NEVER BEEN SINGLE. I've spent just as much time with New Love as I have you, Break-up, and I'm really hoping to avoid them at all costs right now. Can I tell you, Break-up, that I put together a fucking TV last night? By myself. Like, with a screwdriver. Admittedly it was only had 8 screws, but the point is that it felt way more awesome to do it by myself than to have a dude there doing it, the price of which comes in the form of the emotional currency of having to deal with someone else's bullshit.
I try not to do the dirty laundry dump in a public place when you're around, Break-up, because I mean, he has his own side of this story. The one where all my terrible bits will be exposed to all of his friends and family and if I were A. someone else entirely, or, B. inclined to worry about what other people think of me, I might feel that small twinge of regret. "God, I'll be remembered as the crazy controlling one." As it stands, I've been too busy to consider such things, as I have been making a list of the following things that make having you around wonderful:
1. Not living with the person you used to live with.
2. Everything else.
I'm sorry you always get such a bad rap, Break-up. I wish more people were OK with accepting you for who you are and welcoming you with open arms. You are always, whether they know it at the time or not, a source of great goodness, positive energy and new beginnings. And new smooches, which, really are the best part if you're not inclined to focus on all the hippie zen shit about you.
I'm glad you're here, even if I have been hammered 6 of the last 9 days. You just make yourself at home and stay as long as you like. I can't wait to watch movies with you on our new TV.
Love,
Jenn
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