On Friday night my husband and his management hosted a tour wrap up fiasco at Uva Wine Bar for all the lovely people who worked on the tour as well as the band members.
First of all WTF is an Uva?
Do I take a left at Fallopian Tube to arrive there?
Do they close for seven to five days once a month to flush the wine pipes?
Only in Vancouver.
So we marched down to VuLva like a bunch of thirsty tampons after the show prepared to absorb some wine.
Matt did not intend to stay very long because he still had the last show to play the following night and, remarkably enough for anyone who attended either show at the Vogue, he was suffering from Bronchitis.
My husband fucking rules.
Friday night was the fourth time ever I have seen him perform and I gotta admit it makes me a feel a bit awkward.
Our relationship and home life as far as timing has gone has possessed a pretty significant disconnect from the whole Matthew Good part of the human creature that is Matt Good.
When Matt toured Vancouver I was stricken with the Swine and on a self-imposed quarantine.
During festival season that same year I came down with a case of The Thomas and stayed home to vomit and sleep in the comfort of my own home.
So aside from a New Year’s show in North Carolina and the last year’s Squamish Fest I have not been exposed to that very surreal side of my husband’s life.
He is a hot piece up there.
I ‘get’ the whole guy who walks downstairs in his boxers scratching his ass in the morning yelling CAFFINATE ME WENCH marrying me.
I ‘get’ being married to the guy who helps me wrestle a ten month old Octopus Boy to the ground so we can change his diaper while I scream ‘GRAB HIS LEG, HIS LEFT FUCKING LEG IDIOT, YOU’RE MAKING US LOSE THIS ONE’ being married to me.
I am totally comfortable being married to the guy who dresses up like a fucking English Nobleman, cravat and all, to go and shovel horse shit in the morning while I yell out the window, ‘Milady, a woman of your beauty has no need for such… decorations’.
But that other guy up on the stage…
I have no idea why he married me.
He is way cooler than I could ever be.
Enough faggotry and on to the rest of the story.
So I am generally a massive proponent of the ‘when your husband goes home you go home’ philosophy on public debauchery but Matt wanted to go home way earlier than I did and considering I have been on lock down with two asshole children and a farm for the last couple months I was quick to offer my own self a pass on this particular occasion.
Mommy was going to get loose night.
Figuratively and stuff.
So that part of the night starts when everyone stops sitting in their respective seat areas and starts just standing by the bar.
Everyone knows what I am talking about.
So due to my new vantage point inside of the VuLva I notice a face I totally recognized but was unable to place.
I think what initially caught my attention was the very homosexual nature in which this face was talking coupled with the fact that this face was attached to a body that was wearing tight red pants.
I delved deep into my catalog of awesome gays and came back with nothing.
That is when I realized who he was and why I was thrown by his shrillness.
He was the very straight ‘clandestine love interest’ of Cassie Blake in The Secret Circle.
None other than Thomas Dekker or as myself and every other teenage girl know him, Adam the witch with the perpetually drunk dad.
I very seriously considered going back to Opus and dragging my unconscious five-year-old daughter into the Vulva to blow her fucking mind.
We mother and daughter hit that shit on the regular.
I am an awesome cultural influence via media.
So I completely out and also entirely humiliate myself by asking every single person within our party if the know they show The Secret Circle while hissing over my quivering wine glass.
Because they are all actual adults no one had any idea what I was hissing about.
So I have yet another glass of wine and am encouraged by Jessica Lemmon, who is five years my junior and has absolutely no idea what The Secret Circle is, to let my sack drop and just ask him if he is a witch.
So I do and it is him.
Further he adds while the entire table turns to face my stupid ass, they all are.
The slutty witch, the witch hunter, that witch who gets possessed after they open that box the found buried in the forest.
The whole fucking coven is there.
In the Vagina.
I try to blame it all on my daughter and am all ‘I’m thirty so this is weird, right? My daughter loves your show when I buy it on iTunes and we watch it right after Vampire Diaries which she also loves on my laptop and usually she falls asleep but I don’t cause I am not five and like the night life and partying and whatnot. So like can you tell me what is going to happen in the next season cause the finale left this mom of two fucking hanging.’
It was one of those moments after you expel an immense degree of verbal diarrhea that just continues to explode from your gaping mouth hole while your brain is screaming OHMIGOD SHUT THE FUCK UP that you turn and totally expect to see an escape helicopter parked on the sidewalk waiting to remove you from the situation you have created for yourself with both lift and thrust but it is never actually there.
I fucking hate that helicopter.
They were really polite and thanked me for watching their show and said not to feel bad about being a teenager in the body of an old hag (that is how my brain translated it) because they need to expand their audience.
Then they did that thing that famous people do after they are recognized in a public forum and eyed me suspiciously for the remainder of the night while I pretended not to be looking at them.
I may have even accidently timed my cigarette interludes to theirs.
You guys want to talk about the next season maybe?
Get some shit off your chests?
Maybe you’re mad at Cassie for taking the majority of the spotlight?
I am a really good listener and don’t even have a blog or anything.
I’m like a steel drum of information were you to feel like telling me what is going to happen in the next season.
This is as far as it would go.
Someone please kill me.