I am one half of the Paper Janes.

Well, since we brought a couch on stage with us tonight, perhaps I am more like one third of the Paper Janes.

Anyway.

We had a really good time; I really love that yellow couch of Shane’s.

It looks like it belongs in a very good story.

Probably because it does belong in a very good story; Shane’s story is very good and so is the paper janes’ story and now that couch is part of both (more the former than the latter, really).

And we brought a drum tonight, too.

I was supposed to play it.

I played it a tiny, tiny bit–and not too well, at that.

I got nervous and it was awkwardly to my far right and when I try to sing and play a djembe simultaneously it feels like my brain is fighting itself and doesn’t understand how to function anymore.

But other than my less than parr occasional hits on a drum, the show was really fun.

The couch, especially, was a hit.

Plus, we got a little bit of money and a lot of tater tots and chicken fingers, too. We shared those with friends. Food usually tastes better when shared, I think. Unless you’re, like, really hungry and all you have is one tiny sandwich. That probably tastes better not shared, I’d imagine.

In conclusion: I need to get better at playing the djembe. And food that is both free and shared is delicious. And the yellow couch was a major hit. And my voice sounded a little crackly twice tonight, but I decided not to get my panties in a wad over it. That expression is for my friend Mindy, who says it often and cracks me up every time. Plus, wadded up panties sounds terribly uncomfortable and would only make a situation in which your voice is already crackly even worse, I think.

I have to say she was worth everything it took to go see her. Not that it was a lot on my part, per se. Especially when compared to the times you hear about people doing some street side vigils to get tickets. Or staying on the phone for hours. Or paying a lot more than $27.

But still, it was worth getting bumped into over and over again by the guy to my right who might have been five feet on a good day. Not that I hold anyone’s height (or lack thereof) against them. I mean, my own dear momma is not that tall, let’s face it. But she doesn’t spend all night long making loud announcements and then laughing hysterically at herself before she’s even finished the sentence. And this, in addition to all the hapless bumping into me.

And oh, here’s a tip: if you are the only one laughing at what you just said then there is a very strong possibility that you are just. not. funny.

Or that you are high.

Which was why I was not so sad when me and this continual jokester-complete-with-his-own-laugh-track ended up not standing next to each other by the time Ingrid Michaelson came out on stage. I can only say that I hope whoever eventually did stand next to him appreciated his jokes as much as I had.

But back to Ingrid, because she was great.

And really funny.

And didn’t bump into me once.

Proving that those two things can be done, small man who was maybe definitely high, I hope you’re listening.

And it’s a rare treat when you get to hear an artist who sounds better live than she does on her recordings. And it’s not like she sounds shabby on the recordings, either.

But she has a special place in my heart. I started listening to her while I was in Japan. A dear friend, Mindy, introduced me to her one day while we were both laying on the dressing room floor, wishing that we didn’t have another show to do in just an hour. She asked me if I wanted to hear the beautiful song she was listening to and I’m pretty sure I’m never gonna say no to a question like that.

So she gave me one half of her headphones and we lay there together, listening to Ingrid sing The Chain, which became one of my favorite songs ever.

And I’ve about worn that song out since. I will say that Japan was when I started noticing that my life as I knew it was unraveling. And by noticing, I mean desperately trying to get the attention of someone you love and feeling like you suddenly just have a crush on the man who married you and he doesn’t even remember your name. And as somebody on the other side of the world kept pulling and pulling at the thread, ripping it out until there was barely any fabric to cover us at all anymore, I would write pitiful love songs on my guitar or listen to Ingrid Michaelson sing about how everybody, everybody wants to love, everybody everybody wants to be loved and I would silently agree cause yeah, that’s all I wanted. Is that such a terrible thing, anyway?

And then I came home and that thread was even shorter. Shorter than I ever knew it could be. And there we were, our relationship exposed and uglier than I ever knew it could be, either; cause that poor thread had been pulled and pulled until the fabric was gone entirely, having been used to make a different blanket for a different person. And there I was, feeling naked and ashamed and less than while not knowing what to do about it except write and listen to music. Oh, and pretend to the world that everything was good enough.

Which is when I wrote this.

It was a time when he was upset with me and had left abruptly. Again. And I didn’t know the half of it. And I couldn’t compete with a person I didn’t even know had taken my place. All I knew to be was myself and suddenly that wasn’t good enough.

But I’d once again find some small comfort in listening to the song, The Chain. And it’s one of those songs that makes me really happy and really sad at once; really happy that it was written at all and really sad that it wasn’t me who had written it in the first place.

And even though Ingrid didn’t sing The Chain tonight, I still absolutely loved getting to hear her live. She was inspiring. Plus, she plays a very small guitar. Something that I do too, so it gave me a little more courage in that direction. A little less reason to feel very defensive when people ask me about it. Over and over again.

But yes, listening to her was pretty darn great. Like I said, worth every bit of the $27 and all that jazz.

Enjoy.

puckered lips have proven to enhance thumb dexterity

Ollie was hard at work, probably helping Luigi set free a princess whose name escapes me at the moment. What he wasn’t hard at work doing, but was accomplishing with ease and aplomb nonetheless, was looking absolutely adorable. And it’s those lips that get me. So scrunched, so pink.

And just wait till you help him with his activity book. One moment you’re thinking that life maybe lost some of the magic since you haven’t seen it since at least last Wednesday and then Ollie’s trying to answer the very important question, Which animal would you take on a walk? while being given an array of animals to choose from, one being a spider.

He looks at the spider on the page and then he looks at you before he says, Who would take a spider for a walk?! Only his lisp makes it sound more like, Who would take a thpider for a walk?! And he’s saying it with the same level of preposterousness one would ask concerning taking the devil himself on a walk. As in: it’s. not. done. And you both laugh and then you both see the magic, though he had most likely never stopped seeing it. But since you’re that much further from the day you were born, you miss it now and again.

And a spider? On a walk? Who, indeed.

Oh and my sister just walked into the room with very cold hands because she was outside and it’s Christmas Eve and I made her do this with me, cold hands and all. I know, I am very demanding; just ask my sister.

hug it out

And now you see that I am wearing a pink sweater. That I love. Given to me by a lovely and wonderfully spirited friend of mine named Mindy.

But the sweater, it’s pink. And that is interesting only because for a while when I was younger and my mom would say that my brain was less developed, I was under the impression that I was definitely too cool for pink. I guess it was partly because I had three brothers who certainly weren’t wearing pink and I just thought that it was way too girly a color for me. I stuck to darker colors. More earth tones.

Which, I guess would have been great if I went out to hunt on a regular basis. But I didn’t. Not once.

But then I don’t remember when it was, exactly, that I just decided that I was a girl anyway and so it was okay to wear pink. Bright pink, even. But I did. I woke up one day and put on that color and the world seemed brighter even if it was just for a moment when I caught sight of my own sleeve.

And I wonder if the way I suddenly liked pink will be a little bit like the way we can wake up and suddenly feel better. Like maybe I will be walking around and all of the sudden realize that I haven’t thought about something that hurts for at least since breakfast. Now if it were only teatime, that would be something I guess, but we’re talking it’s all the way to dinnertime and hey now, that’s great.  And then I will take a deep breath and not feel such a pinch at the end of it and the world will seem brighter even if it’s just for a moment when I catch sight of the slight pink light that comes at the beginning of a new day.

And maybe that is just one more reason to like the color pink for me.

And would you like to have hair that stays when you run your fingers through it?

Or rather, would you like to look like you were in the movie, Girl, Interrupted?

Cause here’s how:

Color your hair really dark. Like if you’re reading this while it’s nighttime glance out your window and match the shade of the sky. And then dye it that color again the next month. Oh, and do that for a good year and a half so your hair is nice and saturated. And then go to California and decide that you want blond hair too. Spend $500 on getting it blond again and then send the receipt to A Chorus Line because they are the ones who made it so dark in the first place and you can’t afford $500 on your hair after you bought the plane ticket to get to California in the first place.

Good.

Now it’s maybe not the healthiest it’s ever been, but it’s blond, right?

Good.

Okay, last ingredient: don’t shower. Don’t even think about showering. You don’t need to anyway; that’s why God made headbands. But take the headband out and run your fingers through your hair and voila! you totally look crazy.

shower now, please.