|Picture from the best series known to man|
Perhaps the most nerve-wrecking aspect of turning 19 in a month and graduating from High School in two is that time's over.
Not just for my beloved uniform-wearing, Lolita*-feeling hallway catwalks, but because I've always really, really wanted to be part of a teenage rock band and now I'll quickly be left solely with the prospect of an adult rock band.
With all due respect to my beloved elders, it just sounds less cool.
Perhaps my musical aspirations began with Lane from Gilmore Girls. What the heck, that's where it began and probably that is what still nourishes it. In fact, Gilmore Girls was pretty much an important factor in my whole transition from Billboard aficionada to The Smiths junkie.
And perhaps my musical incursions haven't been scarce, but that doesn't mean that I don't suck. 'Cause I do. Fine, I can play the guitar, and I can sing, but it's not like music comes easy to my fingers or throat or lips or whatever music-producing body part you wish.
The part I hate the most is that my school besties have this really popular school band called The Magic Ponies (in fact), and when I say "popular" I'm not being a pubertal snob but just honest. Like, kids have begged them for selfies, signatures, whatnot.
(Yes, popular within my school's fences, but still.)
And I've begged them to let me in and they've refused every single fucking time.
So I asked my acoustic guitar to come with me, charged my uterus with all the estrogen and progesterone that my girl power could provide, and signed myself up for a school concert.
Thank you, Chilean folk music, for not being particularly hard to execute in spite of your beauty. Apparently, I did fine, which is finer, because I'm probably never doing something like that again.
*I romanticize Lolita not because of the pedophile part, but because of the undeniably awesome aesthetics of the movie and book.