“Hi Chief. I like your eyeshadow. Nice wing."

 The first day of Pugfest is something that I will remember for the rest of my life. 

A few hilarious things happened, but I’m going to start with my favorite first. The first afternoon, which was on a Saturday, a group of pre-teen girls came to the booth that I was volunteering in.

I went to Pugfest as a volunteer for Wichita Pug Rescue, an organization that I’ve been involved with for about 10 years and have adopted two Pugs from. My job at Pugfest was to run our kissing booth. I’ve never run the kissing booth at Pugfest, so I got a little training from more senior Kansas Pug officials before the event actually started.

I was to tell people that these Pugs are our world famous kissing Pugs. The Pugs will sell you a kiss for 50 cents, or you can pet them and cuddle them all you want for free. All the money raised goes to help rescue Pugs. 

There were four dogs in the kissing booth, including my two Pugs, Chief, who is 2 and who I just adopted in March, and Pickles, who is 9 and has the most adorable gray face and longest tongue you’ve ever seen. (I’ll talk about Pickles in a future blog post.)

There were three pre-teen girls in this group on Saturday afternoon and their Mom was with them as well. The girls liked Chief immediately. To be honest, every girl likes Chief and Chief likes every girl he meets. 

My boy Pug is a total womanizer and he can pretty much get any girl’s attention without much effort. Chief is show stoppingly beautiful. 

He knows it. 

He even flaunts it. 

So the girls turn their attention to Chief. One of the girls, who is dressed super cute with her hair and makeup done perfectly with gorgeous manicured nails, says to my dog: “Hi Chief. I like your eyeshadow. Nice wing.”

I didn’t miss a beat and I immediately asked the girls if they were Taylor Swift fans. The middle kid said yes, and her and her Mom immediately started grinning because they both knew what I was about to say. 

My response: “His cat eye is sharp enough to kill a man.”

And then I laughed so hard I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder in my life. All four of us were rolling with laughter and for about 30 seconds or so, none of us could speak a coherent word. It was just a bunch of girls giggling about my boy Pug’s perfect eyeliner. 

When people at Pugfest asked me how and why I named him Chief, I asked if they were fans of country music, and when they said yes, I got to explain that I actually named my dog after my favorite country guy, Eric Church.

In one weekend in Kentucky, I managed to combine all of the things that I’m addicted to in life: Pugs, Taylor Swift and Eric Church.

This will be one of many blog posts I write about Pugfest. I’m actually shocked that I didn’t lose any Facebook friends over the weekend from my incessant posting about everything Pug related. 

Future blog posts might involve the story about how Pickles stole a sandwich, the list of crimes that Chief has committed in his four months with me, the story of Chief winning second place in his race when he was snoring in my lap literally two minutes before the race started, about how cool it is to volunteer for the actual Pugfest event itself, and a list of all the cool Pug names that I heard.

And then I’ll probably write about the dog bar we went to on Saturday night, where Pickles hit on every single man that she saw and where Chief earned a reputation for being the only Pug brave enough to run with the big dogs. That dog bar was probably the happiest three hours of my whole entire life.

One more thing about my Chiefy: I only met three Pugs at Pugfest bigger than him. Chief is a beefy boy. 

It turns out it’s actually socially acceptable to walk around Pugfest and ask total strangers from all over the country how much their boy Pugs weigh. A group of us were all doing the same thing, and every one of us basically had the same response.

Our response? 

I like big Pugs and I cannot lie. You other brothers can’t deny…Red beans and rice didn’t miss ya.

I'm having a record year

I got a pretty cool email a couple weeks ago congratulating me for winning the lottery, and now I probably need to explain that.

I entered into a chance to attend a fan club party during CMA Fest in Nashville in June for my favorite country singer. I've never won a meet and greet before this, so I had little hopes of actually winning. In fact, after I put my name into the hat, in true Monica fashion, I forgot all about the hat and moved on with my life. 

I checked my email one Friday morning a couple weeks ago, and I had an email from that country singer's headquarters (I love those emails!) saying that I had won the lottery. If I can get to Nashville that day and want to, I'm invited to attend the fan club party. 

If you even have to ask me whose fan club party it is, I mean, do you really even know me at this point?

I'll give you a brief overview about my favorite things to write about, talk about, and my favorite things ever — music, traveling and Eric Church.

I became a fan of Eric's music after I listened to the song Record Year in the context of a break up. When I was 30, pretty much on my 30th birthday, I was ghosted by the guy I was dating. He eventually married the girl he cheated on me with. 

Who says chivalry is dead?

I had just bought a house, a house that was too big for just me, and I had nothing better to do than to sit in it at night, cry, and listen to music.

I was not a fan of Eric's music before that. But for whatever reason one night, in the midst of my first real heart break, I remember searching for the song Record Year on Spotify. I sat down and actually heard the words to it. 

I think music finds you when you need it. At that moment, I needed that song to get over my break up. I needed an album with no love songs on it. I wanted to listen to music, but I didn't want mushy songs about love. 

It turns out I needed the Mr. Misunderstood album. I needed a song about killing someone in New Orleans (I did what I had, I have no regrets/when you cross the line, you get what you get), I needed Mixed Drinks About Feelings (self explanatory), and I needed Holdin' My Own (also self explanatory). 

Also, I had a couple of three year olds in my life at the time (they're nine now), so the song Three Year Old was pretty fun to listen to.

I listened to Mr. Misunderstood over and over in my house that year, as loud as I could get my speakers. I ended up seeing the guy a couple of times over the summer that year at various events, once I was expecting and once I was not expecting. 

I walked back to my house after, locked my doors, and turned Mr. Misunderstood up as loud as I could. 

The whole neighborhood listened to Eric Church that afternoon. 

My parents came to my house afterward to check and see if I was okay (they were at the same event where the guy and his replacement for me were seated near us). To this day, I still remember the text message my mom sent me when I didn't hear the doorbell ring. 

"I hear Eric Church music playing, so I'm going to assume you're okay. Let us know if you need anything. Love you."

That's kind of been a theme of my life since. As long as there's Church music playing, I'm all right. 

The fact that my love for this man — Eric Church, not the other guy — started out of heart break is not lost on me. I've done some pretty cool things in the past few years since then, all because some dude I don't think about anymore broke my heart in to a million little pieces. 

I went to a concert in downtown Nashville, by myself, and was front row. I flew halfway across the country in December, my favorite month, where I fell in love with life all over again and went to two more concerts. 

I cried during Record Year while standing front row while holding hands with a stranger in Denver. I danced and sang and drank and had a great time with newfound friends in Washington D.C. 

I've traveled on planes, trains, and automobiles, sat in airports in big amazing cities and even sat in some mediocre cities. I've fallen in and out of love several times. 

I've learned just how capable I am at being alone and how capable I am at life. 

I'm doing fine.  

I can hold my own with the best of them. 

Concerts #17 and #18 are next month for me. I might not be an original fan who was there since day one, but I will remain loyal to that man (Eric Church, not the guy who cheated on me) for a very long time. 

Sometimes fans ask me if I wish I had been there at the start of his career. Do I regret missing it, they ask? 

My answer is always no. I think I found his music when I needed it most. 

One of my favorite blog posts I've ever written is called 'Damn it baby, dammit.' It's written with song lyrics to Eric Church's song It's Over When It's Over intertwined in it. It was written in September 2016, the night that I bought concert tickets for the first Eric Church concert I went to. 

I was heartbroken. I needed a break up song, I needed a musical leader and I needed a heartbreak anthem. 

I found it, and so much more.

Damn it baby, dammit. 

That first concert was the best concert I'd ever been to. I didn't think about the guy who broke my heart once. The next day I woke up and thought, I need another concert and I need it RIGHT NOW. One is not going to suffice. 

Can I get some more of that sweet happiness in my life? 

These Boots in Wichita, Kansas, in April 2017.

--

So I'm going to go to this party in Nashville because a boy broke my heart years ago. 

I don't think I'd have it any other way. 

In the words of someone I've seen in concert 16 times since then: If you find your way back, I owe you a beer for my record year. 

About car rentals and drawbridges

When I say my December trip to Washington D.C. was perfect, I am not lying.

Nothing major went wrong and a lot of things went right.

My August trip to the city was not perfect. I made a lot of dumb mistakes because I was nervous, and looking back, those mistakes are pretty funny.

What was I nervous about, you might be asking?

First of all, the entire premise of this trip is weird at best. Going to a wedding of people that you’ve hung out with twice is kind of weird. Okay, very weird, but rum is rum and Tiffany is Tiffany and that’s just that.

Second, I had to rent a car. That itself scared the shit out of me in a way that I can can barely explain.

First off, there’s the physical act of renting a car, something I’ve never done before. I went to a different airport to pick the car up, and there were a ton of people and very long lines involved.

I get up to the counter and the very nice attendant’s computer freezes when I go to pay. It was absolutely a technology issue on their part, but I automatically assumed I did something wrong and was going to be arrested for illegal car renting or for wearing a cute dress in an airport or something.

Illegal use of formal attire.

So that issue gets sorted out, and I thought this would be some kind of top shelf experience. I thought they would bring a car to me, roll out a red carpet, and personally hold my hand and invite me in.

The reality? They turn you loose in a giant parking garage and you just kind of figure it out.

There are no actual human beings around to help you, just a bunch of lost people in a parking garage mumbling and cussing under their breath.

There was one car left in the economy section for me, and to say that it was not the car that I agreed to rent is an understatement.

The car that was waiting for me was a damn box on wheels. It was so embarrassingly small that I refused to take a photo of it — I was too humiliated to admit it was mine.

I’m 5’3”, and there’s no way anyone a half-inch taller than me would be able to fit in it. Anyone taller than me would be able to throw the stupid car over the bridge into the river.

Speaking of water, it turns out that there are things called drawbridges in the Northeast.

I’m afraid of water. I’ve gotten in bodies of water that I couldn't see the bottom three times willingly in my adult life, and I have no intention of ever doing it again.

I don’t like drawbridges.

And do you think they stop you on land if the bridge needs to come up? Of course not — they stop you in the middle of the effing bridge using a stoplight.

Shouldn’t there be like a real, live person with a flag or something telling you to stop or you’ll die?!?

By the way, for everyone reading this, there’s never been water in the river in my hometown in my lifetime.

Where I’m from, we drive on land, not above water.

I don’t like it.

And my rental car was so small that if had gotten into a minor fender bender that stupid car would have been smashed, and I would have veered off the bridge and ended up as fish bait.

I HATE WATER.

I don’t even know what to say about driving in D.C., except if you say your prayers, scream a few times, wear your seatbelt and sometimes close your eyes, you might survive.

It’s so bad that it’s funny.

You have to wing and a prayer it, which is fitting. It’s my preferred way of getting through life.

I also lost my car in the Kansas City airport parking garage on the way back home. I pride myself on having an excellent sense of direction and rarely getting lost.

I was lost this whole trip, down to the very last seconds of it.

I'm not sorry about it.

Shit happens.

Bye, beautiful.

This is part two of my trip. It includes a sunset, a really cool city, a flag and some spies.

I got there on a Thursday afternoon. After recovering for a bit in my AirBnB, I went to my favorite neighborhood to hang out. I ended up watching the sunset on the water and thinking about life. 

I've come a long way in the past two years.

Life is pretty bitchin'. 

On Friday, I had a 9 a.m. appointment at the International Spy Museum. I was pretty exited about it, and it ended up being one of my favorite parts of the trip. 

A bunch of people gathered at the entrance right as the museum opened that morning. A big, burly security guard stepped out of the doors and gathered us all in a circle.

He told us about the museum and laid out the ground rules, which included no food and only water to drink. He then asked the kids if they were excited to learn about spies.

He got the kids pumped up. Kids, he said. Who's ready to be a spy today?!? The kids were raising their hands in the air and hopping up and down. They were pumped to become spies.

Kids, he said. If you're a spy, then you don't admit to being a spy.

The big burly man then broke the kids' hearts and told them they were terrible spies. It was hilarious. The adults broke out in laughter. The kids did not. 

After we got into the museum, I finished looking at the wall to my left. I looked down at my phone to look at the time, and an hour had already passed.

I spent an hour on one wall. 

It's hard to explain if you've never seen the museums in D.C., but they're so insanely massive that there's no possible way to see everything in the museum if you visit it once.

I spent three hours at the spy museum, and I only cut it short because I was getting hungry and crabby. 

The museum gift shop is incredible as well. I give this place a 10/10. I'd come here again in a heartbeat.

The spy museum is the perfect place if you like history, U.S. and world government and international politics. It's perfect and I loved every single minute of it.

I wrote down what museum staff kept telling us, and what was written down in several spots throughout the museum:

Deny everything.

All is not what it seems.

Assume nothing.

My disguise.

After lunch at a food truck, I made my way to the National Museum of American History. I got there at 1 p.m., so I only had a few hours to check it out.

I can't emphasize enough how massive these museums are. A few hours is not enough time to see everything, so I went to a map and made a game plan of things I wanted to see.

I made a beeline to the Star-Spangled Banner, the original flag that was flying that inspired Francis Scott Key to write the song.

The flag is by itself in the museum, and there's an attendant nearby who forbids you to take a photo of it. I read about this exhibit ahead of time, so I was expecting this part of it. I also knew it was in a dimly lit room to preserve the fabric.

What I wasn't expecting was the flood of emotions that hit me as I turned the corner. 

I cried like a baby. I didn't even try to hide it. I sobbed.

I'm not sure how long I stood there, but several groups of people passed by me. I finally walked to the side, and then realized that I was having a hard time leaving it. 

I prepped myself mentally. Self, I said in my head — you cannot spend the rest of your life looking at this beautiful flag. You have to move on because there are other things to see in this museum and in life.

I turned the corner, then regretted my decision immediately. I turned back around to look at the flag again one last time. 

And then I cried some more. 

I remember thinking, 'Bye, beautiful,' as I left it.

From the Smithsonian: 

• Made in Baltimore, Maryland, in July-August 1813 by flagmaker Mary Pickersgill
• Commissioned by Major George Armistead, commander of Fort McHenry
• Original size: 30 feet by 42 feet
• Current size: 30 feet by 34 feet
• Fifteen stars and fifteen stripes (one star has been cut out)
• Raised over Fort McHenry on the morning of September 14, 1814, to signal American victory over the British in the Battle of Baltimore; the sight inspired Francis Scott Key to write “The Star-Spangled Banner”
• Preserved by the Armistead family as a memento of the battle
• First loaned to the Smithsonian Institution in 1907; converted to permanent gift in 1912
• On exhibit at the National Museum of American History since 1964

Lincoln's hat.

I didn't have much going on that night, and I couldn't justify staying in when I was in a wonderful city on a Friday night. I bought I ticket to The Anthem to see The Shins and their opening act Joseph. 

And this is where I realized that all music fans are the same, regardless of the artist or band they follow. The people beside me, who I'm assuming were a married couple, were having a little argument. The guy wanted to go get beer and the wife wanted to get the limited edition, venue specific poster.

Beer, the man said.

But the poster, the woman said. What if it sells out? What if this is the only poster that we end up without in our collection? How will be live with ourselves if it sells out?

I turned around to laugh, because I didn't want them to know I was eavesdropping. 

Who obsesses about buying a poster at a concert? 

Oh, wait. 

I went and looked at the poster and the merch. It was a really cute poster. 

The same couple came back about 15 minutes later. The man had a beer and the woman was holding a cardboard tube. 

Marriage is compromise, I thought to myself. 

It's a beautiful place and one of my favorite concert venues of all time. 

Music is universal and magical.

Buddy sparks

I bought a book while I was in Washington D.C. last week called Chase the Fun — 100 Days to Discover Fun Right Where You Are.

No one has ever accused me of not chasing fun, especially over the past year of my life. There’s a chapter in the book on making new friends as an adult, something that is pretty hard to do. 

From the book: “It’s really fun to make a new friend. To meet someone for the first time and feel those buddy sparks, the ones that tell you this person is someone you could REALLY hang with. YES TO NEW FRIENDSHIPS.”

This blog post is about those buddy sparks. 

I was reading this book at the Chicago airport the other day, got to thinking, and then put the book down and started writing.

Here’s what I came up with.

This is a story about those sparks, and it started last year when some short introverted Kansas girl flew across the country for a concert.

What concert, you might ask?

If you even need to ask, then you don’t know me very well. 

Also, the prequel is right here. Let’s consider this story the sequel. 

--

There are a handful of moments in my life that I will remember forever. These moments are so beautiful, so full of life, light, love and laughter that they stick out to me. 

I went to a wedding last weekend more than 1,200 miles away from Kansas. Late into the night, and just a few drinks in, the groom put him arm around me and told me that he was expecting a blog post about this.

He told me it needed to be even better than the first blog post. He told me what I should include, most of which I can’t publish. All of it I can’t publish, actually.

It was a perfect moment for me to reflect how weird life is and just how beautiful it can be.

I am a huge fan of music, and one singer in particular. At a concert last year, I met a cool group of people who invited me to hang with them the second night. I maybe had a few adult beverages, turned into my drunk alter ego (her name is Tiffany), and then mentioned to the wonderful engaged couple that I wanted to be invited to their wedding.

My memories of that night are fuzzy, but I remember pitching the idea to them. I remember they both agreed to it.

That wedding happened a few days ago, and I was there. Tiffany was there, too.

I know that sounds crazy, trust me. It is kind of insane.

But the thing is, words mean a lot to me. They are how I make a living and they are the thing that I love most in life.

I made a drunk promise at an Eric Church concert to that engaged couple beside me that I would be at their wedding. If I have no other positive attributes in life, I have these — I always mean what I say and I always keep my promises.

This is a story of a wedding, planes, trains and automobiles, one really cool big city, and how my soul is maybe filled with too much wanderlust. 

--

I could talk about the beautiful bride, one of the most beautiful brides I’ve ever seen, and the look on the groom’s face when he saw her walk down the aisle.

I could talk about their wonderful family and friends who introduced themselves to me with open and inviting arms.

I could talk about requesting the song Springsteen from the DJ at the reception, because I really, really wanted to make a memory with them to the line ‘It’s funny how a melody sounds like a memory’ so bad.

My memory from that moment is pretty fuzzy, but I’m sure it was a special moment that we all shared.

Maybe. I don’t remember.

I remember looking at the two of them when they were dancing, when they were coming up to me trying to find each other in the crowd (My response: “She’s wearing white.”) and I remember the way they danced and held each other while the Eric Church song Like Jesus Does was playing.

All the crazy in my dreams

And both my broken wings

Every single piece of everything I am

And she knows the man I ain’t

She forgives me when I can’t

The devil, man, he don’t stand a chance

‘Cause she loves me like Jesus does

I remember thinking that these two beautiful people with beautiful souls just made me believe in love and happily ever afters again. 

--

I took a screenshot of the background on my phone the night the Maryland couple got married. I remember looking at my phone and thinking...you know, EC, this is all your fault. 😆

--

If you are a cumulation of everyone you meet and everyone you surround yourself with, then these two wonderful Maryland souls are literally the best of the best and come from the best of the best.

This is just the best of humanity.

The night of that concert was mentioned in the maid of honor’s speech, as was the shenanigans and tomfoolery that was born that night. Also, the maid of honor mentioned that there was this girl named Monica at that concert and that she was from Kansas, and that she is here tonight at the wedding!

Comments I remember people making at the wedding to me:

“You’re the sparkly shoes girl?”

“Why do I recognize you? Are you the concert girl?”

“I don’t remember your name, so I’m just going to call you Eric Church.”

That comment did me in. I grabbed a beer, laughed my ass off, and headed to the dance floor.

Because why not?

--

When I got back from that concert back in December, I thought that the people I met were great, but I wasn’t expecting them to keep in touch with me. 

And then they asked for my address and then sent me a save the date.

I never thought it would happen. In the middle of that concert night when drinks were flowing, hugs were aplenty and we were drunkingly singing at the top of our lungs, all I remember is being so damn happy and thinking that the people I just met were so cool.

I’m sure they weren’t expecting some short introverted Kansas girl with a drunk alter ego and a blog at their wedding eight months later.

I mean, who really expects that? 

But life is life and sometimes you have a keep a drunk promise.

--

Their wedding was a perfect day and night filled with newfound friends, love, family, friendship, drinking, singing and dancing.

We gathered again.

At the concert, we talked about where we could meet up for shows in the future. At the wedding, I mentioned to the groom that I like traveling and have little to no impulse control when it comes to music.

He looked at me like I had three heads. 

He said: “I know that about you. Everyone in this room knows that about you.”

He continued: “We’re going meet in some random city for a show. How about Tallahassee?”

I’m down, I said.

Groom: “I know. Everyone here knows."

It was a perfect moment for a perfect night.

--

Back in December, I told my parents that I drank rum at that concert and that Tiffany made an appearance on the East Coast. I told them about the people that I met who invited me to pre-game with them at the bar across the street from the venue.

(If there’s a bar, I’m in. No questions asked. I’m in.)

With that look in his eye, that disapproving Dad look, and with a slight eye roll, my Dad said something like: “Let me guess. The people you met that night, you hugged them and told them you loved them, didn’t you?”

Perhaps.

Tiffany is a force to be reckoned with. 

I would like to think that fate led me to meet these people. I switched spots with the family beside me with little kids at that Eric Church concert, because I thought the little kids needed to be closer to the stage.

By doing that, I met this wonderful group of people. My Maryland people.

I would like to think I met them though being a good person and giving little kids my spot, through fate, through God, or whatever entity you believe in. Divine intervention, maybe.

I met these people and ended up at their wedding because of rum.

No good story starts with a salad and water. Good stories and blog posts start with alcohol and live music and drunk introverts with alter egos (the groom has one, too, the only other introvert I've met with the same infliction as me).

--

As I was leaving the reception that night, someone shouted as I was walking out the door.

“When’s the party coming to Kansas?”

Any time, guys. You are welcome whenever you want. I might add that the concerts Eric Church puts on in Kansas City are some of the best of the best. We can stumble into the Power and Light bars afterward, if we’re still able to stand upright after the show, and we could have ourselves a great time.

Also, I’m pretty sure we’ll have a great time wherever we go. Kansas City, D.C., Tallahassee, Nashville, North Carolina or Alaska, or in whatever random ass city we end up gathering at again.

It will be fantastic. 

Like I told them on Saturday night: “I can’t wait to make more memories with you that we won’t remember.”

--

Congratulations to the bride and groom. It was amazing to celebrate your love with you. 

--

Kansas.

I'm having a record year.

The Gather Again Tour ended last night in New York City.

After every tour, I set a goal for the next one. In 2017, I wanted to go to Nashville. In 2019, I went. In 2019, I wanted Washington D.C., after talking to fans and having many, many of them tell me that I should go check out The Anthem if I was ever able to get there.

In December 2021, I went, by myself. 

I drove to the Kansas City airport, and almost chickened out when I hit the parking lot. I figured I could go back to my little town, hide out for a few days, and just lie and tell people I went.

I did not chicken out, though. 

I planned that trip pretty carefully, more carefully than I've planned any trip before. Flying across the country alone requires some advance thought, like not drinking much and being able to keep yourself alive through it.

I did drink, and I do not regret it.

I loved D.C. I love that I went by myself, I love that I walked around the listened to music, and I love that I saw that beautiful city in December, my favorite month of the year. 

--

The first show post-pandemic was in Durant, Oklahoma, in June 2021. 

I was supposed to buy a house that morning. I arranged dog care, and figured I'd sign the paperwork and be out of town at noon.

Life did not work out that way. 

I got to Durant at 8:25 p.m., and the first show in 18 months started at 8:30 p.m.

What followed that day was probably one of the worst things that happened to me, but what also followed those days were eight more concerts, seven of which were Eric Church shows. 

There's good and bad in life, and sometimes, you get to experience both of those things at the same time.

Wyoming was next on the concert list, two weeks after I injured my knee and could barely walk.

I stood in the pit line, in excruciating pain, all right, and then hobbled back to my car afterward. There was a new statue at Cheyenne Frontier Days of Chris LeDoux, a man I loved since my childhood.

I did not go see it, because I couldn't walk that far. 

I bought these tickets before my knee injury and before I got really sick. I wasn't even sure going to the rest of the shows was doable for me.

We worked through it, my body and I, along with doctors and a surgeon and other people, too. 

Not traveling is not an option in my world.

--

And then there's Denver, where Monica from Kansas and Ashley from Church happened.

All I wanted at that show was someone to share this with. A friend, family member, lover, whatever. I would have been happy if anyone had been by my side.

It turns out that you can let new people in to experience that.

Denver was the first time that I experienced the front row and waiting outside in the pit line. They were my people. 

And then there's D.C. 

Do we even need to talk about how much I loved D.C.? No, I think my love for that city speaks for itself. 

And then there's Kansas City, the best show of the tour, and Tulsa and then St. Louis. 

It was a record year.

--

Traveling sometimes comes with perils.

I hit a pothole in Missouri that led to two new tires. I smoked my brakes in Colorado and had to get them replaced, which was the first time that's ever happened to me — usually I get them replace a couple of weeks after I return to Kansas.

Oops.

It turns out that what I spent the last year doing now has a name — revenge travel.

From this website: "With these travel thoughts come extensive price tags as well as stacked vacations, as 2021 might just be the year where travelers extend their time away from home by one, two, or even three weeks or more as they get 'revenge' on all the ways that 2020 stripped them of a normal vacation."

Not only did 2020 strip me of a normal vacation, it stripped me of everything, ever. Don't even get me started of everything I lost because of 2020. 

(I lost everything I didn't need.)

Revenge travel is a thing, and I did it eight times in the past 11 months.

So here we are, halfway through 2022. We're starting over. Why am I starting over at 37 years old?

Because shit happens and sometimes you have to move, change, start over and move on, all at once.

Change is hard, but it's easier and better than staying where you're at.

--

Jojo deserves her own photo. 💛

The Gather Again Tour was about healing. It was also about letting go, moving on, meeting new people and experiencing new places. 

It was early morning airport visits, prioritizing myself, drinking with newfound friends, seeing new things and sitting on a rooftop bar in a huge city drinking with those newfound friends.

And sitting on a park bench in D.C., listening to the 10 minute version of All Too Well and deleting the past.

It's gone.

In a word, the Gather Again Tour was perfect.

Perfect.

--

My goal for the next tour is New York City. 

Washington, D.C. was a test to see if I could do a big city by myself. 

I nailed it.

Eventually, I'll get to NYC, a place I dreamed about my whole life and wanted to live in very much when I was younger. 

I know it's possible, and I'll get there, eventually. 

I always do.

I'm having a record year.

About St. Louis

I’m still thinking about this concert, so you’re going to get one more post about it.

- Does anyone in Missouri actually know why they’re driving on the left side of the interstate? I don’t think they do. It’s like a NASCAR race. Everyone is drafting in the same lane, no one can pass each other, and if you pop over to the other lane, you’re screwed.

- Was that a pothole that I hit at 85 mph, or an asteroid crater? No one really knows.

- This year, which is only three months old, I’ve heard country singers perform Whitney Houston, Eminem and Nelly in person. I wish I could go back in time and tell 2020 Monica this. 

- 2020 Monica: Hang on. Life gets better. 

- St. Louis was the perfect way to end my 2021-2022 Eric Church concert experience. In 2017, I was introduced to his fan club when my Mom and I went to the pop-up store at his concert in St. Louis, at the same venue. I asked some fans why there was a group of people waiting outside. The fans told me that was the pit line and explained the Church Choir to me: “Most of them know each other. They follow Eric Church around, get front row in the pit, and drink.” 2017 Monica thought that sounded like a little bit of fun. 2022 me became everything that 2017 me wanted. 

- I held a record up during Record Year, which is the first time I’ve done so. I did not get it autographed, but that’s all right. That song saved my life. 

- Someone I know on the guy that broke my heart in the above story, which led me to the song Record Year: “That guy was the best thing that never happened to you.”

- 2016 and 2017 me was heartbroken and in need of some musical direction. I found it.

- I’ve lived through stuff in the past two years that 2016-17 me couldn’t even comprehend at the time.

- And I’m still here. That’s worth something. 

- During the opening song in St. Louis, which was like 11 minutes long, someone behind me shouted that we were on the big screen. I found a video online that someone took in the nosebleeds. My eyesight is terrible and I can’t see myself on the big screen, but I promise you, I am right there, front row in the pit, singing Nelly back to Eric Church. (See pic above.)

- I did not have that on my 2022 Bingo Card.

- This tour was called The Gather Again Tour. To paraphrase EC: We are meant to gather for fellowship, for drinking. We are meant to be together. 

- I held hands with the girl beside me in Denver and cried to the song Record Year. 

- I hugged strangers in DC, and still keep in touch with them. 

- I smiled and laughed more in the past few months than I have in the last two years. 

- Thank you, kind strangers at concerts, for being open-minded enough to be willing to take some new introvert in. 

- At the start of this tour, I was down. I kept thinking to myself that there must be something wrong with me because I still don’t have anyone to share this with. 

- I have people to share this with now. And for that, I’m forever grateful. 

St. Louis list

I went to St. Louis last weekend, where several first-time things happened. Here’s a list, in no particular order:

- I found a giant pencil. Of course the writer finds a giant pencil.

- I thought about buying a giant pencil, and then I realized that I already have a giant pencil from my childhood. Some things never change.

- I saw Eric Church play the guitar with a sharpie in his hand instead of a guitar pick. Why not?

- He adjusted his glasses when he wasn’t wearing glasses. It happens to all of us. 

- I saw him sing Eminem and Nelly right in front of me. (Hey, must be the money.)

- He drank someone’s beer. I’ve never seen him drink beer. It was glorious.

- He sang Mr. Misunderstood at my end of the stage. Hearing the words “Hey there, weird kid” right in front of you just hits different. 

- I met more concert people. The very cool people in line by me were all in the other pit, which is usual for me on this tour. Sigh.

- They told me that on the last tour, another country artist waited in the out line, along with everyone else. This makes my heart happy. Everyone loves Eric and didn’t mind waiting in line for five or seven hours to see him.

- In 2017, on the Holdin’ My Own tour, St. Louis was the fanciest city that I’d seen in a long time. Since then, I’ve seen Nashville, Washington DC and New Orleans.

- The Midwest just isn’t doing it for me anymore. 🤣

- There may or may not have been a bullet hole in my AirBnB’s window (in a good neighborhood). St. Louis, really? Do we need to sit down and have a little chat?

Never break heart.

Today was my ninth concert in the past 10 months, eight of which have been Eric Church shows.

Today was my last EC concert of this tour.

That’s good news, mostly, because gas prices are beyond ridiculous right now and I’m ready for a break.

The past 10 months have been about a lot of things for me. Healing, for the most part, but also celebrating new things, letting new people in, being brave enough to do things on my own, moving on, letting go, failing over and over and then failing some more, never giving up, and accepting the fact that life downright sucks sometimes.

And learning how to lean on people, too, when I need help.

The past few years in Monicaland have been rough. I know there are people who lost more than me in life, especially in the past two years, but I think it’s also important to talk about the bad stuff and not shove it aside. 

Speak to loss, if you will.

I’ve talked about what I’ve lost since the pandemic started plenty on my blog. I’m feeling optimistic right now, which is weird, but right now I’m going to look on the bright side of life.

I can walk and breathe without pain (thanks, sinus surgery and kind surgeon who believed me) and not cough every 20 seconds (thanks, a form of acid reflux that doesn’t have heartburn as a symptom and a pill that costs 50 cents per day to fix that).

I can live without pain. I can go places, anywhere, really.

I can do scary things on my own and come out unscathed, mostly. 

I fall sometimes, and one time I fell into a pretty big, deep hole, but I’m not in that hole anymore.

I’m in a place where there’s light and love and happiness and singing and dancing all around me. 

And that is something I do not take for granted.

I’m so happy I lived through what I did, because it brought me to this place.  

I never appreciated the good times until I went through the bad times. 

So thank you, Eric Church, ECB, Joanna, and some of the most amazing people I met over the last 10 months.

I needed help and I needed to heal, and I got that. 

I thought to myself tonight, while looking around me, that it’s really nice to not be broken anymore. 

It feels good. 

This feels good.

I feel good. 

I’m just really happy to be here and to see all of the happiness around me.

Life is beautiful.

Comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.

I think it’s time to talk about Oklahoma City.

I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while. This weekend, I stopped by my favorite city to tell it hi, briefly, which is the only time I see it now.

 

Oklahoma City is my favorite place in the world.

 

In this post, I’m going to tell you why. I’m probably going to cry, which is all right.

 

Sometimes tears are good.

 

--

I took my first newspaper class in high school in 1999, when I was a freshman.

 

To say that I struggled in college is an understatement. College for me was 2003-2008, and in that time, I went to three schools. I don’t even know how many crappy minimum wage jobs I worked.

 

I was a punk in college. I knew that journalism was what I wanted to do, and I didn’t understand why I had to work jobs I didn’t want to work and why I had to take classes I didn’t want to take to do journalism full-time.

 

I get it now. I get that you have to work for what you want, and I understand that you have to go through bad times to get to the good stuff.

 

Back then, 2003 to 2007 Monica was a punk. College was the first time that I failed, and I didn’t know how to be a failure. It was completely new to me, someone who graduated high school with a 3.7 GPA and took honors and AP classes.

 

College sucked.

 

In the summer of 2007, that all changed. I applied for an internship in the biggest, most badass city that I’d ever visited, and I got that job.

 

I moved to Oklahoma City by myself, to start an internship at the newspaper, The Oklahoman. I got lost trying to find my apartment complex. Everything I owned fit into the back of my car.

 

When I finally did find my apartment, and moved my stuff in, I was too scared to venture outside to a grocery store or a fast-food restaurant for food. The big city was too intimidating to me.

 

I stood in my new apartment that night, alone and hungry, and if I remember right, I cried.

 

Welcome to the real world, 2007 Monica.

 

I was terrified.

 

--

 

The only thing I remember about that first day is how much we walked. They took us everywhere, all over the huge building (I worked on the seventh floor), and they a photo of the interns, all dressed up.

 

I still have that photo.

 

--

I remember meeting each intern and asking where they lived and where they went to school. There were some impressive hometowns: Oklahoma City, Dallas and Chicago, to name a few.

 

The schools were even more impressive: The University of Oklahoma, Texas, Missouri.

 

And then there’s little me, from a no-name town who went to a no-name school. Also, did I mention that I went to three schools in five years?

 

Oklahoma City was the first time that I was surrounded by people who had the same passion as me. It was the first time that I got paid for what I loved to do.

 

It was the first time that I realized that I struggled in college for a reason, and that this would be the start of the rest of my life.

 

Oklahoma City was the first time I realized that I could do what I loved for a living. It was the first time that I realized that I could have a career, instead of just a mundane job that I hated.

 

--

 

I remember a lot of things about that summer. And there’s probably a few alcohol induced things that I don’t remember, too.

 

2007 Monica liked to party.

 

I remember feeling so fancy when we went to the downtown bars on the Fourth of July. I remember looking up at the stars that night, and thinking, ‘Damn, this is what happy feels like.’

 

I remember wearing heels to work. I got my heel caught in the elevator and tripped in front of everyone I was trying to impress.

 

Another intern tripped and spilled an entire glass of whiskey later that night, and I remember no one made fun of me after that.

 

At least I didn’t waste whiskey when I fell on my face.

 

Mostly, I remember realizing that all the other interns were just as scared as I was that entire summer.

 

When someone bought donuts on the floor above us, my intern buddy and I talked about going up and getting some for breakfast.

 

We didn’t. We were too scared to.

 

Now that I’m nice and old, I can spot an intern a mile away. I recognize the fear behind their eyes, and I sympathize with that.

 

I understand that.

 

I think it’s hilarious.

 

--

 

I mostly wrote weather stories that summer. I did cover some other things, though. I wrote about an execution. A story about local food. But mostly, just weather.

 

I remember getting my first (and only) page one. I still have it, and I need to get a frame for it.

 

Also, when I die, no one is going to want a newspaper from 2007 with my byline on the front page. Please, whoever oversees my arrangements, just bury me with it.

 

Anyway, I remember I had my story in pieces on my computer screen. Quotes here and there, some notes, sure, but it was not finished and polished yet.

 

My editor came up behind me, read my screen, and then asked me to send him what I had. I wanted time to finish it, but he wanted it immediately.

 

I sent it, and then went over to his desk.

 

I watched as he edited my words. I remember looking at his fingers, and then at his screen, and then back at his fingers.

 

I remember thinking, holy shit. This man’s got magic in his fingers.

 

That was the first time that I realized that all writing is better when it’s edited. I used to think I’d make it as a writer when my work didn’t need an editor.

 

I was wrong.

 

Writers always need editors.

 

--

 

I associate Oklahoma City with the love that I felt there.

 

Oklahoma City is like a long-lost friend that you haven’t seen in a while. That city is like greeting a loved one at the airport and hugging them so hard you never want to let go.

 

Oklahoma City was my first love.

--

 

I remember going to a kickball game that the full-time reporters played on. Interns were not allowed to be on the team, but we went to watch. (I’m pretty sure we just wanted to suck up to get a bar invite after.)

 

I told one of the reporters that the other interns went to bigger schools than me. I fessed up to her that I was on my third school and was going to be a ‘super senior’ come graduation time.

 

Her response: No one cares. Your past doesn’t matter now that you’re here. The only thing that matters is your future.

 

--

Oklahoma City was everything that I ever wanted. It was the biggest city that I’d ever visited or lived in. To 2007 Monica, it was the fanciest place that I’d ever seen.

 

I’ve since grown up and have visited some other cool cities. Namely, New Orleans, Nashville, Denver and Washington D.C.

 

But there’s something about the feeling that I get when I pass through OKC.

 

I went back over the weekend to visit, briefly. After spending some time in Tulsa, I paid the dumb $5 fee (cash or check only, no debit or credit, because Oklahoma is Oklahoma) to drive over to OKC, and I stopped at the Memorial.

 

I bought an Oklahoman along the way.

 

I grew up going to Oklahoma City. It’s as much a part of me as Kansas is a part of me.

 

When the bombing happened, I clipped out newspaper stories and kept them. I read them over and over.

 

I grew up to work around those reporters whose bylines I used to read when I was little.

 

I love that city more than I love anything else in my life. That city gave me confidence, friends, and a sense of belonging that until then, I’d not felt before.

 

It also gave me a lot of alcohol and Guitar Hero, too.

 

I wasn’t myself in college because I didn’t fit in anywhere. In Oklahoma City, I found myself. I drank rum, played Guitar Hero, found friends I loved like family and learned that strong people lift each other up, not tear each other down.

 

It was an incredible two months.

 

--

 

When I lived in OKC that summer, I always went to the Memorial at night. When the security guard approached me, he told me that nighttime was his favorite time to be there, too.

 

I would explain the Memorial, but many of you have probably already seen it. If you haven’t, you can Google the particulars.

 

On Sunday morning, I went and spent about an hour there on my way back to Kansas.

 

I picked up a wrapper from the water and put it in my pocket. I touched the water, the gates, and the back of one of the chairs.

 

I wondered why I was touching everything a few days ago, but it felt right, so I kept doing it.

 

Now I know why­. My love language is touch. I can’t do much to heal anyone’s pain, but I can offer a loving touch during my time there.

 

I looked at the chair that I touched, took note of the name, and said a little prayer.

 

Comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity is what the Memorial offers its visitors. Those words are etched on the gates.

 

The bombing happened in 1995, when I was nine years old. The Memorial was finished in 2000 when I was in high school. We went to the site when I was little, when there was just a chain link fence around it.

 

Little did I know back then that Oklahoma City would offer me just what the Memorial promises to visitors: Comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.

 

Oklahoma City was the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere. It felt like I was meant to be there, and that I had earned my spot at the table.

 

I love you, Oklahoma City.

 

I always have and I always will.