GUEST BLOG: LIGHT THIS CITY’S LAURA NICHOL

Ah, the home stop…every U.S. tour has one, and let me tell you, they are quite delightful. There’s nothing like walking through the door to your house, all smelly, with your back aching, dreaming of your own comfortable bed after weeks of sleeping on floors across the country. Your mom welcomes you with open arms and says, “You’re taking the couch tonight. Your grandma’s visiting.” Well, OK, strike one. But after I encountered this little scenario last week, I thought to myself, At least I can sleep in and eat actual cereal tomorrow. It’s all good. Don’t murder Grandma.

Seven-thirty in the morning rolled around, complete with squeals and giggles from my young nieces downstairs. I sauntered into my room, where my two-year-old niece was crawling all over my bed, sliming it up with drool. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her face. My boyfriend lovingly refers to her as “Baby Toxic Avenger” because her eyes sometimes tend to go in opposite directions and she has a habit of buck-snorting when she’s shoveling cheerios into her mouth. But I assure you, she’s charming, really! Anyway, she ran toward me, proceeded to slime me, and I took her upstairs to eat breakfast. I opened the fridge and the kitchen turned into one of those old-school “Got Milk?” commercials; clouds shielded the sun as my hand reached for a milk carton on an otherwise barren shelf. It was hideously light in weight. “MOM!!!! Where’s the milk?! And where are my Honey Bunches of Oats??”

(Let me digress for a second to shed some light on my fascination with cereal. Touring in a van and trailer, you’re lucky to get a bean and cheese burrito before two in the afternoon. Breakfast is rare, and cereal is sacred to me.)

“Laura, I was planning to take you out for a nice brunch in the city, at the restaurant that overlooks the ocean. That’s why I didn’t really bother to go grocery shopping. But Ben just called, and said you have to leave now to pick everyone up.” Defeated, I grabbed a banana and a piece of toast, kissed the three generations of girls goodbye for another month, and left to taxi the van and trailer into every corner of the Bay Area, acquiring bandmates along the way. Destination: Bakersfield.

After a couple of days in California, Portland challenged me to a drinking contest. I started early that night, too, downing a couple of pre-show vodka shots with the hospitable dudes in God Forbid. My friend Martine came out and kidnapped me for a night I would immediately black out and forget!

Nahhh, I’m just kidding, I remember some of it…

OK, between the shots of whiskey and tequila, there was some sort of dance club… Then we went to the strip club, where I remember graciously accepting the Jäger shot that Dennis from Death Angel bought each of us…along with the one sitting in front of our tour manager, Pomroy. The next day, I just wanted to be back at my mommy’s house, curled up in the fetal position, nursing a bottle of water…and maybe a shotgun to my own face.

On top of the most stubborn, vicious, organ-wrenching hangover in history, we had to say bye bye to Soilent Green and hand them over to that crazy Dethklok tour after the Seattle show. Here are the highlights of hanging out with Soilent Green (and Goatwhore) vocalist Ben Falgoust:

1) I got to watch him grab all the dudes’ balls every day and laugh his evil cackle.
2) He calls jizz “Jellyfish”…but it sounds more like “Jellayfeeish” with his thick Louisiana accent.
3) He’s a killer hair stylist! Since he can’t fondle my balls because they are nonexistent, he always grabbed my head in his gargantuan hands and rubbed my hair furiously until I looked like an ’80s rockstar.

Ben Falgoust should open his own salon.

4) He is one of the best frontmen of our time, and he might be one scary motherfucker onstage, but otherwise, dude is ALWAYS smiling.

We will miss all of you guys immensely! But I’d also like to take this time to welcome Arsis to the rest of the tour. I’d say, “Let’s rage!” but I think I’ll be abstaining from alcohol for the rest of my fucking life. Till next time, kiddies!

Your cereal-fantasizing hangover queen (who’s not afraid to shit-talk a baby),

Laura