Sexy Hipster Band Chick

She stood staring starkly; contrasting with convenient crooks and con artists.

This was not the place for a 19 year old hipster chick.

"Well, this is a fine howdoyado" she thought to herself. "Actually," she continued, "Is howdoyado spelled how do ya do or howdoyado?"

It had only been 6 months since she entered NYU's famous Gallatin School. They call it "the school of individualized study", but was looked at amongst the students as "the school for people who don't know what they want to do with their lives, except hang out in NYC". Her major was "Martial Arts in South American Cinema". She took a martial arts class, a cinema studies class and spend the other 166 hours in the week smoking pot and listening to Weezer.

But there was something gnawing at her; an earnest desire to find purpose in her life - a meaning - something.

Standing where she was, she knew that something was not gigging around Brooklyn in a band she named "Combustible Diaphragm." A name which came about during the following pot-induced conversation with her roommate about antiquated methods of birth control:

Dark dorm room with a LAVA LAMP on and THE KILLERS blasting.

Hipster: And what about the diaphragm? Who uses that shit anymore?
Roommate: Smeriously! Pass the bong.
Hipster: Let me take a hit first.

Hipster lights the bong and takes a deep hit.

Roommate: Dude, we should buy a diaphragm and make a bong out of it.
Hipster: No way, it's probably flammable or some shit. EXPLOOODING DIAPHRAGM!!
Roommate: VAGINA COMBUSTS!!!!

They both start laughing hysterically.

Roommate: That is the funniest fucking thing I've ever fucking heard.

Thinking that somehow this gag would come in handy for her boyfriend's improv troupe "Fine, Upstanding Cereal Killers (FUCK)", the roommate scribbled "combustible diaframme" on a piece of Hello Kitty notepad paper.

When the Hpster found it the next morning, she vowed to herself that if she ever had a band, this was going to be it's name.

And here she was; microphone in hand, tattooed Asian synth player to her left, slightly overweight guitarist wearing a marching band uniform to her right, and her in the middle; feeling like starting her first ever gig with an ironic Goth synth-pop cover of Hanson's "Mmmbop" was not a particularly wonderful idea.

But she did it anyway and the 12 people in the crowd passively paid attention while sipping their $1.50 PBR's and talking about djing/blogging/how everyone else in the room looks.

They played 2 covers besides "Mmmbop"; a slightly uncomfortable take on Weezer's "Hash Pipe" in which she mistakenly sang "I've got my brie cheese" instead of "you've got your big g's"; and an earnest rendition of The Cure's "Why Can't I Be You", which, when stripped of it's horn section, virtuoso playing, emotive singing and terrific production values, is a really shitty track.

CD's only original song, "Electric Nation" came across slightly better...until the chorus, which included unfortunately personal lyrics about the Hipster girl's parents' 2001 divorce. She really thought the metaphor covered it up, but lines like "father left home; mother all alone - we are an electric nation" made the audience feel pity instead of "the rising spirit of an impending revolution", which was her goal when she wrote the song (and was also it's working title).

Backstage (which also happened to be the ladies room), our Hipster girl looked at herself in the mirror. Sure she sucked; sure she didn't know what she wanted to do with her life, but damn it, she...

...actually she couldn't think of anything positive. This was an all out terrible experience and she really wished she hadn't created the Facebook group "come see my amazing band" or Twittered about it every three minutes saying "this is the beginning of something big".

"Well," she thought to herself, "I guess this is it. I have to give up on life".

When she got home, she immediately pulled out a carving knife and slashed her wrists...

...then wrote her application in blood. Her film school application.

"Film School is the right choice," she thought. "I have no direction, no motivation: no artistic talents: but my parents sure are rich!"

4 years later she was found dead; hung by 100 ft of B&W reversal film. Her suicide note read: "wow, I didn't know the depths of humanity's narcissism, self-hatred and pure evilness until I spent 4 years with 120 film students"