This is how I spent my 25th birthday: sitting outside a Del Taco in California, with less than five dollars in my pocket and a deeply painful second-degree burn all over my face. We had five shows left on the West Coast leg of our tour. I was getting sick of drinking Four Loco and eating two Crispy Potato Soft Tacos a day to keep a semi-regular shit schedule. I love tour. It’s total freedom at it’s best, but having a charred face that is blistering, cracking and coming off isn’t exactly easy when you are fronting a band. When we arrived at the show, my friend, Marilyn had made us dinner, birthday cupcakes and bought me a six-pack of cider. I was deeply depressed and in pain, so I immediately started drinking. Do you know what is really bad for second-degree burns? Dehydration caused by alcohol. By the end of our set, my face was covered in blood and throbbing. Even smoking hurt.

The next morning my face felt better, dryer so I thought I would be able to wash my face. I jumped into the shower. I gently scrubbed, hoping that somehow, magically when I emerged from the tub my face would be back to normal. I got out and the air in the bathroom stung my face so badly it felt like someone was pressing a hot iron into my forehead. I rubbed Aloe all over, bit the towel as the intense burning pain began (again) and then walked into the living room where everyone was packing up gear.

“We’re going home,” I said. “I need to see a doctor. I’m sorry.”

Anne-Marie shrugged. “If I were you, I would have demanded to go home the day it happened. Let’s go.”

So, we drove from Sacramento to Vancouver. 19 hours. Everyone slept while Ben and I listened to The Offspring and Rocky Erickson. I drank water. He drank Red Bull. We smoked, talked and as my face started to peel off, I kind of felt better.

It was the only way to celebrate being twenty five.