Moanin' At Midnight: Getting back into the dating game.

Happy Friday night, readers.

As most of my fellow twenty-somethings are out, swigging beer and yelling at each other over ear deafening stuff.  I sit at my desk here, sipping on iced coffee (Been going since 9 AM and NOT stopping!) listening to my "Best of Chess Records" mix, while knee deep in laundry.  Somehow, I don't think I am missing out on much.

Ahh...Friday night.  Date night to most people.  Now, before you think I am getting all Bridget Jones on you, readers, I'm not.  I am here by choice.  Because let me tell you...It's rough out there.  It takes a lot to scare me...and I am terrified.

Perhaps terrified isn't the appropriate word.  Perplexed is more like it.  Maybe it's the fact that I am harboring a 65 year old woman/maybe gay man in my soul, or the fact that I have been so out of touch for the last two years, but if this were a virtual roller coaster ride, I'd hit the ESCAPE button they give you when you feel like you're going to barf.

Being that most of my friends are of the older male persuasion, I use them as my touch stone for the "Is this normal? Is this what folks do?" and the answer is usually "No. That's stupid. None more stupid." Let me break it down for you, guys.  In the past two months, I have either been on dates or asked out by the following:

The Overconfident Beardy Guy:
Seriously. WHY do you guys feel the need to grow these little animals on your face? They are not fun. They are itchy. And they usually mean you have thinning hair, which means you have too much testosterone which means anger issues.  Science.  Look it up.  This guy is a Facebook friend who after the first week of my breakup invites me out to his show. I go to see one of the worst shows in my life.  After suffering through his "performance" the guy walks up to me afterwards to thank me for coming.  I politely smile and give my textbook answer for any show that really makes me want to punch your mother in the throat for buying you a guitar: "Wow. That was...something." Beardy guy asks if he can buy me a drink. I respond with "No, thank you. I don't drink beer....gluten..." and awkwardly try to make my way out of this situation when Beardy McBeardson puts his Grizzly Adams hand on my shoulder and delivers a speech with all of the gusto of Abraham Lincon delivering the Gettysburg Address: "I really like what you post on Facebook.  You have good taste in music.  Look, I'm not looking for anything serious or none of that, but I'm about to go on tour for six weeks, and you're kinda hot.  I like your thighs.  I'd like them wrapped around my face." I walked away wordlessly to the bar where I ran into...

Keith Richards Guy:
Oh, Lord.  You all know my affinity for ole Keefy.  Especially 1972 Keith in all his skinny glory.

I love his missing tooth, his patch of blonde hair he got from accidentally falling asleep too close to bleach at a party, the fact he wears nothing but his old lady's clothes, and the fast that he's the coolest guy ever to live.  But enough about Keith before I go off on how open tuning makes pants melt...

After walking/scampering away from Beardy Longstocking, I ran into Keith Richards Guy at the bar. He was everything I was looking for at the moment: Clean shaven, and not wearing an ironic hat.  We made eye contact, and he came over with the opening line: "Have we met before?" "Stones fan?" I asked, gesturing to the skull ring I frequently wear on my right hand (Just like Keith does), and he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a Stones tattoo.  Perfect! We should get along just fine.  We exchange numbers, and then agree to meet up for a drink the next night.  Fast forward to the next night, and I do my pre gaming war painting and record spinning, and I'm actually excited.  Finally! Someone to talk music with! I was beginning to get fed up with keeping my musical nerding sessions strictly to online friends, and was desperate to break out my new bell bottoms in an appropriate environment.  

I show up, and needless to say, the man really loved Keith.  Like, loved Keith to the point he felt the need to show up to the meeting we arranged already drunk off his rocker,  and then he proceeded to buy shots for the whole bar...and then got his card declined.  I leaned over to him and said "Dear, you can't act like Keith if you aren't.  You should work on the rockstar thing first, and the rest will follow." He replied with "Thank you...uhhh...what was your name again?" I left Prince Charming to take a cougar home. (Not before I corrected the spelling on his douchey Latin chest piece tattoo)  However, as I  made my way out the door, the bartender stopped me.  Which leads me to:

Bloomfield The Bartender:

"Hey, you gonna be OK?" I hear from behind me as I was about to storm out of the bar where I left Captain Douchebag and his swashbucklers. I stopped in my tracks.  Holy shitake mushrooms, Batman! The guy looked just like Mike Bloomfield!  

If you don't know, google. Seriously.

"Yyyyeah. Yeah, I think I'll be fine.  That's what I get for going out with someone purely based on their favorite band, I guess.  What can I say? I'm a snob." To which he nodded his curly head and laughed. "What's your favorite, then?" and with a pop open of a gluten free cider, a friendship was formed.  Numbers were exchanged.  He invited me to come back over the course of the next few weeks where that friendship grew.  He was sarcastic, very dry in humor, and charming. It was lust at first sight. No physical contact was made, yet the attraction was there.  I mean, the guy was two of my biggest crushes: Woody Allen and a guitar god.  What more could a gal want?  A lot more, apparently.  Remember my "Booty Text" from the last post, readers?  Yeah.  That was him.  "Hey, how about some booty? I reached out and this is number two. " like he was asking if I wanted to go for Chinese? Oh, gee, middle aged man who works in a bar.  That must work on all the ladies.  I'm so special.  

These are just honorable mentions, guys.  We also have the married guy who wrote me a symphony, the unavailable man who flat out suggested I be his mistress, just like suggesting I trim my bangs a half an inch shorter.  We have old, young, really old, sober, drunk, tall, fat, short, skinny...all using lines like these clowns.  It leads me to ask questions like "Who let you get by with that?" "Did that line actually get you laid?" "Was your mother a wolf? Because you act like you were raised by them." and "Are you joking?" is a big one.  Here are a selection of some of the best of the worst lines:

"I have just discovered that you are my muse, and I need you to come sit in my studio while I record. My studio is in my bedroom."---Creepy man at industry party

"So, you like music? That's cool. I play music. We should bang."--Drunk guy at a record store

"You're hot. We should (insert F bomb here)"--I would also like to add this came from a stone cold sober person...

"I hear you like old guys. I'd like to help you work through your Daddy Issues." followed by an eyebrow raise and a wink...creepy guy who knew my ex was significantly older than I...

"You favorite band is the Beatles? Oh, baby, I'll give you a Ticket..to RIDE."--Token dirty old man on Facebook music page

"God, your legs are long. I'd like to know if they're longer in the morning."--random patron in coffee shop 

"I want to hang out with you tonight. I already ate,  so you don't have to feed me." - Broke (gasp! Shocking!) musician who accosted me via the internet. 

(via text) "Hey, was so great to meet you tonight. Got any nudes?"--guy selling veggie dogs at a karaoke bar that LOVES Big Star. And I thought we really had something going. Not for this September Gurl...

Which leads to...

 Mid Life Crisis Road Manager Man:

I stumbled upon this one at the venue I work at during a show I attended.  His line? "Oh, I love the Stones. I worked for them. I went on tour with them. Mick Jagger hated me because I was in such great shape. I normally have an eight pack since I do so much yoga. Yeah. I work with a lot of famous cool people."

Also, there's a name, I think you dropped it. 

And then we have gems like the guy who thought he shouldn't buy a gal a cup of coffee if it didn't mean he wasn't receiving...well...if her mouth wasn't going to be "on the job" later if you get my gist, readers.  "Why should I if I get nothing out of it?" I paid for my own coffee...to go...

Then we have the classic line "I'm afraid of you." I sang Howlin' Wolf into a wooden spoon tonight with my hair up in rollers as I danced around my kitchen earlier.  I screamed like a little girl when I mistook a pair of my fake lashes for a spider the other day, I cried at the end of a movie I had seen four times...that week.  If there's anything that I think I am not, it is scary.  

You know what IS scary, guys?  Trying to dip your toe back in the water after being gone for two years.  I was in a situation where it wasn't exactly easy to branch out and make new friends, or keep old ones for that matter.  I'm not necessarily looking for a relationship per say, but I would like to have like minded people in my life that wouldn't mind sitting across from me, drinking coffee, going into detail about their "Top Track One, Side Ones" of all time. The last time I tried to do that, I went into great detail about one of my favorite records to which the guy responded "Do you have to use so many words? It's exhausting." 

There are moments where I play this line from "High Fidelity" in my head that nails me to a "T" most nights...

"We were frightened of being left alone for the rest of our lives. Only people of a certain disposition are frightened of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26, and we were of that disposition."

I often joke to one of my very best friends here that I can't even be a cat lady...because I am allergic.  This is where we have decided I will be the crazy record lady who walks down the street mumbling to herself about which singles were released on which label in the UK and which weren't, and conspiracy theories on what really happened to Bob Dylan when he had his motorcycle accident...

Maybe I've painted myself into a corner as far as people who can be my friends.  Maybe the fact that I think Cary Grant is dreamy, and Brad Pitt doesn't do it for me is a bit odd, or the fact that I stay up until all hours of the early morning listening to the same song over and over, or that I watch the same movie for a week until it's burned into my brain puts me in this box where I have my small group of friends who accept and love me.  I'm not going to lie, though.  It does get lonely sometimes.  There is a difference between being alone and being lonely.  I'm alone most of the time.  Very seldom do I get lonely.  This is why we have the internet.  There are nights where I miss having someone next to me, and mornings where it's a pain in the butt to be the one to start making coffee, and I'd rather do most things than take the trash out.  

But then there are nights where I think it's pretty cool that I am not on some date with a bearded guy working on his zombie novel/concept for his rock opera and that I am enjoying my own company and singing "Smokestack Lightnin'" into a spoon with my hair up in rollers.  Tonight happens to be one of those nights. 

But, seriously.  If anyone gets a time machine and can track down 1972 Keith? Tell him to give me a call. 

Fly on, Little Wing.

Hey, readers.

No such luck in getting my domain back...yet.  This may be the home of my blog for good. Like I said in my last posting, change is always good I suppose!

This week has been a rather challenging one for me emotionally speaking.  I think that I had been going non-stop since the radical shift in my world, and now that I finally have had time to stop and breathe, it all caught up with me. I have been exhausted in every aspect of the word for the past week more or less.  I had begun to wonder "What is it all about?" "When will I feel like myself again?" and more importantly "What am I supposed to be doing?" To say I felt a little misplaced would be an understatement.  I've spent most of my life feeling misplaced. Wrong place...definitely wrong time...Always have.

Luckily for me, I have one of the greatest supporting casts known to man. One of my friends came by to mow my lawn for me as a surprise, one sat and listened to me blab on about my purpose in life for an hour, one let me sit on their couch in my natural state (something I rarely do) and just kept me company because they knew that the last thing I wanted to do was be alone, my stepfather surprised me with flowers, and then there was one...one special cast member. This is a new addition to my cast, and I'm not sure how long they will be around, but this person has been a god-send on two occasions now.

Today, I went to go meet this person.  It was a completely innocent meeting of the minds over coffee and a stroll through the park. I explained how I had wondered if I really was supposed to be here and now, and how the only times I had been truly happy in the past week were locked away in my house with my films and records, and how I felt like I was karmically challenged...damaged goods...My friend looked at me and said "I want to give you something." and reached in their bag.  After fumbling with their wallet, they handed me a broken wing of a monarch butterfly.  The colors were so vivid, so intense, so beautiful.  I laughed and said "Yeah, broken. Just like me." putting my sarcastic wall up.  "You look at this and see something that is broken.  I look at it and see something that is beautiful.  The complete epitome of a re-birth has occurred in your life, sugar. Out of all this pain and change and work, you have transformed. I'm giving you your wings. Now's your time to fly."

I've not been used to this kind of friendship.  People react to me one of three ways: One: With kid gloves.  This is where people (usually ones who have known me since I was a kid) still like to pretend that I am not an adult, not of the "grown-up world" This usually involves with people being overprotective, overbearing, and hellicopter-ing. Two: They just want to handle me. Nothing more. Nothing less.

This is literally a text message I got the other night. Wonder who lucky number one was? 

Or three, they run and hide. They are so afraid that I am going to do something so terrible to mess up their lives that they run.  This usually happens with men who are unavailable be it emotionally or any other way after they see my record collection.  Sad, but true.  So, for someone to look at me in the eye (which a lot of other folks can't do) and flat out tell me that I was going to be OK felt like getting punched in the stomach with a rainbow.  I don't often lead on to how vulnerable I can be, how emotional I get, and that I'm not as brave as I put on sometimes.  I feel like I have to be strong, fiercely independent, and tough.  After all, it's strange looking to see a giant woman with big hair cry.  It really is.  

Heather: Soul sister, and repeating cast member. The sister God forgot to give the same DNA to. 

After the keeper of the wing handed me my latest prize, they held their hand on mine.  It wasn't  a romantic gesture, nor one that had a sexual charge to it, yet there was no delicate mothering feel to it either.  Instead of being handled with kid gloves, or man handled, I felt a zap of energy go from their palm to the top of my hand. For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone touched me because they wanted me to know it was OK.  It wasn't to make me vulnerable, to claim ownership, or to put me in my place.  It was just to feel human contact...something that I haven't in a long time. "You've got so much love to give. It comes out of your ears. You can see that.  You're a caretaker.  And people take it, and they take your spirit and your soul and your essence and they use it.  For inspiration...for hope...for their songs...Am I right?" I nodded so hard, I thought my neck was going to snap.  "What do you get in return? What have these people who have used you given you?" I thought so hard, I thought my brain was going to explode and my hair was going to fall out.  Sure, the people who have been reoccurring cast members have been great, and there's a great energy circle that is unbroken between us.  I do for them what they can't do for themselves and vice versa. We pick the other up when one is down.  But I thought about the ones who drained me.  The ones who took all of the love I had to give and turned it into mush, or worse, a song. "You've got the power now, angel.  You've earned your wings." And I thought...

"Yeah. Yeah I do. Time to fly." 

"Well, she's walking through the clouds,
With a circus mind that's running wild,
Butterflies and Zebras,
And Moonbeams and fairy tales.
That's all she ever thinks about.
Riding with the wind.

When I'm sad, she comes to me,
With a thousand smiles she gives to me free.
It's alright, she says it's alright,
Take anything you want from me,
Anything.
Fly on little wing."

-Jimi Hendrix 

She's Got Everything She Needs.

Hey, readers.

I know that this is a different address than the ole familiar "Payton Place", but I am currently in the process of working out how to get my old domain back! In the meantime, my postings will be here.  Besides, you can work out typing an extra ".blogspot" can't you?

As we go into the second week of April, I can't help but reflect back on all that has changed from the beginning of the year.  As a few of you know, I was due to get married April 10th this year.  That event did not take place. I'm not here to bash, or bad mouth, but needless to say, I had to do a fairly brave thing and listen to my gut, and cut and run. Since the big day was supposed to be less than a week away, I still get approached by acquaintances who run into me and wonder why I am not on my honeymoon, or why I don't have that "just wed" glow.  My ring finger has been adorned with the ever familiar and comforting bubblegum machine ring from 1964 and once again,  I find myself alone.

My first love. 

At the beginning of the year, I was working a dead end job.  There was no room for improvement, for a raise, for personal growth, and it was just enough money to feel like you had a bit of security dangled in front of your nose without any room for savings or splurging...I was surrounded by toxic people in an environment disguised to be the bipolar opposite.  I had a beautiful house that I was trying to turn into what would be our first home for wedded bliss that seems to never come together the way I envisioned, and the slightest financial set back could do so much as drive me into a deep depression that would leave me wanting to be bedridden for weeks.  And one day, I did what most people don't do until their forties or fifties: I had a mid life crisis.

Now, you may say, "P, really? A mid life crisis? You're in your twenties. Chill."  It happened. I questioned my purpose, my reason for being here, my mortality.  "Do I really want to live my life in this manner?" And the answer was no.  I called my wedding off, I quit my day job, and I have only looked back to learn from my mistakes since.

Having a 9-5 means you can't go to your happy place at 3pm on a Tuesday to walk across the stage barefoot. "Just because you need the mojo." 

People have either had one of two reactions to my new way of living:  Overjoyed or horrified.
"But what are you doing for your living?" "Oh, I'm just being myself." Then I explain the modeling, the styling, the side jobs.  "I don't do anything I don't want to do. If it doesn't serve me, I don't serve it." Oh, you should see the eyebrow raises, readers.  It's taken me halfway across the country, it has given me the things I have dreamed of, and it has given me the permission to be myself....just myself...

Thelma and Louise road trip with my soul sister Heather the week of Valentine's Day. We left at 2 AM. Because we could. 

"But what about money, Payton??" they keep asking.  To which I respond "They print more of it every day." I have seen people get so wound up over it.  I have seen marriages fall apart because of it.  I have seen lives destroyed over these bits of paper that we give power to.  Then, I break it down. When it looks something like this:

Is it a glamorous life like Holly Golightly? Honestly? Sometimes.  (The movie, not the book. In the book, she's a hooker!) Honestly. It is sometimes the greatest thing in the world.  I have all the freedom in the world to take off on a Tuesday to fly halfway across the country...and I even once did get $50 out of a powder room trip. And then there are other times where you are sitting in your living room alone on the couch as your burst laundry room pipes flood the backyard with your metaphorical dick blowing in the breeze because you don't know the first thing about plumbing, or how you'll pay for it anyway.  (Those are the times where you are grateful you have time to make friends in high places who are willing to roll their sleeves up and help...friends with tools.) 

Clearly, not having any fun at all with my band family, The Cryers. 

You learn a lot about yourself when you abandon this ship called "normality" and live purely off your skills, wits, and luck. You learn if you really need that $5 latte every day. (Switch to iced coffee. Cheaper. More potent. :) ) And you learn what really is important.  For instance? I learned that I need motivation from someone else being in my house to keep it clean...that I'd rather have a clean makeup table than kitchen...and that if given the chance, I will stay up til four AM listening to the same record over and over again, sitting in different spots of the house because I might miss something from a  different angle. I discovered that vodka is not my best friend, even though I'm not much different on it...(I will still lecture people on "Exile on Main Street" and more than likely try to take my pants off no matter what to illustrate just how fantastic it is. "It makes my clothes fall off, you guys! Really!") I learned that you get a lot farther in life when you aren't attached to someone, and if you are, that someone better fart sunshine and personality.  I learned that the burden of carrying someone in every aspect of the word, and then having to explain your partner to every person who comes across you is exhausting. "No, really, he really is great. I promise." becomes like the numbing cream they give you at the dentist...burns your lips, makes your stomach hurt if swallowed...you get the picture. I learned what I will and will not stand for...in business, friendships, and relationships.  I learned that I am not perfect. (I knew that already, but it became even more clear in this process.) I learned that true friends will be there for you, no matter what...even when their friend they knew and loved disappears for two years...a true friend will let you cry on their shoulder, pat your head, and buy you a drink while you sob about how exhausted you are. They'll even take you home from the bar and put you to bed and make sure you get up with minimal damage done. 

I am a firm believer in everything happens for a reason.  And although the past few months for me have not been easy, they are getting better all the time.  I have been given experiences that I never would have received if I didn't listen to my gut. I have been far and wide, seen and met some of the most incredible sights and people, marked countless things off my bucket list, and truly learned what makes me tick.  I can't promise myself that tomorrow will be any easier...it changes from day to day...but I try to embrace every day as a new chance to experience something I wouldn't have normally.  These days it's getting easier to roll out of bed. (Thanks to the new stereo by my bed that only I could tolerate...perks of single-dom) All I've got to do now to function is put on a record, put the coffee on, and hold my hands out, saying "Alright, world. Whatdya have for me today?" Some days it's more than I could have ever imagined in my wildest dreams.  Today? It's coffee. I'll take both.  

Some days, it's backstage passes to see one of your favorite bands kick ass and take names. 

I found a file I had saved a while back...Duane Allman's New Year's Resolutions.  Now, for those of you who don't know who Duane Allman is, I highly suggest you educate yourselves. You won't regret it.  Duane wrote these resolutions when he was my age.  Two years later, he was gone.  Maybe it's my love of these beautiful people who died in their twenties that makes me live this way.  Maybe it's a secret fear that I only have five years left.  Either way, when your mortality is questioned every day, you tend to live your life differently.  This year, I am trying to live like Duane penned in 1969:

January 1, 1969. It reads: "This year I will be more thoughtful of my fellow man, exert effort in each of my endeavors professionally as well as personally. Take love wherever I find it, and offer it to anyone who will take it. In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me, and try to teach those who wish to learn from me. I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can."

Cheers, Skydog. 

I will try and get my blog back up and running as it was. If not, this may become the new home for it.  But, seeing as everything in my life has changed too, I don't see why this would be any different.  Who knows? Maybe I'll keep it here.  Change has been good for me so far!