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.
Keep writing Payton. You are so talented.
ReplyDelete