Like this gal, I write today from an undisclosed location. I'm looking out the window at trees and warm-not-sweltering sunlight. It's very, very quiet.
I discovered my new calling last Thursday night. I want to be one of these gals. The service is SO desperately needed. As evidenced by the below story:
Last night I went to the Lizard Lounge with my wild gal L. Wildgal has a friend named Ebby who is a singer/songwriter. Now it turns out Ebby's producer is also working with a musician named Alexis, and Ebby suggested we go to see her. Ebby has enjoyed some success in her field, so I figure she knows who's good. I hadn't seen Wildgal in a while, and Ebby in even longer... So on with the eyeliner and out into the night.
Ebby and I have only met once before, but I was glad to see her again. She's a darling person, beautiful blonde gal with a captivating smile and an easy personality. She looks younger than she can possibly be, and seems to be comfortable talking with everyone. Wildgal and I, however, have been friends for several years; she goes to my church. Man, the irreverent times we have had.
We arrived early to the Lounge, anticipating a crowd for Alexis. We were amused to find it empty. The band scheduled to perform before Alexis was still on the stage, pounding and blowing and buzzing away. Two girlfriend-looking gals were perched on the bench nearest the stage, idly bopping and clapping along. Wildgal and Ebby and I started clapping and hollering like crazy, as though these guys were the hottest band we've ever heard. Hey, it sucks to play to an empty room, even if your girlfriend is there. Wildgal and Ebby and I have all done our time on stages, we felt for them. And they weren't bad musicians. Drums, guitar, bass, Saxophone. They appreciated our appreciation.
After they unplugged, they came up and introduced themselves. I'm sure it was simply because we clapped really loud. I mean, our low-cut blouses had nothing to do with it.
The sax player was hot. Just my type: short, glasses, sandy hair, just-geeky-enough white guy musician. Of course, he only had eyes for blonde, busty, leggy Ebby of the Gleaming Teeth.
Ebby mentioned that she was a singer/songwriter, and the train was rolling:
Hot Sax Man: Oh really? Where are you playing next?
Ebby: The Bitter End.
HSM: Great! We'll come!
Ebby: *sweet, self-effacing smile*
I sipped some club soda to fight the nausea. They chatted. I made a few feeble attempts to converse, but it was clear who was onstage and who was not. When the guys were about to leave, I said to Saxy Man "So, we'll see you Tuesday?"
HSM: (ignoring me, straight to Ebby) What time is the show?
HSM: (sly pause) I want a personal invitation.
Ebby: (confused) A what?
HSM: I want a personal invitation.
Ebby sort of looked like a deer in the headlights, grinning nervously. I was sick of it at this point. I was in between them, for chrissakes, they were talking over me!
MzOuiser: You'll have to GIVE HER YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS if you want a personal invitation.
HSM: *blank Stare* (translation: And you are...?)
I grabbed a cocktail napkin, asked the bartender for a pen, and slapped them both down on the bar in front of our little sax hottie. He started to backpedal. "Uh, I should use something more substantial than that." I glared at him. "uh.. well.. she's just gonna blow her nose on that later, ha ha ha..."
No, I thought, that's what I would do. "I'll put it in the bag for you," I said, pointing to Ebby's black purse on the bar. "Uh... you'll put it in her bag?" Asshole. No, I'm going to pocket it and then e-stalk you for months. "That's HER BAG," I shouted. "That right there is a SIDE POCKET." I pointed to it, wondering if I'd be better off shoving the cocktail napkin into Ebby's panties or up Saxy's tiny little ass.
Finally he scribbled, and handed the cocktail napkin to Ebby. She held it between thumb and forefinger, looking at it as though it were a used empty lunchbag. More of the sweet, confused smiles.
Ebby just didn't seem to appreciate what was SO CLEARLY going on here. The poor guy was just SO adorable and SO looking for love in the wrong places.
An hour later, the bar was filled with Alexis's fans, dancing and cheering for her fantastic funk/blues jam, which I relished. I indulged in some therapeutic ass-shaking, which cheered me up some. I could have sworn Alexis's bongo player was checking me out, but I was too disgusted with humanity to do anything about it. He did have very nice hands though. Strong. Flexible. And his name was Moses.