Okay, where to start?
I admit, about 98.9% of the time, I'm a douchebag. 100%, completely, unequivocally, hardcore douchebag. BUT: 1.1% of the time, I am actually a fairly decent friend-person. No, seriously. I am the biggest, okay-est friend you could ever ask for. When that 1.1% comes out, I am magnificent, hands down. Part 1 of this blog is about one of those (rare) moments in my life.
I know a rock star. Because of this, I have been in places and talked to people I would have assumed only existed on Sponge Bob Squarepants or Reality TV.
One fateful evening, in a moment of absolute slit-your-wrists, paint-the-garage, shave-the-dog boredom, I figured I'd take a short road trip to see my rock star play in his rock star band. My first mistake was thinking it was a short trip. One wrong turn and 3 hours later...
...I walked into a bar in the middle of nowhere.
That's a lie. I was somewhere because GPS admitted this place existed. It was minor technicality, to say the least. It was the kind of bar where your shoes stuck to the floor, the bartender was 70 yrs old and angry, and there was at least one pregnant girl drinking a Bud Light.
I bought my first beer (bottle, not draft) and sat back to enjoy the show. By "show," I mean the patrons, not the band. There was a crew in front of me playing pool. Player #1 was meth-head skinny and wearing a relatively clean bandana. I could tell he was madly in love with his wife (who was at least 7 months pregnant) by the way he kept buying her shots and telling her they were gonna, "make a sister for that baby" that night. I often wondered what true love looked like. Now I know.
Player #2 was the bitter single friend (admit it, we all have one). Redneck single friends are the most bitter of all, probably because their most recent ex-girlfriend is their friend's sister, their cousin's friend, their own half-sister. What I'm saying is, the bitter friend is bitter because he can't escape her, and his ex is probably at the same bar that night (which is the only bar in town), with her new boyfriend (his brother/cousin/father). Anyway, bitter single friend was playing pool, HARD. I guess he thought if he showed his ex what she was missing with his skillful sinking of balls, she'd come back to him. From what I could tell, her new boyfriend didn't have to borrow his mom's car so there was no contest.
As to be expected, at some point in the evening in a 1-star establishment (as this place was), Drunk Angry Guy inevitably shows up. As luck would have it, he came up to me and Rock Star as the band was starting to pack up. Drunk Angry Guy (heavily slurring): "Heeeeeey. Imma give you money for the drinks. Get yerself sumthun and buy me shots. Yeah?" Rock Star and I exchanged looks and he said, "Sorry dude, I can't do that. If they cut you off, they probably don't want you to drink any more." I was impressed. I don't speak "drunk" fluently. Rock Star must use Rosetta Stone.
Drunk Guy (suddenly irrationally angry): "You mutherfuckerscumbags from Pennsylvania!!!! I own a bar in New York! This is bullshit!" He stumbled away.
That's kind of the abridged version, but it still gets the point across. Drunk redneck people are waaaay scarier than regular people.
But they are NOTHING compared to the pompous douchebags from Arizona....
My buddy moved to the desert almost a year ago. During a trip to visit family, I visited him as well. One night, I swung by to see him while he was bartending. That was the night I met some of Tempe's finest.
My first meeting was with Jarrod. He was the exact opposite of the white guy who only ate Subway. This Jarrod was a black man who, within 10 minutes of meeting me asked if I had ever "been" with a black man before. I said No. Then I asked him if he was ever with a white girl. He responded with, "I've NEVER been with a black girl." I wasn't sure what to say, so I said, "Uh, me neither. So I guess we have that in common."
About a half hour in, Mr. Wristbands showed up. Had I been a 15 year old girl with daddy issues, this guy would have been absolutely DREAMY. But, I'm not and he wasn't. Jarrod introduced us and Wristbands said, "You look familiar. Have we met before?" I said, "Maybe in prison?" Wristbands didn't find my wit endearing (guys like him never do), and he said, "Oh, so you have a dick?" There it was. That was my moment...
..but all I did was smile at him. Not because I was at a loss for words. Not because I thought he was amusing. I smiled because here was a 30-something year old guy who clearly never broke a sweat outside of a Golden Corral buffet in his entire life, wearing exercise sweat wristbands with the TV show "Sons of Anarchy" logo them, had his hair tips bleached, cracking a joke about ME having a dick. To that I say, Really, guy? I HAD SO MUCH GOOD MATERIAL!!! My response could have been epic!! But because I'm a Christian (and more accurately, because I was in a town in a state COMPLETELY out of my comfort AND safety zone), I passed on all the obvious jokes and let him win that round. I smiled.
Things work out in the end, though. His quasi-girlfriend/groupie showed up and she was one of those "worn hard & put away wet" gals. She was super nice, but you could tell he kept her around because she paid his bar tab and she paid his bar tab because he kept her around (and she ALWAYS wanted to date a rock star). True love: Not these two. The only thing they truly shared is probably an STD.
I don't know...rock star lifestyles are tough. I mean, I see it from their point of view: The girls, the fame, the attention, the money...it's a helluva good time, a party always. But as someone connected to them (like Mr. Wristbands' lady friend), she's really just a tag-along. Collateral damage, if you will. She's one vagina away from being kicked to the curb and then being stuck picking up a bar tab for some regular schlep who only sings at karaoke and digs ditches for a living. So the ending to her story is a sad one. Yeah, that's something to avoid, fo' sho'.
But at the end of the day, it's not my problem. It is good to get out into society, though, and meet these people. It expands your horizons, makes you realize how lucky you have it, and at the very least, it gives good material for which to write a blog. So for that, to all you Crazies out there...I thank you.
