I tell you, my Pulitzer is waiting for me underneath the front seat of my Nissan.

This must be why I�m so much fun on road trips.

I called John this morning in a fit of the mushies. He�s coming down tonight. It�s groovy because at his new job he leaves work at 4:30 and therefore gets on the road about two hours earlier than he used to. He got to my house last week at 10:30. It was like, early! We actually still had energy and stuff, which came in handy if you know what I�m saying and I think you do.

Sorry. It�s Friday. It�s been five days, if you know what I�m saying...and I think you do.

I�m looking forward to seeing him for more reasons than that one, though. We�ve just been getting along extremely well lately. Really, ever since I went up to visit that last time. I don�t know what�s in the air lately, but it�s been nice. It�s all sparkly. Odd choice of words, I know, but that�s actually how I feel � all sparkly.

(OK, let�s take a moment...Because I feel the need to remind myself that it really wasn�t that long ago that John was driving me bug shit and being rather cruel to me. I�m talking about stuff that pre-dates this diary so ya�ll will just have to take my word for it. I need to remember.)

So anyway, I went out last night. Let me just say: I�ve come to the conclusion that people is just wacky. I mean this in a good way, of course.

The band didn�t show up. I should have known they were going to cancel when they didn�t send me a reminder e-mail...However, the guy that filled in for them is called Erich. As in: Erich the Blues-Guitar-Playin� Hottie Who Slipped Karen His Digits.

I dug his music mucho, first of all. And I think I was one of only like three people in this extremely crowded bar who did, so that kind of sucked for him. Except that he acted like he truly didn�t even notice. He was playing music he wanted to play and totally in to it and having a blast. Of course, this is probably a lot of what made me dig him. That shit translates, yo. It was just him and a bassist and they rocked. So of course I told them so and bought them a beer afterward (I always do this. I come home from bars all the time saying "How in the fuck did I spend $100 tonight when I had all of two drinks?" and then start ruminating over the myriad of people for whom I purchased beverages. "Oh. That�s how."). We chatted, but really only briefly. The place was jam-packed and there were various people clambering for both of our attentions. I do remember him telling me that they are recording and they just filled in tonight as a favor to the owner because Solarcade cancelled. And he tells me I should check out his webpage so writes it down for me...along with his phone number.

Hmm...how sly...

I think I am more interested in hooking up with this Erich dude musically than in any other sense.

I think.

We would sound really good together, I can tell you that. Sometimes you can just tell there will be musical chemistry. Like I know I am capable of a killer duet with Lyle Lovett. I�m thinking we should do a whole album of duets like the old time country duets of Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty or Tammy and George. Lyle � give me a call, darlin.

But I digress...

I totally knew way before (like two years before) Original Mike and I ever stepped up to the mic together or sat down to write a song together that we would be in complete sync when we did. I guess it�s something akin to that chemical reaction two people sometimes have in a romantic or sexual sense. You can�t always put your finger on why it is; it just is.

So today I�m being all girlie and wondering if I should call him (what am I, twelve?). I think I�ll start with a cop-out and see if his e-mail address is on his web page...

God bless e-mail. What chances did single people have to take before e-mail? I mean, they actually had to like call people on the phone and risk actually having to listen as they�re being rejected.

Following are some highlights of the evening, which took place prior to the Blues-Guitar-Playin� Hottie (at least I think he was hot. I did have four drinks before we spoke and I haven�t actually looked at his webpage yet) slipping me his digits.

I was determined to leave work by 5:00pm so that I was certain to be home before 6:00. I wanted to be home that early because My new favorite show was on at 6:00. It was repeated at 9:00, but you know � I was gonna be out of the house. This way, I could get home, eat dinner while watching tv and salivate over the beautiful scenery (oh yeah, the outdoors, too) for an hour and then hit the shower and be ready to go by like 8:30 (cuz yeah, I straitened my hair).

(Jeez, do these details really matter? I thought not.)

I left work at 5:45. Oops.

I got home and watched the forty-five minutes of my new favorite show that I was able to catch (no biggy � I�d already seen this episode. My boyfriend was featured prominently, though, so I felt the need to watch it again) while eating a turkey sammich. Then I was all relaxed and starting to feel like staying in for the night.

I mention this only because I want to make it clear that I didn�t even really feel like going out last night. I went because I wanted to support a local band that I like and since they were playing like 2 miles down the street it was difficult to come up with a reason not to go. So I went. And they didn�t show up.

But I ain�t bitter.

Anyway, I was standing at the bar for all of about 53 seconds (I hadn�t even sat down yet, did ya get that?) before some drunk man was yelling in to my ear. He wasn�t that bad a guy, he was just drunk. But seriously...come on dude. I really don�t need to inhale that rank Tequila smell you�re emitting. Plus, I was trying to speak to the most important man in the bar (the bartender, of course) and couldn�t hear what the man was saying because you were yelling in my ear!

So I sat down at the only bar stool left open. There were also no actual seats at actual tables open at this time. I mention all of this because in just a moment you�re going to wonder why I didn�t get up and move my ass to another seat post-haste.

I�ve now been in this bar for approximately 3.23 minutes. My vodka isn�t even cold yet. Drunk Man #2 sidles himself up next to me. He tells me his name, but I don�t remember it thirty seconds later and certainly don�t remember it now (this isn�t actually a comment on my desire or lack thereof to get to know this man; I am really bad with names). He talks an awful lot about money. Apparently, he really wants me to know that he has some of it.*

Again, he didn�t appear to be a bad person or anything; he was just drunk. Drunk men yelling in your ears when you yourself are not equally as drunk can sometimes be very annoying, believe it or not.

So he�s asking the usual inane questions that people in bars ask and I�m making up answers that seem far more amusing than the details of my own life, at least to me. Oh and you know how I like to give dating pointers to all you boys out there? Well, here�s another one: When you�re trying to pick up a girl in a bar, don�t ask questions like "So what do you think about this war?" (And yes, those were his exact words.) Not exactly a "lets-party"-inducing question, ya dig? And "what do you think about this war?" How does one respond? "I think it�s good"?

So then he finds out what I do for a living. I knew I should have lied about that, too.

Now, in the twelve years or so that I have been involved in my profession in one capacity or another, I have come to find out that being in credit is a little like being in medicine. You know how once people find out there�s a doctor in their midst they start asking questions about their sore shoulder? Well, once people find out what I do for a living, they start saying things like, "Hey, you know, this guy owes me money..." and asking for my advice. It seems Drunk Man #2 has a friend who is starting a business. In his capacity as whatever the hell he does for wherever the hell he works, he is being asked to extend credit to his friend, to the tune of $100,000.

You know, it just came to me that I was going to write what will probably turn in to twelve paragraphs of details about this mans� business dealings and the involvement of friends and...why, exactly?

Yeah, that�s what I thought.

Suffice it to say that I gave him some business advice.

Then he asks me if I�m "involved" and I have never said a quicker, "Why yes I am!" in my life. Then he starts asking me if I have any friends I can hook him up with.

So I�m all for being nice and friendly and all of that crap, but I was tired of DM2 by this point. In truth, I think I humored him for far too long.

And anyway, the Blues-Guitar-Playin� Hottie was on and I knew I was, like, digging his scene in a major way man, so I moved closer to the stage and far away from DM2.

(I don�t know what Austin Powers reject just possessed my body and wrote that last sentence, but it makes me laugh so I�m leaving it in. Which brings up another point, completely out of context...As I have said before, I keep this journal for myself and for family members who may enjoy reading it after I kick the bucket {meaning, they don't know it exists now}. But it is, after all, a public journal and I know that there are a few other people who happen to read this, as well. People who don�t know me. I was wondering last night just how well my totally bizarre sense of humor translates in writing. It�s like...I love to dance. Love it. I will dance with pert-neart anyone, pert-near anywhere. I�m actually a decent dancer, too. However, being me, I also tend to goof around while dancing; in fact more often than not. I�ll mimic other people. I'll do the patented "Pulp Fiction" moves; do the "Charlie Brown Christmas" dances; I just generally act like a �tard on the dance floor. One time I was out there dancing with some dudes and my sister and I just kind of stopped and said to her, "You know, there are probably a lot of people in here who think this is how I really dance.")

Now sidles** on over Semi-Drunk Man #1. This is a different breed of drunk man. You know him. He�s not really drunk, per se, he�s just had a few and is feeling no pain at this point. You hope he has a designated driver, but you also feel secure in the knowledge that if he stops drinking right now, he�ll be OK to drive home after like a game of pool or something. Of course it never works out this way, but it makes you feel better while you�re deluding yourself, so you just go with it.

Yeah, he told me his name, too. You know, the only reason I remember Blues-Guitar-Playin� Hottie�s name is because he wrote it down for me.

Again, not a bad guy. Just not one I wanted to spend the night with or anything. Plus, he lives in Temecula. Temecula, people. Those of you who don�t live in S. Cali. just have no idea...Temecula...*shivers*

Oh, I almost forgot the real big negative. S-DM1 had garlic breath. I guess he�d just had a pizza. Nice. Very nice. So after inhaling so much of his garlic that I felt as if I had just eaten a pizza, I decided I need to go "use the facilities". I knew that by the time I returned from the restroom, he�d either have diverted his attentions elsewhere or have left. Evidently, I don�t have a high opinion of my allure. I mean, why wouldn�t he wait, right?

Have we discussed yet the fact that I�m always right?

OK, so this is where I start talking to the Blues-Guitar-Playin� Hottie and other assorted very friendly people at the bar. Hottie leaves and I decide confirm his assertion that Solarcade cancelled before I myself go home.

Now it should be made clear that at this point in the evening I had said no more to the bartender than "more vodka, please" and he no more to me than, "that�ll be $4.25".

He�s terribly busy, but I just have to go up to the bartender and ask, "Did Solarcade really cancel?" He says, "Come here" and motions me in to the room behind the bar. In my naivete�, I assume he just wants to pull me out of the noise of the bar to tell me what happened with the band. Instead, he says, "Can I have your number?"

Huh?

I just laughed. "Dude, you don�t even know me," I said.

He then introduced himself. I guess that was supposed to offer up sufficient knowledge of each other as to entice me to fork over the digits.

Instead, I said "So I take it Solarcade is not playing tonight?"

I can never understand why it is men would like to spend an evening on a date with some girl they�ve never said more than a dozen words to, only because they like the way she looks. I mean, for all he knows I could be a complete bitch; a lunatic with a large knife collection. Or like, a Trekkie who speaks in Vulcan during times of passion.

Nope. Don�t care.

So that was my evening. Fun was had, but mainly because people is just wacky. And seriously, I mean this in a good way.

*Is this just a California thing or do men try to show off how much money they have everywhere? Cuz it seems to happen in these parts a lot.

**I don�t think I used the word "sidles" once in all of 2002 and I have now used it twice in one journal entry. I think I should start using the phrase "the cat�s meow" next...

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~~~~~~~~~~~peace, love and smooches~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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Copyright 2002-2005, Howl-at-the-Moon Words



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