Saturday night and I’m dressed like a boy again. Black jeans, tank top, boots and virtually no make-up. I’ve got my earbuds in as I make my down to the 7-11 where I’ll meet my girlfriend who is sure to be dressed the same; and no, we’re not lesbians – we’re going to a bar to listen to what is sure to be a terrible cover band. We meet up with our other girlfriend [also not a lesbian] and the shit show can begin. To be fair; we did not have a clue how epic the evening would be. Spray butter will never be the same!
For the record it’s 9pm and already past my geriatric bedtime, but I am in dire need of some levity in my life. This shitty bar seems like the perfect spot. As an alcoholic in recovery I was warned about what a “rough” place this was and how it’s only good for one thing – drinking. To this I say: bullshit. From what I saw, it’s good for shitty pool playing, live music, drinking, atrocious dancing and one night stands.
If any of us had gone in there wearing heels and a skirt, our intentions would have been clear. Instead, the three of us went in looking like something out of a fucking John Hughes movie. Jill was at least wearing makeup; I think people may have thought we were there to pimp her off until Jeff showed up. Suddenly people were very confused. First it was just Beth and I - and that made sense to people. Then Jill showed up with the make-up and the curled hair and people were like “Oh shit! They’re about to fight over the pretty blonde!” Girl fight at the local dive bar…rawk! When Jeff showed up he was suddenly the luckiest man in the room. I had already assessed the entire situation and knew all exit points and all available weaponry.
Pool cues against the wall
Large fish hanging on the wall above the cues
Exposed wiring above pool table for lighting
Bar stools
Cocktail waitress carrying trays – so fun to use those!! Smash or Frisbee
Indoor Christmas lighting makes for great hogtie
Rule number #1 of being a chick – know your fucking surroundings --- all the goddamn time.
The four of us are sitting at a little table when the band walks on stage. There aren’t words for what we saw. I’ll include photos at the end of this. I think Jeff said it best when he said it was if four random people just got on stage together because they knew how to play instruments. The lead singer looked like he crawled out from under a car he had been working on, the bass player looked like he had just come from his little cousins quinceanera – but like a real angry one and he had maybe just gotten out of jail, and the guitar player…hold on…I have to change my underwear. SPLOOSH! This dude is walking comedy.
Fabio is playing guitar. I shit you the fuck not! It was the strangest thing. The last time I saw this dude he was pushing spray butter. Sidebar: I’m fairly certain that’s what he uses to keep his hair manageable while onstage. I have to imagine his hair is way fucked up at the end of a show. I had to do a little research as to what model fan he uses during shows to keep cool and also provide maximum lift to his coif; but I am fairly certain I’ve nailed it. Fabio uses the Lasko 12.25 inch 3-speed velocity fan. It’s available at Lowe’s, has a 4.5-star rating and has a pivoting blower head. That shit is important! From scalp to nuts, this guy is cool and dry. And the kicker? It matches is ax. I am dying as I type this – I am back in that dimly lit bar making eyes at him; hoping…no…praying he looks my way. I tried so hard to get that arrogant twat looking in my direction. He has a go-pro on his guitar. A fucking go-pro! We’ll discuss that momentarily.
The whole evening was a culmination of me assassinating wardrobe, intelligence and talent of those around us, the four of us dancing, and roaring laughter. It was the kind of laughter that even drowned out the band and the many filters he was using to help give us the impression he had some semblance of talent. I think I could probably do better. Then again, I have a ginormous ego. He kept singing to this lumberjack chick in the corner too, so I’m a little resentful; maybe that’s it. I didn’t intend to have the brand of fun that I did that night. Beth looked at me at one point and said “thank God we didn’t drink together.” Amen to that, sister! I see our sexy asses in jail trading Ramen packets for anti-wrinkle cream and cat coloring books. That’s some fucked up and tragic shit. Jill is still on the outside because we need that hoe to bring us cupcakes.
What ever happened to Jeff? Well…they finally started playing Sweet Home Alabama and Jeff lost it. Tina had already told him where all the weaponry was and Jeff was thankful for that but he had bigger and better plans. He took Fabio’s pigeon and threw that bitch directly into the fan, he then took the mic from Earl the lead singer – dropped it and walked away. No one has heard from him since.
Fabio and his go-pro still play and masturbate for masses. That’s what he does. He’s not even an accomplished guitarist if you ask me, yet there he was whipping his hair and lurching around the dance floor making love to himself and the neck of his guitar. Just a man and the frets. Fuck. I bet he misses his pigeon.