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January 03, 2007

Happy Happy New Year!

Like I was saying here, I need to be who I am. I understand about that whole time and place thing, but fuck it. (For now or until I get slapped upside my head for going too far…)

My boyfriend did a little winter tour with his band. His one rule is no girlfriends on the bus. To which I roll my eyes because I’m pretty sure that I don’t want to be on that stinkin’ bus with all those dude feet and that farting and whatever other asshattery is going on. They’re probably watching nasty porno ladies, eating Taco Bell and playing the music (not even R&B) all loud. I’m pretty sure that while you’re gone J, I’m trying to be in the comfort of the living room with the candles that I light when you’re not here with my glass of wine and my box set of Nip/Tuck and my homemade cookies and my takeout sushi and my laptop close by for all my online shopping and research, thank you very much. All this, uninterrupted, while he, bless his heart, makes the day for some teenager out there that thinks he’s truly God. Some of his fans really do. They sell pins on eBay that say he is a god. Yeah, freaks me out but it’s also really admirable (and hot).

Now.

I went to a show he played in Philadelphia. There was a mouse in the dressing room. The girlfriends were sitting in a square, all across from each other talking and making baby origami stars. You’d think that in the dressing room of the headlining band there would be drugs and nudity, but no. We were making these tiny stars from these long strips of paper. I forget what they’re called, but I got them from the Hello Kitty store across the street from the venue. Anyway, this little mouse stopped right in the middle of the square. I was talking and suddenly I saw the mouse and started screaming. Jumped up onto the furniture and started screaming. The other girlfriends jumped up and started screaming too. A peculiar thing happened though. The mouse just sat there. Quiet, not moving. Did he just have a baby mouse heart attack?

The bravest girlfriend scooped him up in a Jack Daniels cup and he could hardly scurry his little mangy butt in the cup. Then, we tried to bring the mouse cup to the security man and old dude wasn’t having it. He was looking all scared. So we just put him outside in the cold November rain. Well, in the cold. Sorry mouse.

Then, there was this falafel delivery. This man came up to me and said, “Are you J’s girl?” And I said, “Um yes…” thinking I do have a name, but whatever. Okay. Hi. He hands me this Styrofoam box and says, “Okay, he said I couldn’t miss you. You’re the dark girl with big lips.” And he proceeds to shove a box of falafel under the table I was sitting on. Keep in mind, my head is spinning. You’ve been reading this blog long enough to know that I, of course, might have a reaction to “dark girl” and “big lips.” Not because it’s not true, just because Melissa would suffice and who the fuck are you, sir? Anyway, there was a quiet discomfort after that and I immediately knew that J had totally set this man up. Had it gone the way J might have imagined, I could have gone buck wild and started all the neck snapping and stank attitude, but I was so taken aback that I didn’t even get there. I was just standing there like WOW. I realized he was shoving food underneath my feet and I said, “Well honey, let me help you. Food doesn’t go underneath furniture mkay?”

For all I know that box could’ve been ticking. It wasn’t. The man had had his mother make J some falafel and hummus because the man apparently has a heart of gold and is a longtime listener of J’s band and somehow knew that J was really into hummus so that was sweet, actually. Thank goodness I didn’t get stank.

The next night the show was in Connecticut. It was a New Year’s Eve show. I didn’t really see myself spending New Year’s Eve in some club that I had heard terrible things about. I asked my girlfriend Melissa if she was going to the New Year’s show and she was like, “There? No way. That place has a hot tub and lots of girls get raped there (allegedly).” I was like &^%$.

I understood that J was obligated to play this show, that it wasn’t his fault that our holiday would be spent there so I couldn’t really go off on him. He just had to assure me that he’d take me someplace else where I could wear the new green shoes and the crazy outfit the next day and he promised.

Well, the venue was absolutely disgusting. Do you remember that episode on Dateline where they showed the story of the man that would kidnap girls and then make them live in this little dungeon in his basement and do sexual things, but also dance with him while he filmed them? Basically the dressing room was exactly like that. The pipes above my head were leaking. There was a folding table against the wall. Most times, the folding table has fresh fruit and waters and other refreshments, but this folding table had jackets and boxes and other random shit. Then there was a pew to sit on so it wasn’t very conducive to conversation. Everybody was lined up looking toward the door. The door? Oh, well that shit didn’t have a knob and was dented on the bottom so it was hard to get in or out that mother fucker. I had to kick the bitch down to open it and then kick it again to shut it. I had on high heels too so I was like, Lord almighty what the fuck is this?

I brought my own glassware to drink my own wine and champagne. I was pretty sure that any place with a rape hot tub was not the place for me to expect a glass of bubbly. I also baked brownies for the girls. I felt a little bad though. I was quite vocal about how disgusting this entire situation was, but I guess that’s just me. Shit, I’m turning 30. I know unacceptable when I see it. The other girlfriends are just babies. Barely legal and still in that accomodating nice girl mode and they pretend this is a fun time. They don’t be saying shit. I, however, was like HELL NO. This is not how my daddy raised me and he would not be feeling this shit.

I had to go to the bathroom. I really tried to hold it for as long as I possibly could, but that wasn’t long enough. So I forced myself to go. In the stall, there were three, count ‘em, three tampons used on the floor. Three different brands too meaning possibly three different nasty bitches. I was like WOW. I had to pee a bunch too so my calves and my thigh muscles were on overdrive, flexed like a mother, squatting. I was so upset. I waited for another girlfriend and as I was waiting I overheard a conversation being had by two metalhead girls.

Metalhead One: So what are you going to do?

Metalhead Two: I don’t know!

M1: Yes you do! You have to throw him down and jump on him tonight and tell him this is what we’re doing tonight. And you put his hands down your pants and you tell him what to do!

M2: Should I?

M1: Yes! That’s what you have to do! Tell him, fuck this, this is how it’s going down tonight. How do you c**? On top or with him on top?

AND THEY PROCEEDED TO HAVE A GRAPHIC SEX CONVERSATION.

In the middle of my eavesdropping, some drunk girl Real World’d me and I was like, “Yes, but you’ll have to excuse me. I’m eavesdropping.” She extended her hand to shake mine, but all I could think about was the possibility that it was she who threw her used sanitary product on the floor for all to see so I pretended to dig in my bag for something.

Then, it was countdown time. My boyfriend had just finished playing and he needed a change of clothes. I can’t be all hugged up at midnight with him all sweating and looking crazy. So we changed him into a clean shirt (it’ll just have to do as there was no shower here, gross). Then, I went to get my glassware out but couldn’t find the damn wine or the champagne! I was like, do not tell me some grimy metal asshole stole my shit!

Never found it. And we missed the countdown which was upstairs where the next band was playing. But whatever. Here were my options:

Kiss boyfriend at midnight in sex dungeon across the way from the rape hot tub.

Or

Kiss boyfriend at midnight upstairs while the grindcore band plays as we're surrounded by all metalheads French kissing.

The choice is obvious which was let’s get the fuck out of here.

We were hungry. So the drummer plus girlfriend, bassist plus girlfriend, J and me and the merch guy went looking for food.

All we could find was Denny’s. Denny’s I tell you.

Well, remember when all the black folks sued Denny’s for no service? Well, they won and they won big. Because this Denny’s was all black folks. And they were dressed up, nice. Zoot suits and hot pink crocodile shoes. Even the babies were dressed to kill. Yes, I met a five-month-old party-goer in her Sunday best.

I went from Metal Mania to Dons & Divas.

And then, like the disgusting bitch that I am, I ordered a MOONS OVER MY HAMMY. Yes, I had been self-medicating back at the rape hot tub with vodka shots just to make it through the night and so I was in rare form. Such rare form that I ordered a grilled cheese scrambled egg pork sandwich. UGH.

Ruined the entire next day. There was no special place with great outfit and the green shoes. I stayed in bed for a while. Then we had to take people to the airport in the rain. Then late at night I got a dress at Club Monaco to wear to work the next day.

That was my holiday. I can’t even talk about what I got for Hanukah without hurting J’s feelings so I won’t even take it there, but yeah. You see, this is why the holidays are wack. But God bless all the little babies and all that shit. You know the deal.

Posted by melissah at January 3, 2007 01:07 PM