(I'm supposed to go the city to a bead show now. But I feel like getting this out of my system first.)
It took 4 vodka on the rocks, a beer and a lot of prodding by my co-blogger and friend, Billydoom to get me off the barstool and up to the mic... thank you sir.
I have to admit it and I am always amazed when it happens- I played. I slayed. I got into my zone and stayed there... passionately... you know how when you just cease to think and let nature take its course. I hardly ever have that anymore, especially when I am in front of a bunch of people and not safely tucked away behind my keyboard. I have the confidence of a pea in real life. I like to blend in with crowd even though I have a lot to say, in case you didn't notice.
So it's not like I ever get dressed up or wear makeup to Runyon's Roadside Grill's outdoor tiki bar. I frequent the place and my feeling is that if I am not overly dressed enough to appeal to some people, then fuck'em. On the other hand, when I am feeling "sensitive" I sometimes get this sense of isolation... and then I tell myself, "You asked for it, bimbo." I should probably wear something nicer and put on a little blush when I go out because I have to work my fabulous personality that much harder if I don't want to be lonely. I should definitely put a comb in my bag but I keep forgetting. And did I mention that drinking sometimes makes me sweat bullets? Not to mention that I should probably pick up a guitar at home and/or listen to the music I like to play... but I don't. Long story. (Manic depressive, Aquarius, Year of the Goat, and so forth.)
It's not like it's a total shock that I am going to be asked to perform a few songs when my friend Russ is playing there either. Sometimes I do perform, and sometimes I decline depending on my mood and alcohol content. You would THINK that I would wear something other than what most women would wear to clean their bathrooms... just in case. But noooooooo. I often wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
Then there is this woman who is so fucking cute, that I could puke. I'll just call her Santa Maria. She's goes to Runyon's with her husband pretty often. She's petite and adorable and garners attention just by being there. She doesn't have a lot of money to spend on herself, but she looks fabulous anyway. And everyone needs to hug and kiss her hello. (Girls like her were my arch enemies growing up going to a mostly Italian Catholic elementary school where the boys adored the tiny, hot headed, dark haired Italian girls. I was already 5'9 by 7th grade and while half Italian, I was laid back, fair skinned, blonde/green, flat chested and lanky. I was too tall for the tiny Italian boys and sat out all the slow dances. Even the one or two tallish boys preferred the Italian girls. I swore off Italians for the rest of my life.) To add insult to injury, Santa Maria is about the nicest, warmest person you could ever meet. She simply makes you feel good when you talk to her. We are friends and go there together now- she lives on my block. I am hanging with the cool lady now. So all the people who act like I am invisible even though we've been introduced can bite me.
Maybe something inside of me tells me that I need to make a statement once in a while and that just because I am not adorably tiny, I have a wide array of talents and interests- probably more than most people, yet it's something I don't normally brag about- I just prefer to demonstrate it to anyone who is willing to pay attention, that is- if I feel like it. Oh I don't know. I have a lot of "issues."
So where was I? Oh yes. The zone. I played and sang and wasn't paying attention to myself at all. I didn't even think of how positively crappy I must have looked (until it was over). At the end of each song though, the crowd literally roared. Holy shit. I made a new fan too. He came up to me several times afterwards to fawn all over me. Wow. Who knew?
Will I go back to being a performing musician at my age? We'll see. I'm kind of into beading though and that's where I'm going now. Aquarius, you know.
Okay. Enough about me. What about you?